My favorite holiday. The whole world miraculously stopped for a moment last night, the same way it does every year, when the church lights were dimmed and every single parishioner held a lit candle in his/her hand, singing "Silent Night." Even if you're not very religious, I think it must be impossible not to be moved and calmed by such a moment. This year I was lucky enough to share it with my sister and her family, joining us for the holidays from Phoenix.
Now it's Christmas afternoon. Dinner is on the stove, the Christmas presents are all unwrapped and stacked neatly back under the tree, Harry Connick is crooning Christmas carols over the stereo, and my nephew Tesher is playing with his brand-new bouncy ball on my back porch. Life is good.
I hope your Christmas was just as warm and filled with love. This holiday brings to mind all those I love. Know that you're in my heart (and now I have two!).
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
This week’s sign that commercialism has darn-near ruined Christmas...
Urban Outfitters sells a “Charlie Brown Pathetic Tree” for $24, plus shipping.
Charlie Brown would be appalled that instead of showing some TLC to the world’s most humble pines, people are now buying fake designer versions. Good grief.
Joe Cool
From a caller I just hung up with (somehow we got talking about football):
“I never liked Joe Paterno, because he wears those darned tinted glasses. I just can’t get behind a guy if I can’t see his eyes.”
The caller said he spent his whole life not liking him for that reason, until one day after a bowl game in Florida he saw JoePa in the airport, standing there all by himself. “Wouldn't ya know, he had clear glasses on! I went up and introduced myself, and we talked for 15 minutes. I told him to please stop wearing those tinted glasses. Super nice fella. I’ve changed my mind about him.”
Wanted: A good laugh
Because I threw myself a pity party yesterday, I thought I’d post something today to make everybody laugh.
I’ve been painstakingly pawing through more than 50 reporter candidates' resumes and cover letters for the position I have open on my staff. I just hired my top pick, but in finding her I also came across quite a few lemons.
Here’s the Best of the Worst from the resumes I received. Enjoy.
• From someone who hasn’t settled on her own byline yet:
Good Morning,
My name is Vivi or Vanessa.
• From someone who just doesn’t want a curfew:
Dear Mrs. Robyn Passante,
Graduation is around the corner, and going back to my mother’s house just isn’t an option.
• From someone who is clearly making a difference in her community. And keeping track.:
....By way of mail and e-mail, I received seven notes of thanks from members of the community for various stories I wrote.
• From someone who thinks the way to an editor’s heart is through her stomach (he’s not far off):
Some cover letters read like zealous introductions to recipe books. No wonder editors skip the commentary and go straight to what’s in the pudding....
......Also, if you’re interested, I could share with you an old family recipe for a simple, delicious pudding snack — with or without the commentary.
• From someone who needs to proof his cover letter:
My passion for journalism grew from a love for current events, politics and of course writing. That is why I would like to apply for the reporter position at the Daily Courier that was posted on Journalismjobs.com.
• From someone who needs to proof his resume:
EDUCATION: Bachelor of arts: College of Charleston
Expected graduation: May 2005
• From someone who needs to learn the English language before he gets a job writing it:
A resume from Rakesh K. Singh in New Delhi included this stat:
Marital status: Double
• From someone who I’m clearly not worthy of having on my staff:
Dear Robyn,
I’m not one to brag, but you should know that I’m the third best living writer in the world. (If you want to count the dead, I’m number 14.) While most writers would be thrilled with such a ranking, I’m not satisfied. Why? Because I have yet to fulfill my number one goal: to work for you at The Island Packet.
Same guy (still not worthy. And did he just call me ‘baby’??):
....To summarize, I’d like to quote Bob Dylan: “You need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head.” Yeah, my head’s full of that many ideas.
• And my favorite. Read til the end ... it’s worth it. (What are scotch tape stories, anyway? And isn’t that a trademark?):
A pair of smarty pants, some sweaty armpits, a Google sniffing nose for trends and a fat kid showcasing talent in an eating contest.
The above list contains four items with no obvious relationship, except possibly as the punch line for a bad joke. But the four actually have one thing in common – it’s what defines me on a typical work day in the newsroom.
I am interested in the features writing position being offered at the Island Packet because much like a fat kid in a candy store, I am in my element when it comes to producing scotch tape stories and ideas that are clear and sticky. My penchant for informing readers is only rivaled by my uncanny knack to strike with comical kicks to the jowl in my writing. I know the importance of using nontraditional media to capture an audience and I can creatively use public records to find exciting stories. I pound the pavement to find trends, meet kooky people that nobody knows about and then I drop an anvil of interesting prose on a reader’s head.
These are PROFESSIONAL WRITERS, people. Sheesh.
I’ve been painstakingly pawing through more than 50 reporter candidates' resumes and cover letters for the position I have open on my staff. I just hired my top pick, but in finding her I also came across quite a few lemons.
Here’s the Best of the Worst from the resumes I received. Enjoy.
• From someone who hasn’t settled on her own byline yet:
Good Morning,
My name is Vivi or Vanessa.
• From someone who just doesn’t want a curfew:
Dear Mrs. Robyn Passante,
Graduation is around the corner, and going back to my mother’s house just isn’t an option.
• From someone who is clearly making a difference in her community. And keeping track.:
....By way of mail and e-mail, I received seven notes of thanks from members of the community for various stories I wrote.
• From someone who thinks the way to an editor’s heart is through her stomach (he’s not far off):
Some cover letters read like zealous introductions to recipe books. No wonder editors skip the commentary and go straight to what’s in the pudding....
