Running on Absolute Empty
This is not what I need today.
Or any day for that matter.
Rant.
Here she goes.
I was at the Daily for a grand total of one hour today, and it made me want to quit in such a ferociously serious way that I almost can't express it. Evan McGarvey. I hope you somehow find this and add me to your surely ever-growing list of people who shouldn't have blogs. No one cares about your bad day, stupid Stylus reviews, raging huge ego and conversely hilariously small penis, or obnoxious prick track jackets that say some stupid shit like HOLLAND or LONDON on them. Fuck. You.
The second I sit down today, Chris "Look at Me, Look at Me" Gaerig says some snide ass thing to me. I don't even remember what it was. I just say, "Blah blah something, no thank you." And he goes "OOoooookay...." and makes some remark. I said "Chris. Please. I just quit smoking, I've slept two hours in like two days... enough. I'm not in the mood for a fight." And then the little Trifecta of assholes next to Chris starts fucking LAUGHING AT ME. Saying shit like "Oh wow you're so cool you stopped smoking good job but what does that have to do with you being irritated?" These three people are Evan, Imran, and Lloyd. I could write a fucking thesis on why each one of those fuckers is a piece of human trash not fit to be foisting their myopic viewpoints on anyone from ANY college campus. But I won't.
So that pissed me off. Then when Jeff and I were coming up with a title for the B Section and sketching out a storylist for Wednesday's new issue, Evan starts rattling off the reasons why all of the names people already submitted were shit. "Prelude? Oh, did Samuel Taylor Coleridge submit that one? Next." WE GOT IT EVAN. YOU KNOW THINGS. YOU'RE SMART. THE NEXT LESSON YOU HAVE TO LEARN: NO ONE FUCKING CARES. So FINALLY Theresa pipes up and says "JEEZUS Evan, all you do is criticize. Shut up and start coming up with some ideas for god's sakes." That shut him up. For about one minute.
THIS SHIT IS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL. I CAN'T BELIEVE THE ARTS STAFF OF A COLLEGE NEWSPAPER WITH THE CREDIBILITY AND SCOPE OF THE DAILY WOULD ALLOW THEMSELVES TO ACT LIKE THIS.
Then to top it all off, Lloyd got into it with me. I have written two playlists for the B Section, but we keep changing the theme as it gets pushed back. So now Jeff wants me to write a Summer Playlist. Easy. Slam dunk. And Lloyd, who somehow was going to write an article about how to roll a joint??? says he wants to write a Pot Head playlist. Fine. But its my turn now. I've been seeing this section through as best as is possible. Its my section. He has his. He's not going to steamroll me on the first fucking issue. So I say, "No, I want to write it." And he whips around and goes "Yeah but you listen to shitty music. Just kidding."
Know what I should have said to him? Dear Lloyd: No one here at the Daily or in the readership gives a fuck about your penchant for obscure Jazz and lost John Coltrane recordings. You've proven yourself; you have the cool points. Good job. Here's a cookie and bag of weed, now go kill yourself.
What I said instead was, "Fuck you, Lloyd. Honestly."
I certainly do NOT have shitty taste in music. For FUCK'S SAKE Adam, the former Managing Arts editor would lie down in traffic for U2. FUCKING U2. DO NOT GO THERE WITH ME. I am sick and tired of having to prove my worth again and again and AGAIN to these three cagey ass motherfuckers who sit around the office pretending like they're demigods. FUCK THAT. When I was a lowly writer everyone loved me because I let them push me around and give me terrible albums to review (Sean Paul? Trapt? I got HATE MAIL for that one)and I wrote about them really well because I wanted to please everyone before trying to move up. But now I've put in my time, showed them that I'm one of the best writers there, and I get to open my mouth once in a while as a subeditor and no one wants to hear it and suddenly I'm the office bitch. Thanks for bequeathing me your position, Alexandra.
So I look over at Jeff, who is above both Lloyd and me, and I say, "You know, I think that weed story is ridiculous."
:::audible confusion from the Trifecta and others:::
Jeff asks me why. I say, "Because. It reduces our credibility. I know the B Section is an Arts and Culture section and the city is full of pot smokers, but I feel that people are going to read it and say, 'Well for god's sakes, what won't they put in there?'"
