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dragonlady7So the streetvoice bit where the girl from Upstart Newsweekly interviewed me and Z about our views on Bush's approval ratings (it was a convoluted question) came out this week. Cute. There we are, with close-cropped face photos, on page 2 or so, expounding upon our views in condensed two-sentence format.
Am still working on the cover story. But it will run this week! As the cover story! And I am not to worry in the slightest about it being too long! (Last week's cover was 5,000 words, so all the paragraphs I cut because the story was too long? Sticking 'em right back in! Whee!) They're doing a photo shoot for the cover story just now-- as usual, it's going to feature an employee. Pretty much all their stuff has photos of the staff. One of their restaurant reviews has a little mini-video in it, and it's of people eating-- and it's all the staff of the paper. "That was good," one of the graphic designers said a bit dreamily. "They have good food." It was a good video, too-- showing the restaurant's family-style dining, and one excellent shot of the publisher's then-2-year-old daughter's wide blue eyes and happy face as she reached for a big ice cream sundae. But yes-- odds are pretty good if you look at any photo in any alt newsweekly (that isn't an AP wire photo or something free from the Internet) that the people featured in the photo are staff. The interior photos for my story will be the publisher's assistant (and baby mama, which we've decided is the most amusing way to refer to their relationship. Did I tell the transvestite story* about that? I will in footnotes.) huddling over a woodstove from a series of images taken last year sometime.
In office news, the art director popped the other day-- baby was born ahead of schedule, which blessedly put an end to her many-times-daily freakouts of "how will I get everything done that I have to get done before this baby is born holy crap". Both baby and mother are healthy and fine, and the art department is ever-so-slightly harried but is getting by with its usual terrifying efficiency, and really, everything is fine.
They were pleased to see me today-- "How unusual, that your story is actually done, by Monday," one of the writers said. "You're already editing! How very on-schedule." Although I'm really racking up the "wait, do you work here?" glances from the ad sales dep't (they work at the other end of the building but pop in all the time, long enough to notice me but not long enough to engage in conversation).
At the moment am waiting for the editor to come back from the lunch-and-photo-session with the latest draft of my article, which I rewrote and printed off for her before she left. I ate my first actual steak hoagie from Jim's Steakout, and was favorably impressed, but am still hungry. I am determined not to nosh my way through the rest of the day, of course-- I am wearing my sophomore-in-college Sorostitute tight brown pants and they are a little loose, so I am determined to hang onto that smug I Am So Very A Dieting Powerhouse Without Even Trying feeling. (I may be down to 175, but I keep forgetting to weigh. Meanwhile Z still isn't back up to 140. Gah.)
___________
I don't know if I've told this before but it's a good story and probably bears repeating. So at the office event I went to with Z a month or two ago, the publisher's assistant went with their child, who is three and adorable and looks just like her. One of the event attendees was talking to her-- oh, is this your daughter, she's so cute, oh it's the publisher's daughter-- oh I didn't know you two were married. "We're not," the assistant said. "Oh," the guest said, and there was an awkward pause. "Wait," the assistant thought, "why am I feeling ashamed by this? You're a 60-year-old crossdresser and you are married!!"
Am still working on the cover story. But it will run this week! As the cover story! And I am not to worry in the slightest about it being too long! (Last week's cover was 5,000 words, so all the paragraphs I cut because the story was too long? Sticking 'em right back in! Whee!) They're doing a photo shoot for the cover story just now-- as usual, it's going to feature an employee. Pretty much all their stuff has photos of the staff. One of their restaurant reviews has a little mini-video in it, and it's of people eating-- and it's all the staff of the paper. "That was good," one of the graphic designers said a bit dreamily. "They have good food." It was a good video, too-- showing the restaurant's family-style dining, and one excellent shot of the publisher's then-2-year-old daughter's wide blue eyes and happy face as she reached for a big ice cream sundae. But yes-- odds are pretty good if you look at any photo in any alt newsweekly (that isn't an AP wire photo or something free from the Internet) that the people featured in the photo are staff. The interior photos for my story will be the publisher's assistant (and baby mama, which we've decided is the most amusing way to refer to their relationship. Did I tell the transvestite story* about that? I will in footnotes.) huddling over a woodstove from a series of images taken last year sometime.
In office news, the art director popped the other day-- baby was born ahead of schedule, which blessedly put an end to her many-times-daily freakouts of "how will I get everything done that I have to get done before this baby is born holy crap". Both baby and mother are healthy and fine, and the art department is ever-so-slightly harried but is getting by with its usual terrifying efficiency, and really, everything is fine.
They were pleased to see me today-- "How unusual, that your story is actually done, by Monday," one of the writers said. "You're already editing! How very on-schedule." Although I'm really racking up the "wait, do you work here?" glances from the ad sales dep't (they work at the other end of the building but pop in all the time, long enough to notice me but not long enough to engage in conversation).
At the moment am waiting for the editor to come back from the lunch-and-photo-session with the latest draft of my article, which I rewrote and printed off for her before she left. I ate my first actual steak hoagie from Jim's Steakout, and was favorably impressed, but am still hungry. I am determined not to nosh my way through the rest of the day, of course-- I am wearing my sophomore-in-college Sorostitute tight brown pants and they are a little loose, so I am determined to hang onto that smug I Am So Very A Dieting Powerhouse Without Even Trying feeling. (I may be down to 175, but I keep forgetting to weigh. Meanwhile Z still isn't back up to 140. Gah.)
___________
I don't know if I've told this before but it's a good story and probably bears repeating. So at the office event I went to with Z a month or two ago, the publisher's assistant went with their child, who is three and adorable and looks just like her. One of the event attendees was talking to her-- oh, is this your daughter, she's so cute, oh it's the publisher's daughter-- oh I didn't know you two were married. "We're not," the assistant said. "Oh," the guest said, and there was an awkward pause. "Wait," the assistant thought, "why am I feeling ashamed by this? You're a 60-year-old crossdresser and you are married!!"
