Just watched Jeopardy! and Ken lost. How sad, sad, sad. I'm going to tune in tomorrow night and it will feel all wrong. Nancy Zerg, you better make the most of this opportunity. If you blow it on some gift about the exports of Micronesia I'm going to be very upset.
The whole thing felt anticlimactic, particularly because my mother had looked it all up online and told me the specific question that fucked him. H&R Block employees work four months of the year, my ass. But where was my "Goodbye, Ken" montage? My lead-in Ken Jennings special? That would've been really sweet, because then the actual episode would have replaced Wheel of Fortune.
And show me the sentient brain that enjoys Wheel of Fortune.
Ken, you will be missed.
11.30.2004
The Waiting Game.
Interning is a tactical battle move, designed to put your head in the game and your face on the wire, but it's just as much a war of attrition. In my department at SYPNYM (Small Yet Prestigious New York Magazine), there is one entry-level position, which last got filled by an intern after she worked for eight months and the previous editorial coordinator (the shit job in question) got promoted.
Word has it that the current EC is looking for an assistant editor post (this is a slightly less shitty job) elsewhere, likely because she wants to move to the East Village, and that's not so easy on 26k per year, unless you're a transplanted European royal.
Which she might be, come to think of it. It would explain the yammering in Greek and the bigass diamond studs.
But in any case, there's a position opening in the next month or three.
Timing is the deciding factor on this one, as two of the three interns senior to me have expressed determination to find a paying job by January (unlike me, they pay rent. Like me, they're sick of working for free), and if it isn't here, they'll go work in PR or something.
Leaving the major threat: M., a tall and waify young intern who has wears velvet blazers a lot. When he sneezes, he wipes his nose with a silk hankie and then tugs on his knit newsboy cap. He ears are never without white buds attached to his iPod.
They really like M.
M. confuses me, because he works five unpaid days a week while the rest of us work two, yet he somehow manages to pay his rent plus fund his presumably hefty iTunes addiction. Plus I am relatively certain that he is not a transplanted European royal.
I'd been ready to concede it to M. a while ago, due to his regular schmoozing with the department head, copy chief, and interim senior editor, but was unwilling to admit full defeat, because I'm pretty sure he's holding out for a switch to the music section.
Which leaves... me. But aha, dear reader, a-HA! Miss Blotto has a trick up her sleeve!
It's called---
"I'm moving to LA!!!"
So congratulations, M. I'm putting in my two weeks notice.
Later, suckers!!!!
Word has it that the current EC is looking for an assistant editor post (this is a slightly less shitty job) elsewhere, likely because she wants to move to the East Village, and that's not so easy on 26k per year, unless you're a transplanted European royal.
Which she might be, come to think of it. It would explain the yammering in Greek and the bigass diamond studs.
But in any case, there's a position opening in the next month or three.
Timing is the deciding factor on this one, as two of the three interns senior to me have expressed determination to find a paying job by January (unlike me, they pay rent. Like me, they're sick of working for free), and if it isn't here, they'll go work in PR or something.
Leaving the major threat: M., a tall and waify young intern who has wears velvet blazers a lot. When he sneezes, he wipes his nose with a silk hankie and then tugs on his knit newsboy cap. He ears are never without white buds attached to his iPod.
They really like M.
M. confuses me, because he works five unpaid days a week while the rest of us work two, yet he somehow manages to pay his rent plus fund his presumably hefty iTunes addiction. Plus I am relatively certain that he is not a transplanted European royal.
I'd been ready to concede it to M. a while ago, due to his regular schmoozing with the department head, copy chief, and interim senior editor, but was unwilling to admit full defeat, because I'm pretty sure he's holding out for a switch to the music section.
Which leaves... me. But aha, dear reader, a-HA! Miss Blotto has a trick up her sleeve!
It's called---
"I'm moving to LA!!!"
So congratulations, M. I'm putting in my two weeks notice.
Later, suckers!!!!
11.29.2004
Um...
Since my professional life is so haphazardly plotted (random workdays, bit jobs here and there, etc.), it would make sense that the social aspect goes that way too. It tends to be three to four consecutive days of living out of a messenger bag, drinking too much, and scraping change together for the train home/through said messenger bag for scrap of paper reading the location of my car. Followed by four-day stretches where I just watch TV.
Ex. this past weekend, when I got to the city before 8, ran into high school friends, went randomly to a Cornell/north Jersey private school people party with the collar-popping crowd, then sped downtown by 9:30 to hang out with random St. Ann's/Stuyvesant kids and an ex from my Australia days, then ran halfway back uptown to revel with my bestest high school glory-days friends but talked mostly to Middlebury people for the second half of the night, reminiscing with one of them about that time we hooked up and he had to sneak me out of his parents' apartment at 6:30am, before they woke up (I am apparently supposed to come to his New Year's party, present at which will be his actually rather lovely but reportedly kind of jealous old girlfriend). Paid for no drinks at The Park, was freaked out by the little birds hammered into the wall, got $20 for grinding with one of the many young solo dance-happy Asian men, got a ride back uptown to stay at my friend's brother's apartment. In that neighborhood I learned...
