Ah, there you are. Looking at your myspace, scanning your facebook, hopelessly awkward and refusing to say no.
Without you, my caffeine headache may have killed me by now. Without you, that entire pile of hotel brochures would be unsorted, unlogged and definitely uncared for.
You are the backbone of this fine industry (believe it) and without you, publishing would be filled with coffee stained, emotionally drained anal retentive assholes who never get anything done. But thank goodness for you.
How willing you are to please me, how you take on the most tedious of tasks with nary a groan. The only thing that worries me is that I don't trust you - I don't trust that you will take off to greener pastures, something that perhaps pays you real money and doesn't think that "experience" and free vodka is going to pay your bills. But I understand. I was once you. I once had to prove myself to a group of totally ignorant editors who went for fancy lunches and spent hours on G-chat while I had to listen to them explain the same task to me three times.
And I vowed that I would never follow in their boots, but instead, treat every one of my interns with kindness and respect. And while I don't know half of your names, all I know is that you made me coffee and filled out some spreadsheets.
I know your parents don't understand. They didn't live in a world where there was free labor, and they certainly didn't aspire to be fashion writers. But I understand. I know that you are only a quarter of the way there, and much more clawing, crying, whining and copy/pasting will be done before you get to the top.
Our partnership, dear interns, brings a tear to my eye. With you by my side, I can take an extra hour at lunch, and no one (but you) will be the wiser.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Nightlife photography: A rant
The internet, besides being a warm glow in a dark room and my most consistent friend, is good to me. I am incredibly dexterous in its maneuvering, it has produced some of my best friends and greatest laughs, and its the only way I'm ever really reachable.
Aside from lolcats, youtube and obscure videogames, the internet has a dark, treacherous side, luring young unsuspecting girls (and boys) into doing heinous acts. The internet is responsible for an addiction, a dirty habit that has surfaced with a vengeance in the past year. Alongside myspace came this new phenomenon, and not only is it dangerous, but its demeaning.
Yes, my friends. Nightlife photography.
But Leila, what is this nightlife photography? Didn't you yourself participate in it?
This is true. Many years ago, I employed myself as a photographer for mtldnb.com, snapping shots and documenting parties. Here is the thing - I didn't realize NP (nightlife photography, or near porn or no pride) would be viral. I didn't know it would lead to this:
A teeming squirming pukefest
Yes, LNP is probably the worst offender, but every city has that one hipster blog that makes parties look like SO much fun. Why aren't my friends having this much fun? Why don't we get asked to take runny eyeliner pictures in a telephone booth in Berlin...or worse, on Sullivan street! Why don't my friends have careless lives and flawless skin?
Because the people who exist in nightlife photography exist FOR nightlife photography. Here we are, in the age of the internet, where we all feel like we have this self-important right to be heard. We have youtube, blogs (the irony is duly noted), facebook - all of these mechanisms that entirely satiate our desire to see and be seen. There we are, internet stalking people we met the night before, telling the world about our lives in publicly accessible forums.
That notion, the notion that we are all glorious creatures that deserve the world's attention, has spawned NP. Suddenly we have new icons and avatars that bear that little watermark saying nickydigital or everyoneisfamous on the bottom. Suddenly we feel like pseudo celebrities with the flash going off, hoping that we made the cut the next day when we scroll the blogs. Look at us, our skin perfect from the washed out light, our hair delightfully amiss.
And those who depend on the nightlife (for money, sex, some sense of validation) are now depending on their appearances at these blogs. Here is someone documenting what was once undocumented (who was seen where, from everything to the Misshapes to Trouble & Bass)
The bottom line is its just a big ego fest, and its done in the most sleazy of ways.
But perhaps I'm jealous. Perhaps I want to be seen online. But I really think that I am just so amazed that anyone out there has the energy to create and sustain (and stay interested in!) the world depicted in nightlife photography.
That is all.
Aside from lolcats, youtube and obscure videogames, the internet has a dark, treacherous side, luring young unsuspecting girls (and boys) into doing heinous acts. The internet is responsible for an addiction, a dirty habit that has surfaced with a vengeance in the past year. Alongside myspace came this new phenomenon, and not only is it dangerous, but its demeaning.
Yes, my friends. Nightlife photography.
But Leila, what is this nightlife photography? Didn't you yourself participate in it?
This is true. Many years ago, I employed myself as a photographer for mtldnb.com, snapping shots and documenting parties. Here is the thing - I didn't realize NP (nightlife photography, or near porn or no pride) would be viral. I didn't know it would lead to this:
A teeming squirming pukefest
Yes, LNP is probably the worst offender, but every city has that one hipster blog that makes parties look like SO much fun. Why aren't my friends having this much fun? Why don't we get asked to take runny eyeliner pictures in a telephone booth in Berlin...or worse, on Sullivan street! Why don't my friends have careless lives and flawless skin?