......Also, if you’re interested, I could share with you an old family recipe for a simple, delicious pudding snack — with or without the commentary.
• From someone who needs to proof his cover letter:
My passion for journalism grew from a love for current events, politics and of course writing. That is why I would like to apply for the reporter position at the Daily Courier that was posted on Journalismjobs.com.
• From someone who needs to proof his resume:
EDUCATION: Bachelor of arts: College of Charleston
Expected graduation: May 2005
• From someone who needs to learn the English language before he gets a job writing it:
A resume from Rakesh K. Singh in New Delhi included this stat:
Marital status: Double
• From someone who I’m clearly not worthy of having on my staff:
Dear Robyn,
I’m not one to brag, but you should know that I’m the third best living writer in the world. (If you want to count the dead, I’m number 14.) While most writers would be thrilled with such a ranking, I’m not satisfied. Why? Because I have yet to fulfill my number one goal: to work for you at The Island Packet.
Same guy (still not worthy. And did he just call me ‘baby’??):
....To summarize, I’d like to quote Bob Dylan: “You need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head.” Yeah, my head’s full of that many ideas.
• And my favorite. Read til the end ... it’s worth it. (What are scotch tape stories, anyway? And isn’t that a trademark?):
A pair of smarty pants, some sweaty armpits, a Google sniffing nose for trends and a fat kid showcasing talent in an eating contest.
The above list contains four items with no obvious relationship, except possibly as the punch line for a bad joke. But the four actually have one thing in common – it’s what defines me on a typical work day in the newsroom.
I am interested in the features writing position being offered at the Island Packet because much like a fat kid in a candy store, I am in my element when it comes to producing scotch tape stories and ideas that are clear and sticky. My penchant for informing readers is only rivaled by my uncanny knack to strike with comical kicks to the jowl in my writing. I know the importance of using nontraditional media to capture an audience and I can creatively use public records to find exciting stories. I pound the pavement to find trends, meet kooky people that nobody knows about and then I drop an anvil of interesting prose on a reader’s head.
These are PROFESSIONAL WRITERS, people. Sheesh.
two kinds
When I told my friend Tom (dad to an 18-month-old girl) I was pregnant, he was thrilled for me, but warned me that there would be two types of reactions to the news. Most would be nothing but excitement and well-wishing. But there would be others, he said, who will react with comments and attitudes I wasn't quite expecting. He didn't elaborate, and I thought he was crazy.
I was wrong.
Mostly, people have been as happy for me as my own family was. But there are others out there who lace their "happiness" with words that don't seem all that supportive. I've heard excruciating stories of forceps and stitches and 40-hour labors. I've gotten lectures on breast-feeding and natural childbirth. And I've been told, over and over, gleefully and giggly, that I will get fat. That people can't WAIT for me to get fat. That I'm going to "finally" be fat, from my face to my toes. (Someone actually said, with an almost dreamy smile, "Your face will get fat and everything! You just wait!")
I saw a former co-worker last week who actually poked me repeatedly in the arm, closing her eyes and shaking with happiness as she said "I can't wait to see you get fat!!" She did not say it in a joking manner. Everyone we were sitting with just looked at her in horror. I never knew how many people can't stand the fact that I'm thin.
Last week the editor of my paper refused to use a photo of a pregnant woman being examined by a doctor on the front page. Her belly was exposed, and the editor said "I'm not putting that beached whale on my front page. Nobody wants to see that." When I heard that, it made me want to cry. It's a good thing I wasn't in the meeting when he said it. I've been able to keep these hormones of mine in check thus far (though admittedly the lady poking me almost sent me over the edge), but it won't be long before I no longer keep my mouth shut.
I'd say something tough like "Consider yourselves warned," but nobody who reads this blog has thrown anything but peace and love in my direction. I just needed to vent.
Sigh. I feel better. :) I guess I'll take my skinny ass (with, indeed, a bit of a belly) to bed.
I was wrong.
Mostly, people have been as happy for me as my own family was. But there are others out there who lace their "happiness" with words that don't seem all that supportive. I've heard excruciating stories of forceps and stitches and 40-hour labors. I've gotten lectures on breast-feeding and natural childbirth. And I've been told, over and over, gleefully and giggly, that I will get fat. That people can't WAIT for me to get fat. That I'm going to "finally" be fat, from my face to my toes. (Someone actually said, with an almost dreamy smile, "Your face will get fat and everything! You just wait!")
I saw a former co-worker last week who actually poked me repeatedly in the arm, closing her eyes and shaking with happiness as she said "I can't wait to see you get fat!!" She did not say it in a joking manner. Everyone we were sitting with just looked at her in horror. I never knew how many people can't stand the fact that I'm thin.
Last week the editor of my paper refused to use a photo of a pregnant woman being examined by a doctor on the front page. Her belly was exposed, and the editor said "I'm not putting that beached whale on my front page. Nobody wants to see that." When I heard that, it made me want to cry. It's a good thing I wasn't in the meeting when he said it. I've been able to keep these hormones of mine in check thus far (though admittedly the lady poking me almost sent me over the edge), but it won't be long before I no longer keep my mouth shut.
I'd say something tough like "Consider yourselves warned," but nobody who reads this blog has thrown anything but peace and love in my direction. I just needed to vent.
Sigh. I feel better. :) I guess I'll take my skinny ass (with, indeed, a bit of a belly) to bed.
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