Closing up shop
- Wednesday, Aug. 02, 2006

It may be time for a change
- Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Entry in the air
- Friday, April 21, 2006

Still here
- Thursday, April 20, 2006

Music of the moment
- Wednesday, March 1, 2006



101 in 1001
American Road Trip, 1998


Dancing Brave
Fugging It Up
Kitty Sandwich
Mister Zero
Sideways Rain


My crew
Our host

Thursday, Sept. 05, 2002 - 4:50 p.m.

You want to praise me

Last day in the office. It didn't seem any different at first, but now that I've started making some rounds to say goodbye to the important people (and those I like), it's starting to sink in. I won't be burning the bridges I've built here, as much as I fantasized about it over the past year. I'm not stupid; if they'll pay me to spend three hours covering a high school football game or writing a minor-league baseball story sometime in the future, I'm not going to say no.

I spoke to the executive editor, who praised me and the work I've done. I spoke to the metro editor, who was my bureau chief during my internship. And she praised me. I'll speak to the photo editor, who's a really nice guy and whose wife works with my father, but it doesn't matter if he praises me or not. In a way it's like the last day of school, almost like graduation day too, all set against the backdrop of school just starting up right now.

Some people have raised their eyebrows when I've told them I'm going to a new publication, a new magazine to be launched in this economy. But our executive editor and the metro editor both spoke of how exciting it will be, and they understand how far a strong, family-owned publishing company can be. Heck, this paper was owned by one, until they decided to retire and sell it to the large, national corporation that now owns it.

There was no goodbye lunch, which I don't really mind, but is kind of annoying on one level. I mean, I worked hard, I was good, and I was nice. Where the hell is the recognition? In the past there have been a few farewells where the entire sports department got a free lunch out of someone's departure. For the lesser escapees, a group of us would get together for lunch at a nearby bar or restaurant. All I got was a Barnes and Noble gift card from Greg, one of the nice ones. But that's OK. I feel uncomfortable when all the attention's on me in that way. I prefer to have it on me in a different way, like a bunch of people reading what I write in the paper (or online) and praising me from afar.

Praise me, dammit!

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