Because the people who exist in nightlife photography exist FOR nightlife photography. Here we are, in the age of the internet, where we all feel like we have this self-important right to be heard. We have youtube, blogs (the irony is duly noted), facebook - all of these mechanisms that entirely satiate our desire to see and be seen. There we are, internet stalking people we met the night before, telling the world about our lives in publicly accessible forums.
That notion, the notion that we are all glorious creatures that deserve the world's attention, has spawned NP. Suddenly we have new icons and avatars that bear that little watermark saying nickydigital or everyoneisfamous on the bottom. Suddenly we feel like pseudo celebrities with the flash going off, hoping that we made the cut the next day when we scroll the blogs. Look at us, our skin perfect from the washed out light, our hair delightfully amiss.
And those who depend on the nightlife (for money, sex, some sense of validation) are now depending on their appearances at these blogs. Here is someone documenting what was once undocumented (who was seen where, from everything to the Misshapes to Trouble & Bass)
The bottom line is its just a big ego fest, and its done in the most sleazy of ways.
But perhaps I'm jealous. Perhaps I want to be seen online. But I really think that I am just so amazed that anyone out there has the energy to create and sustain (and stay interested in!) the world depicted in nightlife photography.
That is all.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Ctrl Z
Today on my way to work, I was carrying my coffee and naturally spilled it all over my cashmere blend, monumentally warm but still form fitting, near-revolutionary winter coat. I immediately went to Ctrl Z.
This was mildly alarming, but then I remembered the other week when I accidentally called a coworker another coworkers name, loudly and in front of other people, and I reached my hand out, again, to hit Ctrl Z.
I mean, its natural to want an undo button in every day matters, but I really need to spend less time on the computer.
Nuts.
This was mildly alarming, but then I remembered the other week when I accidentally called a coworker another coworkers name, loudly and in front of other people, and I reached my hand out, again, to hit Ctrl Z.
I mean, its natural to want an undo button in every day matters, but I really need to spend less time on the computer.
Nuts.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Ledger is Over
My roommate is devastated over the untimely passing of the young, virile Heath Ledger. Like the good roommate I am, I picked up some wine on my way home and started emailing and drinking. I am a small girl; small enough so a couple of glasses leave me a bit fuzzy, and in the wake of a highly stressful day (YOU try working in an all gay office and having the stare of Brokeback Mountain die...a couple of people needed to leave early). I've decided to do what I normally do when I've been drinking and emailing.
Internet shopping.
Most people, after a night of binging, wake up remorseful and with a headache. I wake up poor. I check my browser history and shudder. I get packages for the next few days and shake my head in sorrow. It's awful.
Here are some things I am thinking of splurging on tonight:
A stuffed Cthulu, found here:
Dramatically overpriced but still severely reduced Helmut Lang jeans found here:
Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men featuring my favorite X-Man Shadowcat found here:
I was going to say Spanx, but my roommate (who is moderately enjoying the wine and still awfully upset over her Knight's Tale being over) brought up the fact that her ass is already held up by youth and exuberance, and I think she has quite a point.
Eyelash dye. I've always been interested, and what could possible go wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just my eyes...I have two of them! Found here.
A Prince poster. Really, really find a problem with it. You can't, can you? You walk in to a house where someone owns a Prince poster...you immediately fall in love with them. No contest. Its over. Buy one here, probably for your benefit:
And after all of this - all I got were some mere magic screens, courtesy of my favorite, Oriental Trading:
Whatever, it was three dollars. It was either that, or "10 Things I hate About You" in honor of the tragedy that befell us here in New York today.
Welcome to my blog, kittens.
Internet shopping.
Most people, after a night of binging, wake up remorseful and with a headache. I wake up poor. I check my browser history and shudder. I get packages for the next few days and shake my head in sorrow. It's awful.
Here are some things I am thinking of splurging on tonight:
A stuffed Cthulu, found here:
Dramatically overpriced but still severely reduced Helmut Lang jeans found here:
Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men featuring my favorite X-Man Shadowcat found here:
I was going to say Spanx, but my roommate (who is moderately enjoying the wine and still awfully upset over her Knight's Tale being over) brought up the fact that her ass is already held up by youth and exuberance, and I think she has quite a point.
Eyelash dye. I've always been interested, and what could possible go wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just my eyes...I have two of them! Found here.
A Prince poster. Really, really find a problem with it. You can't, can you? You walk in to a house where someone owns a Prince poster...you immediately fall in love with them. No contest. Its over. Buy one here, probably for your benefit:
And after all of this - all I got were some mere magic screens, courtesy of my favorite, Oriental Trading:
Whatever, it was three dollars. It was either that, or "10 Things I hate About You" in honor of the tragedy that befell us here in New York today.Welcome to my blog, kittens.
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