I am unbelievably livid right now.

I spent a couple hours earlier today moving Mae out of her room in my residence hall to another room across campus. I don’t feel comfortable spilling all the details of roommate nightmare Mae has been going through this past three weeks, but suffice it to say that I was already glad I didn’t run into her former roommate.

I refrained from sending criticism when the decision was made to displace Mae because I couldn’t find a way to word it such that I would come across more hard-hitting than “bitching, complaining, subjective friend.”

This, however, is her roommate’s response to Mae’s departure.

In fact, let me quote:

Continue reading .

Feeling just a bit betrayed. But is it really that serious?

No, it’s not. But I’m taking a break from my regularly scheduled schedule to ponder the issue.

This past week, Bob had a photography project. He was supposed to photograph a full spectrum of the social interactions of some group, and he chose the Thorn. Since I was in the office so often this week because of the hours I was keeping, he wanted me to be the victim subject of some of the photos.

I don’t like being on the wrong end of a camera. I am not a photogenic girl. I am not pretty or sexy. I don’t bother with make-up primarily because I feel that painting this mug isn’t going to do me much good. I do not dress well. Any attractiveness I may have is most likely solely derived from my sheer force of personality or my silliness. My mother has only been able to get one or two pictures of me since I hit middle school, including those damned school pictures they throw at you every year in school.

I let Bob take one picture of me anyway, because I most likely wouldn’t be readily identifiable. The night before, I had spent the night working DISCO problems on the whiteboard in the office, and I’d drawn one of those little faces with X’s for eyes and a dot for a mouth, and I’d added wriggles indicating my nappy, much pulled-on hair. Above it, I wrote “FUCKED”. Bob was tickled at the idea of a picture of a hunched over, stressed-out student, books everywhere with crossed-out work all over the board. So I let him take it.

Continue reading Feeling just a bit betrayed. But is it really that serious?

A hiccup in progress.

I’m laying out the front page, and just realized that since my story fell through and I’m avoiding putting my name on the transcribed interview, all content was produced by the co-editors-in-chief. Well, I did the News Briefs.

There’s something wrong in the way I’m running my section when no one in my section is doing the work…

In other news, I got a big “hooray” at the idea of our school’s president paying attention to us (the newspaper) all because of the “wake-[the-fuck]-up” e-mail I sent him at the end of summer. Almost makes up for the fact that this issue of the paper has so little of my creative energies put into it (such as they are normally) that it feels like crap. Dr. McKnuckleberry is going to bitch at me either way this week–one, for running the ad for the www@10 conference next to a wire story about it, or for running a non-conference wire story and completely missing talking about the event before it occurs.

At this point, he’d have to be very direct and in my face for me to care, and then I’d probably just throw a chair across the room and walk out. The only problem would be that I might not come back. That would lighten my load…

Continue reading A hiccup in progress.