...that pizza at 3:30 in the AM is so freakin good. It's a delicious discovery every time.
Then I had to jet down to Red Bank for a Saturday Thanksgiving dinner, and then back north to hang out with others, and I got home kind of tired and smelly.
And now Australia ex sends me trying-to-be cryptic e-mails that end with ellipses. Come on, people. Don't do this. I'm better at it than you.
Ex. this past weekend, when I got to the city before 8, ran into high school friends, went randomly to a Cornell/north Jersey private school people party with the collar-popping crowd, then sped downtown by 9:30 to hang out with random St. Ann's/Stuyvesant kids and an ex from my Australia days, then ran halfway back uptown to revel with my bestest high school glory-days friends but talked mostly to Middlebury people for the second half of the night, reminiscing with one of them about that time we hooked up and he had to sneak me out of his parents' apartment at 6:30am, before they woke up (I am apparently supposed to come to his New Year's party, present at which will be his actually rather lovely but reportedly kind of jealous old girlfriend). Paid for no drinks at The Park, was freaked out by the little birds hammered into the wall, got $20 for grinding with one of the many young solo dance-happy Asian men, got a ride back uptown to stay at my friend's brother's apartment. In that neighborhood I learned...
...that pizza at 3:30 in the AM is so freakin good. It's a delicious discovery every time.
Then I had to jet down to Red Bank for a Saturday Thanksgiving dinner, and then back north to hang out with others, and I got home kind of tired and smelly.
And now Australia ex sends me trying-to-be cryptic e-mails that end with ellipses. Come on, people. Don't do this. I'm better at it than you.
11.22.2004
THE DON
I was in this reading entitled THE DON last weekend, which I kept telling everyone was at Playwrights Horizons, and they would look all impressed until I mentioned that it's actually in the rehearsal studio on the fifth floor, which we got because the director is a receptionist there.
THE DON is by a hot new playwright named Yasmine Soiffer, and was a satirical melding of the classic story of Don Juan, the patois of hip-hop, and the ever-expanding world of illusion versus reality.
Actually, it was an unfinished work by a not-that-recent Barnard grad and featured a bunch of white people trying to speak Ebonics, but I think that blurb shows just what a good junior publicist I'd be.
I played "Saphire," a sassy, yet Christian sidekick to Elle (pronounced Eh-ah), who has recently been dumped by The Don, even after he gave her that bling!
He was "playin' suitor just long enough to get the hoochy-hoo!"
I agreed to do this without reading the script first, though I would've said yes anyway, I think, because when else can I don (!) gigundo hoops and a doo-rag without fear of mockery? I looked like Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. Slammin'.
Plus, against all odds, it ended up being quite genuinely funny. Go-go Scriptworks NY!
THE DON is by a hot new playwright named Yasmine Soiffer, and was a satirical melding of the classic story of Don Juan, the patois of hip-hop, and the ever-expanding world of illusion versus reality.
Actually, it was an unfinished work by a not-that-recent Barnard grad and featured a bunch of white people trying to speak Ebonics, but I think that blurb shows just what a good junior publicist I'd be.
I played "Saphire," a sassy, yet Christian sidekick to Elle (pronounced Eh-ah), who has recently been dumped by The Don, even after he gave her that bling!
He was "playin' suitor just long enough to get the hoochy-hoo!"
I agreed to do this without reading the script first, though I would've said yes anyway, I think, because when else can I don (!) gigundo hoops and a doo-rag without fear of mockery? I looked like Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. Slammin'.
Plus, against all odds, it ended up being quite genuinely funny. Go-go Scriptworks NY!
11.21.2004
I Love The World Sometimes
November 19, 2004
Bush Twins at Freemans
Via Gawker:
Freemans tuesday night the 16th of nov. the bush twins along with 2 massive secret service men tried to have dinner they were told by the maitre 'd that they were full and would be for the next 4 years upon hearing the entire restaurant cheered and did a round of shots it was amazing!!!
**Although Freemans apparently denies this.
**But then reluctantly admitted that the Bush girls had stopped by...
**And been told there was no room.
(but there really wasn't any room).
Bush Twins at Freemans
Via Gawker:
Freemans tuesday night the 16th of nov. the bush twins along with 2 massive secret service men tried to have dinner they were told by the maitre 'd that they were full and would be for the next 4 years upon hearing the entire restaurant cheered and did a round of shots it was amazing!!!
**Although Freemans apparently denies this.
**But then reluctantly admitted that the Bush girls had stopped by...
**And been told there was no room.
(but there really wasn't any room).
11.10.2004
Work Me, Dammit!
It is now 10:42am and neither of immediate superiors are in yet. This is reverse Office Space, where I show up early and then hide so no one thinks I'm that overeager intern.
So my big accomplishment for the morning will likely be finishing the Business Day section of the Times.
I'm here to work; I swear it. Quit making it so hard.
So my big accomplishment for the morning will likely be finishing the Business Day section of the Times.
I'm here to work; I swear it. Quit making it so hard.
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