And I want to write them...

(Seen outside the Main Library, Sunday, June 22.)

8 Days a Week

June 13 – 17: Brief stint as Flaneur in the Bahamas.

June 18 – 21: Sinus and ear infection from the parts of the ocean that I carried home with me in my head. (As my intern Taylor said, I was overly ambitious. “You couldn’t just have a cold, could you?” Nope. When I do something, I go all the way. Even when sick.)

June 22: Heroes Con, nerdiness ensued, comics bought. Lunch at Ri-Ra’s with Mr. Boyfriend.

June 23: Screening of Hancock (“when I say ‘Hand!’, you say…!”), plus a pedicure. (See below for visual reference.)

June 24: Screening of WALL-E, beer at the Penguin with Sharsta and her Norwegian friends. I don’t speak Norwegian.

June 25 – Present: Work. Sleep. Work. Sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Guarantee

It’s summer in our fair city, which brings two certainties: Oppressive, blinding heat, and painted toenails.



Stay cool, friends. Stay cool.

Lunch Poem

Today, the most monumental
thing I will do
is walk in the rain to buy a cup of soup
and an apple
underneath my green umbrella
noticing nothing
and being noticed by no one
save for the puddles
where each precise splash
finds another girl walking underneath me
the underside of my umbrella, two upcast eyes
the rain, again

(Written last fall, when summer was a memory away)

Hello, Materialism

(Before: appropriate children's cartoon. After: mini-Paris Hilton wanna-be.)

If you weren't a child in the 1980s, I'm sorry. Because children born after that magical decade are sadly lacking in quality toys and Saturday morning cartoon role models. The company behind Strawberry Shortcake turned the lovable little girl into a mini-Bratz doll, complete with cellphone. (Who would a little magical girl who lives in a strawberry patch have to call? Pizza Hut?)

The kicker? The cellphone replaces her cat, Custard, as her favorite playmate. And we thought of the '80s as the "Me" decade of consumer indulgence.

Tuesday Bluesday

(Author's Note: Today's mistake was not this bad. But, almost.)

Grrr. Career worries are not fun. I genuinely care about my job, and I absolutely hate with a burning passion any mistakes that make it to print. This week was especially frustrating because I was handling 2 jobs at once -- my own and the job of a co-worker who was on vacation -- and I was extremely careful to ensure that nothing would go wrong.

One of the larger stories had some significant mistakes that needed correcting, and between the news editor, the editor-in-chief, and myself the corrections were made and sent in to the printer. Technicalities aside, I made all the necessary phone calls, e-mails for this page and edits to this page, pouring over it in the final pdf form to make certain that it was as clean as possible.

And when I opened the paper today?
There it was, one of the lead stories, full of mistakes.

The copy from before the massive edits went to print. My stomach constricted and a wave of dread passed over me. I had to grit my teeth and show it to the news editor, and then make a few calls to find out what went wrong, before braving the editor-in-chief. I did everything correctly, and it was a simple mistake at the printer, sending the wrong page to print.

A simple mistake that will be read by thousands, and a few pompous blowhards will send condescending e-mails about how retarded I am to let these mistakes happen. The majority of the e-mails will go to the writer, but what really embarrasses me the most is the ones who won't comment or e-mail, the people who know me in the office, who are my supervisors or friends, who will pick up today's paper and think, "Damn. Natalie can't do her job."

This Week's Cutline

Paparazzi catch young social writer slacking with beer in hand, despite her attempts to remain incognito. Man in blue looks on disdainfully.

(I always look good, even when posing as a budding alcoholic!)

The author is seen here with Mr. B, Karen, and the back of Anita's head on a miserably hot day. Thank God for sunglasses and cold beer.

I'd rather not, thanks...

Seen on a Dodge Caravan, at the intersection of Tryon and 7th, 8:55 a.m., on the plastic wrapped around the North Carolina license plate:

"I'd rather be at a Toby Keith concert!"

Spellcheck

Wonder what rasberries taste like?


(Seen June 3 with Matt at Camille's Sidewalk Cafe, East 3rd Street.)

Lazy Sunday Photo Blogging

It may be a few months until my birthday, but for future reference:
I want one of everything in this store. Thanks in advance.




Seen post-brunch with Sharsta at Pura Vida Worldly Art.

As opposed to bad ones...?

Seen on Morehead Street.