So, after exactly eight hours of Wikipedia and a ham sandwich after arriving at TV Station, I was about to leave when Miss Manners goes, "Okay, my story is ready for you to edit." On the inside, I rolled my eyes to the heavens. Intern Director #1 wanted the story up tonight, so I had to edit the thing. I like MM, honestly and truly, but her journalism skills leave a little to be desired. Ok, more than that. What's disconcerting is that she's older than me and almost done with her classes at Local University, and I write better than she does (her specialty is photojournalism, so maybe that's it). Still, I could tell she felt a little weird about first Intern Director #2, then me, editing her story so, um, thoroughly. But every editor and writer knows it's nothing personal. I can't help it, when I see some glaring style or grammatical error in a story, I cannot tell a lie!
Besides that, today was more "research." I covered Jimmy Hoffa, the Mafia, and the Romanovs, if you must know. Did you know that "mafia" is sometimes translated as "Morta Alla Francia. Italia Allena" (Death to France. This is Italy's cry, in Italian). How cool is that?
Oh, for fuck's sake. I have a monstrous pimple on my chin and it's been bothering me ALL DAY. I think it's like two zits in one, or something. Honest. I was looking at myself in the mirror, and today was one of those days where I liked my outfit and everything was going smoothly in the appearance department, EXCEPT FOR THE VOLCANO-SIZE ZIT ON MY FACE. Yick.
Gotta go eat. We know I am powerless in the face of pizza. Will be back later, presumably a few (hundred) pounds heavier.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment