When The Other Olive Drops - Part 2
I got home and read what I sent (hey, I wrote it while giving my Geomatics final and, in all honesty, my students were my focus and I lost track of my writing). Here is my attempt, however lame it may be, to get the story back on track and hopefully capture the big Big BIG prize (a paycheck and a license to drink).
Lynne -
My sincerest apologies on the disjointed nature of this story but such is
(my) life. I blame my (self) Editor on the incomplete nature of my last post (aka I left out the good part). Isn't it funny how you can get distracted by a fact of lesser importance in the middle of a good story?
I'm back at a computer where I can transcribe this morning's rapid fire exchange of digital communication (e-mail) that lead me to where I am now:
Val (not necessarily her real name) - It is true that men are just as catty as women. (Um, you don't want to know; I was talking about somebody's thighs) Oh - that reminds me - the ANC PRESS is looking for a "night life/Anchorage life" writer.
Swank (a pseudonym) - I’m not being “catty,” I’m merely responding to rumors I have heard. As for the “night life” writer job, whose martini do I have to drop an olive in to get that one?
JEQNL (I'm only allowed to use her initials due to the sensitivity of her position with the government) - Damn, that would be a great job - writing about Anchorage night life - how many times could you make up new stories about SubZero though?
Swank - How many olives are in a jar? How many jars of olives are there?
That’s how many stories I could write about SubZero, et al. Should I?
JEQNL - Absolutely - it should take very little time? Free entrances and drinks in bars - sounds great! (It sounds like somebody is angling for the unadvertised sidekick job)
Swank - Val, there’s nothing on the Press’ website. Where did you hear they are hiring?
Val - I have a copy at home, I'll bring it to you Saturday.
Swank - Bring it on Saturday? HAW. I’m getting’ a copy @ lunch.
Val - It was kinda towards the back - you know, next to the PRESS' version of "Dear Abby". (maybe, just maybe, she WASN'T using it for her kitty)
(All this was exchanged during work so inserting the above after the work description makes the most sense)
Anyhow, (And this ties back in to the part where my friend was using the Pressonals to wiper her kitten's bottom) I wandered into the Press offices after the film vignette but between fetching the Motorcycle Awareness bumper stickers and administering my UAA final exam. It was 2:15pm, April 29th. I shall remember that moment for the rest of my life. That was the moment I saw "her." I don't know "her" name but she was there, in the Press office, doing something. Her. (heavy sigh).
Tangential. Sorry. I'll clean this up in a few lines.
I know Delana from various two wheeled run-ins (figuratively) and had she not been in the middle of selling a 40 page ad to somebody (or maybe hooking her up with that bondage guy on page 40; I may not have eavesdropped
correctly) she would have marched me straight to your desk for an introduction and my first royalty check. This gig pays, right?
I'm not good with names. I remember faces and the places they're attached to but I suck at names. I'll usually hang on to a bartender's name but only for a few weeks unless they have heavy wrists and a generous pour. The woman at the desk didn't know if the position had been filled. I didn't think to ask if there was a deadline (a paper with a deadline? Psha!).
I had looked at the current issue (am I being redundant yet?) and she pulled last week's paper. She was sure it was in there but after a minute or two she couldn't find it. She pulled the issue from the week before and there, in all its dithered glory, was my salvation in a few lines. Perhaps not my salvation but a golden opportunity to show off a few five dollar words I learned in school (I have used a couple haven't I?). Subsidized drinking.
I'm all for it.
Nick rolled by (why's he in a wheel chair?) and Delana asked, "did we fill that Nightlife position yet?" "I don't know," and he wheeled off. "You'd think he knows what's going on around here owning the place," the stoner kid on the couch said (I wasn't properly introduced and he did have that Spicoli from Fast Times look about him). "He's the Publisher," I corrected.
"That's more responsible than being owner."
I'm sorry that we did not meet today but I'm sure the persuasiveness (again the spell checker has saved me; I typed "persuavness"; so much for suavity) of my e-mails will have you calling with an offer for steaks at Club Paris for lunch on Monday (hint, hint).
I have a question. Do I use parenthesis too much? Is that a problem?
And if you've gotten to this line (yes, I know you're not supposed to start a sentence with and but I couldn't resist) then I'm impressed with my bad self (I typed "bab self" but my spell checker caught it; whew).
Honestly, had I known (before I got out of bed today, before doing two radio station call-ins and two in-studio appearances, before volunteering for the Board of Directors for two vastly different non-profit organizations, before talking myself into believing I can teach at the college level, before over committing myself) or at least paid a little more attention I could have done something that wasn't so slapdash.
In summation, I hope that this has arrived in a timely enough fashion. Had I been made aware of the deadline earlier than this morning I would have met it, guaranteed. Give me a deadline. I'll meet it.
I still haven't written about drinking. I still haven't had a drink. Send me someplace (with an expense account); I'll bring you back gold.
- Jon
Same place as before.
Call me. xxx-xxxx
Correction: In the previous message the phone # line should have read:
(907) xxx-xxxx cell; always on; not always answered
Note: Dictionary.com was accessed 8 times in the slapdashing of this piece.
PS - I'm driving to Fairbanks on Sunday to deliver a used sidecar to it's new owner. He's paying cash. I can put together a road diary and send it to you early next week unless you're already sick of me.
PSS - Can two e-mails (of this nature) in one day be construed as either Harrasment or Stalking (in a legal sense)? :-/
PPSS - I'm posting all this to my blog for the vicarious thrill of it all.
Wish me luck.
Lynne -
My sincerest apologies on the disjointed nature of this story but such is
(my) life. I blame my (self) Editor on the incomplete nature of my last post (aka I left out the good part). Isn't it funny how you can get distracted by a fact of lesser importance in the middle of a good story?
I'm back at a computer where I can transcribe this morning's rapid fire exchange of digital communication (e-mail) that lead me to where I am now:
Val (not necessarily her real name) - It is true that men are just as catty as women. (Um, you don't want to know; I was talking about somebody's thighs) Oh - that reminds me - the ANC PRESS is looking for a "night life/Anchorage life" writer.
Swank (a pseudonym) - I’m not being “catty,” I’m merely responding to rumors I have heard. As for the “night life” writer job, whose martini do I have to drop an olive in to get that one?
JEQNL (I'm only allowed to use her initials due to the sensitivity of her position with the government) - Damn, that would be a great job - writing about Anchorage night life - how many times could you make up new stories about SubZero though?
Swank - How many olives are in a jar? How many jars of olives are there?
That’s how many stories I could write about SubZero, et al. Should I?
JEQNL - Absolutely - it should take very little time? Free entrances and drinks in bars - sounds great! (It sounds like somebody is angling for the unadvertised sidekick job)
Swank - Val, there’s nothing on the Press’ website. Where did you hear they are hiring?
Val - I have a copy at home, I'll bring it to you Saturday.
Swank - Bring it on Saturday? HAW. I’m getting’ a copy @ lunch.
Val - It was kinda towards the back - you know, next to the PRESS' version of "Dear Abby". (maybe, just maybe, she WASN'T using it for her kitty)
(All this was exchanged during work so inserting the above after the work description makes the most sense)
Anyhow, (And this ties back in to the part where my friend was using the Pressonals to wiper her kitten's bottom) I wandered into the Press offices after the film vignette but between fetching the Motorcycle Awareness bumper stickers and administering my UAA final exam. It was 2:15pm, April 29th. I shall remember that moment for the rest of my life. That was the moment I saw "her." I don't know "her" name but she was there, in the Press office, doing something. Her. (heavy sigh).
Tangential. Sorry. I'll clean this up in a few lines.
I know Delana from various two wheeled run-ins (figuratively) and had she not been in the middle of selling a 40 page ad to somebody (or maybe hooking her up with that bondage guy on page 40; I may not have eavesdropped
correctly) she would have marched me straight to your desk for an introduction and my first royalty check. This gig pays, right?
I'm not good with names. I remember faces and the places they're attached to but I suck at names. I'll usually hang on to a bartender's name but only for a few weeks unless they have heavy wrists and a generous pour. The woman at the desk didn't know if the position had been filled. I didn't think to ask if there was a deadline (a paper with a deadline? Psha!).
I had looked at the current issue (am I being redundant yet?) and she pulled last week's paper. She was sure it was in there but after a minute or two she couldn't find it. She pulled the issue from the week before and there, in all its dithered glory, was my salvation in a few lines. Perhaps not my salvation but a golden opportunity to show off a few five dollar words I learned in school (I have used a couple haven't I?). Subsidized drinking.
I'm all for it.
Nick rolled by (why's he in a wheel chair?) and Delana asked, "did we fill that Nightlife position yet?" "I don't know," and he wheeled off. "You'd think he knows what's going on around here owning the place," the stoner kid on the couch said (I wasn't properly introduced and he did have that Spicoli from Fast Times look about him). "He's the Publisher," I corrected.
"That's more responsible than being owner."
I'm sorry that we did not meet today but I'm sure the persuasiveness (again the spell checker has saved me; I typed "persuavness"; so much for suavity) of my e-mails will have you calling with an offer for steaks at Club Paris for lunch on Monday (hint, hint).
I have a question. Do I use parenthesis too much? Is that a problem?
And if you've gotten to this line (yes, I know you're not supposed to start a sentence with and but I couldn't resist) then I'm impressed with my bad self (I typed "bab self" but my spell checker caught it; whew).
Honestly, had I known (before I got out of bed today, before doing two radio station call-ins and two in-studio appearances, before volunteering for the Board of Directors for two vastly different non-profit organizations, before talking myself into believing I can teach at the college level, before over committing myself) or at least paid a little more attention I could have done something that wasn't so slapdash.
In summation, I hope that this has arrived in a timely enough fashion. Had I been made aware of the deadline earlier than this morning I would have met it, guaranteed. Give me a deadline. I'll meet it.
I still haven't written about drinking. I still haven't had a drink. Send me someplace (with an expense account); I'll bring you back gold.
- Jon
Same place as before.
Call me. xxx-xxxx
Correction: In the previous message the phone # line should have read:
(907) xxx-xxxx cell; always on; not always answered
Note: Dictionary.com was accessed 8 times in the slapdashing of this piece.
PS - I'm driving to Fairbanks on Sunday to deliver a used sidecar to it's new owner. He's paying cash. I can put together a road diary and send it to you early next week unless you're already sick of me.
PSS - Can two e-mails (of this nature) in one day be construed as either Harrasment or Stalking (in a legal sense)? :-/
PPSS - I'm posting all this to my blog for the vicarious thrill of it all.
Wish me luck.
posted by Bearded Jon at
10:00 PM
