• Markus Steinhauser
• Madeline Madilynody covers her face against the blowing snow as her father Jeff carries her to Mather Point at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Ariz., on Tuesday, Dec. 22. The Madilynodys, from Los Angeles, were visiting the Grand Canyon the first time.

• Markus Steinhauser
• A view over the Grand Canyon at Moran Point at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Ariz., on Tuesday, Dec 22. After being covered in thick clouds, the Canyon became visible at that point.

Glimpses of winter weather in Northern Arizona from UA School of Journalism exchange student Markus Steinhauser.

John DeDios sends long some more student work from the UA School of Journalism:

Roxana Vasquez is a recent graduate of the University of Arizona School of Journalism. In her time as a student, Vasquez was published by several publications including The Arizona Daily Wildcat, Arizona Daily Star, Tucson Citizen, El Independiente, Borderbeat.net and also took part in student journalism institutes hosted by The New York Times in 2008 and the UNITY Conference in Chicago in summer 2008. She also has photographed for Alan Weisman's Reporting for Latin America course that traveled to Mexico City earlier this Spring.

Vasquez has photographed political rallies, Mexican migrants, the Tucson Rodeo, and many other scenes in and around Southern Arizona, Nogales, Sonora, Mexico City, and Chicago, Ill. More of her work can be seen on her blog.

• markus Steinhauser

• Markus Steinhauser

John deDios from the UA School of Journalism sends over some student work for you to check out. He tells us that Markus Steinhauser "is an exchange student from Switzerland and he is studying Media and Communications at his school. He did his project on Life In America through the eyes of the UA Rodeo Team of cowboys and cowgirls. Steinhauser traveled to New Mexico with the team to photograph them on practice and in competition."

Check out more of Steinhauser's work here.

They lack the body fat to make it through the winter, so they travel in small packs, sometimes three or four abreast, often blocking the shared paths and causing bigger animals to slow to a crawl.

After a calorie-burning circuit, they prance about the cafe in special shoes, wrap-around shades and flamboyant spandex. The wind has eroded their faces into perma-scowls. Like preening birds, they display their fantastic colors against the beige stucco. And then, they tweet to each other. They exchange survival tips: divorce lawyers; hot stocks; protein recipes ... until the last drop of decaf, sugar-free, soy-milk java has been imbibed, when they rise as one, seemingly through mnemonic resonance, and place their thousand-dollar bicycles into their 8-cylinder vehicles, and migrate back to their familiar suburban stomping grounds.

Here are some photos I took at the Thursday festivities christening the Fourth Avenue underpass. The area was swarming with people, cars, bicycles and, yes, a trolley or two. A motorist got stuck straddling the virgin tracks during rush hour, and the trolley tooted madly—it was awesome! A grumpy guy in the (already "tagged") elevator bitched about the pricetag, but he was no match for the happily honking horns, and the feeling that local history was being made. An activist challenged me to call Giffords about health care on the spot, so I did. A train went overhead, mobs passed by, and I felt like I actually lived in a city of one million people. It was nice...

More photos after the jump.

I walked into the air-conditioned bank, and within two seconds, a voice said, "Hello! Welcome to Chase!" Those poor Chase employees, serf descendants of J.P. Morgan's money machine, now have to greet every customer who enters the bank with this corporate mantra. Adjusting from the blazing heat outside, I usually can't even tell who's talking to me. I don't need a faceless platitude when I walk into my bank. I want to be left alone, and maybe get a box of Chiclets at the end.

I walked up to the teller, and, since there's little to look at inside a barren, modern bank while your transaction is being processed, I eventually noticed the cameras overhead. Five overhead; two by the vault; one by the front door—no, two - no, wait, three.

"There sure are a lot of cameras in here," I said.

"Yeah, and that's not counting the hidden ones."

Hidden ones? I scanned the walls. Was that a camera or just a random wall nipple?

She handed me my receipt, and I said, "Hello! Welcome to Chase!" She almost laughed, and beneath the overt cameras (and probably some hidden ones) we secretly agreed that the new greeting policy was vapid and insulting.

Driving, some minutes later, I started noticing how many cameras decorate our major intersections, and even our minor ones. Cameras, cameras everywhere! Cameras in banks make sense. Cameras at every major intersection kind of make sense, I guess. The watching, however, doesn't stop there.

Recently, my West University Historic District apartment complex of about 30 or so units got seriously camera-happy. The building manager (instead of finally having the place painted) installed no less than a dozen security cameras around the premises. Some focus on the same spot, but from different angles! There are probably more than twelve, but I became self-conscious that maybe he was watching me counting.

That's not just paranoia, either. One evening, I borrowed the building manager's ladder. When I returned it the following morning, I saw him (liquid-nailing something else onto our historic building), and I said, "Hi. By the way, I borrowed your ladder. I just put it back."

He smiled wide at me, and drawled, "I know." An awkward second followed, then I realized he had watched me take the ladder on camera.

A couple days later, as I walked to my car, the building manager slyly said, "You go in and out a lot." What did he mean by that? Suddenly, I felt like a crack dealer.

Listen, I have faults. My girlfriend says I have many faults, and I have to respect her good judgement. Now, around the grounds of my own domicile, these faults are recorded 24/7 by the building manager who sits on a swivel chair in his bachelor pad in front of several flat screens of voyeuristic witch-hunting in the name of security.

It doesn't feel like security, though. It's just creepy.

I certainly can't stop technological progress. It seems Mrs. Privacy and Mr. Technology will continue to walk into the future together, hand-in-hand, slapping each other with their free hands all the while.

In this day and age of reduced veteran benefits, it's good to see one company providing veterans with a little help.

Cruise Planners/American Express, a home-based travel agent franchise network, launched their Corps Care veterans program in November. The program provides veterans with more than $2,500 in discounts toward purchasing a franchise.

The company also conducted a veteran franchise giveway contest where veterans submitted an essay explaining why they deserved to receive a franchise. "It's important that companies and organizations reach out to help ease the transition of the veteran community back to a civilian lifestyle," says Michelle Fee, CEO of Cruise Planners. "It's often challenging for veterans to readjust to the workforce and we want to support them in this process."

The winner of the $10,000 franchise is Chris Silman of Sahuarita (pictured above) who was notified in honor of Memorial Day.

Silman served six years in the Air Force working as an electronic warfare systems technician. He was deployed to Afghanistan where his combat search and rescue unit was directly responsible for 22 combat rescues of downed pilots, injured soldiers and Afghan fighters.

Some photos from the Pima County Fair by local glass artist, Renee Wiggins...

Whatever you want, deep-fried and on a stick.

Clowns are freaky enough when they're not eating my refuse.

The Tucson Weekly-sponsored ride. (I don't recall green-lighting this!)

Painter, Bill Wiggins and I waiting to become hot dogs.