Return of the Blah-g

Alright alright alright. Lil Meshugina has complained that I should write in here more so that she can fill up 60 seconds of her day with something other than reading Veronica Mars spoilers. The kink in her genius plan is that I'm not actually very entertaining (unless I'm complaining about the babysitting job I had this summer; people seem to get a kick out of that.)

Well, tonight today this early morning's post shall center on the topic of my new position as Copy Editor of The Eagle, American University's student newspaper. Every Sunday and Wednesday night there is a group of 20-something students (including me) toiling away to produce this fine publication. If you find any spelling or grammatical mistakes, the blame pretty much rests with me.

The thing about being copy editor is that traditionally I have thought of it as the Retard Job. In high school it was given to the girl who was too inept to do anything else. (There's a really good story I could tell about how once during press week, instead of writing in picture captions, she wrote a plea to my friend asking her not to tell anyone about how she saw her crying in the office that day, and my friend was like "WTF does 'Please don't tell anyone what happened today' have to do with the soccer team?...Ohhhh", but I pretty much just told it.)

Also the first few times I came in to edit, the rest of the staff seemed to resent me. Or, more specifically, the "Scene" people (most of whom actually can be described as "scene"). The editor-in-chief would be like "Hey guys, can you give her your pages to edit?" and they'd kind of murmur assent and then 20 minutes later she'd check on me and I'd be sitting there reading a textbook because they never gave me anything. And I'm too scared of their skinny jeans and (fill-in-the-blank)core music stylings to actually say to them, "GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO." (The one time I did sort of attempt it they looked at me blankly, then looked at the computer screen blankly, and then asked the editor what should be done.)

Fortunately this has been mostly dealt with, because now I don't go in until the editor calls me. Which in tonight's case was 11 p.m., resulting in my getting home at 1 a.m., which kind of sucks when I have to wake up at 8:30ish tomorrow, but when it comes down to it I guess I'd rather deal with overwhelming fatigue in class than assholes in emo glasses.