muggy day
yesterday i saw a L'Oreal commercial for an anti-frizz serum, with the usual before-and-after images of a girl staring sadly into the mirror until the camera swoops around and her frizz transforms into smooth shiny locks. usually, the "before" picture looks like the girl stuck her finger into an electric socket, but in this commercial? the "before" girl had MY HAIR. totally reasonable, somewhat frizzy, but still cute, hair. MINE. (reference Facebook Group "I Have Big Curly Hair and I'm Not Sorry") i was very offended and am considering writing a letter.
two or three weeks in the city and things are goin' alright, but i suspect that cockroaches are exploring my kitchen in the middle of the night. other than that, the apartment is swank, the weather is insane, and today at The New Press i decided that i really like working there and working in publishing, tout court.
which isn't to say that i hadn't liked it before: it's a nice place, the other interns are fun, and the work has been decent if not exhilarating. but the other day we got to sit in during an editorial board meeting, and today the Publisher gave one of the monthly "intern seminars" (free lunch + staff member talking about what s/he does), and it's these moments of insight into the whole process of making books that have got me kind of excited.
at The New Press there is a middle-aged Eastern European woman who handles all the money stuff and like more than one other middle-aged Eastern European woman i have met, she has a bit of a mother-crush on me. i am not sure why this is a recurring thing, but when she began pinching my cheeks and touching my curls, i did not experience surprise so much as i thought to myself, "ah yes, this sometimes happens." perhaps there's an explanation for this phenomenon somewhere.
here's another question: how has the "Shamu" article stayed at the top of the Most Emailed list for like three weeks? i mean, sure it was mildly interesting, but i compulsively read the "Modern Love" column anyway (BIG guilty pleasure, even better than the Weddings). i impulse-bought the Sunday Times when i was grocery-shopping this weekend, but it takes the whole week to read it! and now i'm distracted by the Village Voice which i think i should read for local color. the latter publication also functioned as an umbrella when i got caught in the rain this afternoon. crazy New York summers.
Project Runway starts tonight and my spirit will be with you. the rest of me will be on my couch with my friend Jessie and a bottle of wine.
hey, does anyone know how to change what location it says under my name, to the right of the page? i've already updated it in my profile but can't figure out how to change it here. very tricky.
anyway, when i'm not at The New Press, i'm working twice a week for a literary agent named Irene. she's full of stories and surprises. for instance, work last friday was remarkable for two reasons:
1) i found Gabriel Garcia Marquez's number on a card in her Rolodex.
2) while demonstrating how to use the postage meter, Irene told me to "flush right, then push the label all the way up. it's just like putting in a diaphragm."
two or three weeks in the city and things are goin' alright, but i suspect that cockroaches are exploring my kitchen in the middle of the night. other than that, the apartment is swank, the weather is insane, and today at The New Press i decided that i really like working there and working in publishing, tout court.
which isn't to say that i hadn't liked it before: it's a nice place, the other interns are fun, and the work has been decent if not exhilarating. but the other day we got to sit in during an editorial board meeting, and today the Publisher gave one of the monthly "intern seminars" (free lunch + staff member talking about what s/he does), and it's these moments of insight into the whole process of making books that have got me kind of excited.
at The New Press there is a middle-aged Eastern European woman who handles all the money stuff and like more than one other middle-aged Eastern European woman i have met, she has a bit of a mother-crush on me. i am not sure why this is a recurring thing, but when she began pinching my cheeks and touching my curls, i did not experience surprise so much as i thought to myself, "ah yes, this sometimes happens." perhaps there's an explanation for this phenomenon somewhere.
here's another question: how has the "Shamu" article stayed at the top of the Most Emailed list for like three weeks? i mean, sure it was mildly interesting, but i compulsively read the "Modern Love" column anyway (BIG guilty pleasure, even better than the Weddings). i impulse-bought the Sunday Times when i was grocery-shopping this weekend, but it takes the whole week to read it! and now i'm distracted by the Village Voice which i think i should read for local color. the latter publication also functioned as an umbrella when i got caught in the rain this afternoon. crazy New York summers.
Project Runway starts tonight and my spirit will be with you. the rest of me will be on my couch with my friend Jessie and a bottle of wine.
hey, does anyone know how to change what location it says under my name, to the right of the page? i've already updated it in my profile but can't figure out how to change it here. very tricky.
anyway, when i'm not at The New Press, i'm working twice a week for a literary agent named Irene. she's full of stories and surprises. for instance, work last friday was remarkable for two reasons:
1) i found Gabriel Garcia Marquez's number on a card in her Rolodex.
2) while demonstrating how to use the postage meter, Irene told me to "flush right, then push the label all the way up. it's just like putting in a diaphragm."
posted by priyanka at 9:10 AM
3 Comments:
wait, never mind about the location thing. clearly i figured it out.
i've also wondered about shamu.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Irene sounds amazing!
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