Do I acutally feel this way? I'm not sure. More than somewhat. 70%. But did I want to piss Lloyd off? Yes yes yes.
So Jeff challenges me, hears me out, considers it, and agrees. "Okay," he says. "We'll leave it out then." Lloyd grumbles and scoffs. And even if we do end up slotting it in at the last minute to fill some space, I don't care. Because for that moment, I won. It's my section, whether I have a staff or not. The whole idea of the new section was to cull the best writers from every existing section to write for the B Section, and therefore everyone who was in that room is on my staff.
PLUS, LLOYD: THE HOW-TO SECTION WHERE THE POT ARTICLE WAS GOING TO RUN WAS MY IDEA, ANYWAY. YOU HAVE YOUR SECTION. LEAVE ME TO MINE.
The worst part about this whole thing is that lately I've been trying not to let my emotions or sense of personal whatever to get in the way of my acadmeic and newpaper interactions. And today I completely let them get the better of me. But I'm sorry! I will not be pushed around, come hell or high water. What am I supposed to do when Imran fucking tells me to go jump out a window? Smile and say "more please?" I say no. I say fucking no way. I don't care what fraction of a percentage these people are joking. It's unprofessional and crass. Never in your life should someone walk away from you feeling worse than before they encountered you. Ever. Life already has no meaning: it only has value when you make meaning and attribute it to life that days seem worth getting up for. So don't be so reductive as to factor human interaction out of life along the way. It just makes everything worse and more meaningless.
I guess I'm just the only one at the Daily who comes there to write. I'm not trying to make friends, impress people, or stir shit up. I come there to work. So just let me do it.
If you get through that I buy you dinner.
The urge to take a long, slow drag on a cigarette right now is almost overwhelming.
But I'm just going to eat an entire box of Tic-Tacs,
maybe go to the gym, and write my fucking ridiculous Miller paper.
100 Tic-Tacs in a serving. Two calories per mint. Fuck.
Maybe I'll just have some water.
I have to learn to stop depending on substances to calm and distract me sometime.
Or any day for that matter.
Rant.
Here she goes.
I was at the Daily for a grand total of one hour today, and it made me want to quit in such a ferociously serious way that I almost can't express it. Evan McGarvey. I hope you somehow find this and add me to your surely ever-growing list of people who shouldn't have blogs. No one cares about your bad day, stupid Stylus reviews, raging huge ego and conversely hilariously small penis, or obnoxious prick track jackets that say some stupid shit like HOLLAND or LONDON on them. Fuck. You.
The second I sit down today, Chris "Look at Me, Look at Me" Gaerig says some snide ass thing to me. I don't even remember what it was. I just say, "Blah blah something, no thank you." And he goes "OOoooookay...." and makes some remark. I said "Chris. Please. I just quit smoking, I've slept two hours in like two days... enough. I'm not in the mood for a fight." And then the little Trifecta of assholes next to Chris starts fucking LAUGHING AT ME. Saying shit like "Oh wow you're so cool you stopped smoking good job but what does that have to do with you being irritated?" These three people are Evan, Imran, and Lloyd. I could write a fucking thesis on why each one of those fuckers is a piece of human trash not fit to be foisting their myopic viewpoints on anyone from ANY college campus. But I won't.
So that pissed me off. Then when Jeff and I were coming up with a title for the B Section and sketching out a storylist for Wednesday's new issue, Evan starts rattling off the reasons why all of the names people already submitted were shit. "Prelude? Oh, did Samuel Taylor Coleridge submit that one? Next." WE GOT IT EVAN. YOU KNOW THINGS. YOU'RE SMART. THE NEXT LESSON YOU HAVE TO LEARN: NO ONE FUCKING CARES. So FINALLY Theresa pipes up and says "JEEZUS Evan, all you do is criticize. Shut up and start coming up with some ideas for god's sakes." That shut him up. For about one minute.
THIS SHIT IS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL. I CAN'T BELIEVE THE ARTS STAFF OF A COLLEGE NEWSPAPER WITH THE CREDIBILITY AND SCOPE OF THE DAILY WOULD ALLOW THEMSELVES TO ACT LIKE THIS.
