I still remember the feel of the sheets I found in a department store in downtown Kerrville, Texas, (the one that’s gone now, Schreiner’s) that I wanted to buy with what was left of my going-away gift certificate from my coworkers. I stood there, in the linens department, for 20 minutes, feeling those sheets—Egyptian cotton, 400-thread count—my fingers shoved into the packaging, caressing the material like a big weirdo and daydreaming about how it would feel to sleep on them.
Twenty minutes! Really!
The set was on sale for $80 and I had the money for it but I also had Libby and Bella, two pooches, who would have ruined them immediately while not experiencing a single pang of guilt for doing so.
Oh, but I wanted those sheets in the worst way! It is one of those times that stand out clearly in my mind. The longing—they call it that because the feeling lasts a bit—then denial, acceptance and the walk-away.
I loved that store and the things it sold: always they had lovely home goods, my favorite section.
I sighed, put the package down, looked around to see if anyone was taking special notice of me and walked away slowly, hoping to prevent myself from being arrested for acting like a sheets pervert.
I don’t have any Egyptian cotton sheets still, nor do I have Libby and Bella any more, and I’m OK with all of it.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Headline Strikes Fear
As a newspaper editor, one of my favorite things to do was write headlines, and if I look at a newspaper nowadays, I swiftly scan Page One and judge each headline, subhead and cutline as if it were in a contest. Because, really, among those tasked with the job, I can say we are a competitive bunch, within and between newsrooms, and want to do our best.
While on deadline, I’d get the lead story and drop it in place, and prepare for my favorite part, writing the headline. I was lucky to have other editors and reporters who were key to inspiring pithy turns of phrase.
I’d yell out, “Marty! I need help with this headline.” Marty, being the quickest producer of good—and lengthy, when necessary—front page copy, never frazzled by deadline, would jump up and come over and we would start throwing out suggestions, beginning with the stupidest. Pretty soon the newsroom staff would be cracking up. It would spur others to throw in their craziness when somebody in the bunch, like Jane, would yell out something that made all of us say, “That’s it!” And we’d all turn back to what we were doing, assured that we were working together, turning out another great product, one that renewed every 24 hours.
Got a chuckle the other day while surfing: Being unable to avoid the strip of pictures and headlines that show up on Yahoo! News from catching my eye, I found it funny what stories are deemed interesting and how their placement may or may not be critical any more, given the short time a story is featured online before being pushed down in the queue.
These two were side by side: “Swimmer Dies In Open Water Race” and “Kate Hudson’s Style Misstep”
It was amusing to me that they were next to each other.
Clearly, one was far more important than the other.
While a swimmer dying during a race would have been lead worthy in a print version of the hometown paper, I was never going to click on that one, not being a swimmer and the story likely not local to me. And it was bad news, something I strive to avoid.
Instead, I found my curser hovering over the more important link, drawn to what could possibly be so bad as to warrant a story about what the lovely Kate Hudson was wearing. I was thinking that clicking on this story might bring me a laugh at best, and at the very least, there’d be a picture of Ms. Hudson, who has never been a disappointment to look at no matter what she does or doesn’t have on.
But I didn’t. Click on it.
It was fear I might find that somebody actually believed it was important. Which reminded me that all news is bad, thoroughly avoidable and completely unimportant.
Unless you're getting paid to write it.
While on deadline, I’d get the lead story and drop it in place, and prepare for my favorite part, writing the headline. I was lucky to have other editors and reporters who were key to inspiring pithy turns of phrase.
I’d yell out, “Marty! I need help with this headline.” Marty, being the quickest producer of good—and lengthy, when necessary—front page copy, never frazzled by deadline, would jump up and come over and we would start throwing out suggestions, beginning with the stupidest. Pretty soon the newsroom staff would be cracking up. It would spur others to throw in their craziness when somebody in the bunch, like Jane, would yell out something that made all of us say, “That’s it!” And we’d all turn back to what we were doing, assured that we were working together, turning out another great product, one that renewed every 24 hours.
Got a chuckle the other day while surfing: Being unable to avoid the strip of pictures and headlines that show up on Yahoo! News from catching my eye, I found it funny what stories are deemed interesting and how their placement may or may not be critical any more, given the short time a story is featured online before being pushed down in the queue.
These two were side by side: “Swimmer Dies In Open Water Race” and “Kate Hudson’s Style Misstep”
It was amusing to me that they were next to each other.
Clearly, one was far more important than the other.
While a swimmer dying during a race would have been lead worthy in a print version of the hometown paper, I was never going to click on that one, not being a swimmer and the story likely not local to me. And it was bad news, something I strive to avoid.
Instead, I found my curser hovering over the more important link, drawn to what could possibly be so bad as to warrant a story about what the lovely Kate Hudson was wearing. I was thinking that clicking on this story might bring me a laugh at best, and at the very least, there’d be a picture of Ms. Hudson, who has never been a disappointment to look at no matter what she does or doesn’t have on.
But I didn’t. Click on it.
It was fear I might find that somebody actually believed it was important. Which reminded me that all news is bad, thoroughly avoidable and completely unimportant.
Unless you're getting paid to write it.
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