The Stalk of the Town

I knew it would pay off somewhere down the line.

Twenty-nine months searching for fresh freshman girls on facebook to bump into on campus and "help." Five years browsing through Xanga blogrings to find someone who has similar interests as me. Tracking down junior high school crushes by finding a copy of their class schedule -- suddenly finding myself on the 3rd floor laboratory when I should have been in the basement gym. Finding every Kelly Kapowski (Tiffani Amber Thiessen is still the fat girl from 90210, so I will use Kelly Kapowski) photo through magazines, TV Guides, and newspapers to stare at (this was before I understood what the "O face" meant).

Before, I was a poor stalker who never got action, much less laid. Now? I'm a fantastic reporter who can investigate and dig stories better than the New York Times can lie and FoxNews can sugarcoat. I am quickly becoming this century's Richard Ramirez of cable news networks -- without the killing and raping.

I've been in somewhat of a CNN slump. Blame it on the poker playing. Blame it on the 3 movies a night. Blame it on the 5 South Park episodes a day found on www.allsp.com. Blame it on a lack of motivation. Blame it on an unpaid internship. Blame it on women (for the same reason women blame everything on men). Blame it on A-Rod or global warming for all I care. But I've just been struggling at work. I'm not coming up with the material we need. I'm not writing my best reports or stories, neither am I making my deadline -- the ultimate sin of any sort of journalism.

But today, my producer told me that we need to find someone who lives in Louisiana, is eloquent, has AllState insurance, hates AllState insurance, was screwed by AllState insurance, and was screwed by Katrina. Twenty minutes, later I found him. Then, the ultimate stalker assignment. Find his home phone number and call him. Ten minutes later, I did one better. I found his cell number. How did I do all this? A master never reveals his secrets.

He must have been a little freaked out when I call, but then again if someone called me, and said something like "Hey Yih? I read your blog. Would you like to be on national television?" I wouldn't be so sad. Long story short, my reputation was redeemed and handshakes went around the room.

So next time I'm looking through your Christmas photos or finding out your ex-boyfriend's phone number, just remember. It's not pathetic stalking. It's brilliant reporting.