Then to top it all off, Lloyd got into it with me. I have written two playlists for the B Section, but we keep changing the theme as it gets pushed back. So now Jeff wants me to write a Summer Playlist. Easy. Slam dunk. And Lloyd, who somehow was going to write an article about how to roll a joint??? says he wants to write a Pot Head playlist. Fine. But its my turn now. I've been seeing this section through as best as is possible. Its my section. He has his. He's not going to steamroll me on the first fucking issue. So I say, "No, I want to write it." And he whips around and goes "Yeah but you listen to shitty music. Just kidding."
Know what I should have said to him? Dear Lloyd: No one here at the Daily or in the readership gives a fuck about your penchant for obscure Jazz and lost John Coltrane recordings. You've proven yourself; you have the cool points. Good job. Here's a cookie and bag of weed, now go kill yourself.
What I said instead was, "Fuck you, Lloyd. Honestly."
I certainly do NOT have shitty taste in music. For FUCK'S SAKE Adam, the former Managing Arts editor would lie down in traffic for U2. FUCKING U2. DO NOT GO THERE WITH ME. I am sick and tired of having to prove my worth again and again and AGAIN to these three cagey ass motherfuckers who sit around the office pretending like they're demigods. FUCK THAT. When I was a lowly writer everyone loved me because I let them push me around and give me terrible albums to review (Sean Paul? Trapt? I got HATE MAIL for that one)and I wrote about them really well because I wanted to please everyone before trying to move up. But now I've put in my time, showed them that I'm one of the best writers there, and I get to open my mouth once in a while as a subeditor and no one wants to hear it and suddenly I'm the office bitch. Thanks for bequeathing me your position, Alexandra.
So I look over at Jeff, who is above both Lloyd and me, and I say, "You know, I think that weed story is ridiculous."
:::audible confusion from the Trifecta and others:::
Jeff asks me why. I say, "Because. It reduces our credibility. I know the B Section is an Arts and Culture section and the city is full of pot smokers, but I feel that people are going to read it and say, 'Well for god's sakes, what won't they put in there?'"
Do I acutally feel this way? I'm not sure. More than somewhat. 70%. But did I want to piss Lloyd off? Yes yes yes.
So Jeff challenges me, hears me out, considers it, and agrees. "Okay," he says. "We'll leave it out then." Lloyd grumbles and scoffs. And even if we do end up slotting it in at the last minute to fill some space, I don't care. Because for that moment, I won. It's my section, whether I have a staff or not. The whole idea of the new section was to cull the best writers from every existing section to write for the B Section, and therefore everyone who was in that room is on my staff.
PLUS, LLOYD: THE HOW-TO SECTION WHERE THE POT ARTICLE WAS GOING TO RUN WAS MY IDEA, ANYWAY. YOU HAVE YOUR SECTION. LEAVE ME TO MINE.
The worst part about this whole thing is that lately I've been trying not to let my emotions or sense of personal whatever to get in the way of my acadmeic and newpaper interactions. And today I completely let them get the better of me. But I'm sorry! I will not be pushed around, come hell or high water. What am I supposed to do when Imran fucking tells me to go jump out a window? Smile and say "more please?" I say no. I say fucking no way. I don't care what fraction of a percentage these people are joking. It's unprofessional and crass. Never in your life should someone walk away from you feeling worse than before they encountered you. Ever. Life already has no meaning: it only has value when you make meaning and attribute it to life that days seem worth getting up for. So don't be so reductive as to factor human interaction out of life along the way. It just makes everything worse and more meaningless.
I guess I'm just the only one at the Daily who comes there to write. I'm not trying to make friends, impress people, or stir shit up. I come there to work. So just let me do it.
If you get through that I buy you dinner.
The urge to take a long, slow drag on a cigarette right now is almost overwhelming.
But I'm just going to eat an entire box of Tic-Tacs,
maybe go to the gym, and write my fucking ridiculous Miller paper.
100 Tic-Tacs in a serving. Two calories per mint. Fuck.
Maybe I'll just have some water.
I have to learn to stop depending on substances to calm and distract me sometime.