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The Ink is Black

   I'm experiencing a bit of a dilemma. I am no longer jobless. I am still, however, a bit of a goddess — although of the Rubenesque variety.
   This leads me to pondering a new name for the blog, and because I am now employed, my brain is all cramped up and I cannot begin to decide on a new title.
   I am openly soliciting suggestions. I have been told that the word "goddess" is a little intimidating. Far be it from me to project a strong personality. Whatever.
   These days my brain is freeze-dried at the end of the day. Makes me wonder what the hell I was doing for 16 years at my previous job. That place was a cake walk compared to my new situation.
   At the Catholic paper, on Fridays when we had to finish the layout, correct and produce the paper, I'd throw my Steppenwolf CD on and do a little dancing on the old magic carpet. Here, after we finish the paper, I have to run home and soak my feet.
   I can't figure out whether this job is more challenging or if I was just an enormous slacker at the other one.
   One nice thing is that we have this great art director who serves as a live radio. He sings the hits from 1970 forward — just my kind of guy. I have taken to giving him requests. Today it was anything by Three Dog Night.
   I heard Joy to the World on my way into work this morning and was instantaneously transported to my old bedroom with the white shag footprint rug and the inflatable zebra print chair. Hairbrush in hand, I would play the 45 I got off the cereal box — the first record I ever owned. There's not much I wouldn't give to hear a little Eli's Coming and who doesn't get warm and fuzzy when they hear … The ink is black, the page is white … together we learn to read and write. I could sing their praises all day.
   Anyway, I'm trying to adjust to my new work environment. The newsroom is open at the Vineyard Gazette, which I usually like. But it's tricky when someone cracks a joke or takes an office poll about the quality of the miniature Snickers bars somebody brought in while you're on the telephone with a source you've waited three days to talk to. Not that a copy editor has a source, but by golly when the librarian's aid calls and wants to tell me about the new book she's reading at story time, I'd like a little peace and quiet. Sheesh.
   I guess the up side is that I'm employed and am the proud owner of health insurance. Never mind the tired piggies and endless chore lists I leave for my husband every morning. I'm glad to have a place to go every day and I'm glad to be part of putting a newspaper together. Some people feel a sense of accomplishment after climbing a mountain. I feel that way at 8 p.m. on a Thursday when the resident DJ tells the print department that page one is ready.

You never monkey with the truth.  Ben Bradlee


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