Holy Jesus on a pogo stick, I work a lot. On the bright side, I don't work again until Thursday. On the dark side, I have play practice and all-state chorus practice Monday, chorus practice on Tuesday, and CCD and play practice Wednesday. Thursday night I close, and I have to get up at 5 on Friday morning so we can leave for all-state chorus.

Have I mentioned that I'm the soprano for AHS's all-state quartet? Well, I am.

Damn; I don't remember what I've posted on here. I'm a National Merit Semifinalist. Did I mention that one? I don't know.

I'm a decent Corporate Pizza Joint waitress. At least, my tips would indicate it. I'm good at the people part; I suck at the cleaning part, and I fucking hate when they make me do food prep. I make lots and lots of money in tips, which is nice.

I swear too much.

My hair's getting too long. I can't decide if I want to grow it long enough to put it in a ponytail for work (the front is still too short for that, and it requires manymany bobby pins) or if I just want to chop it off and go the headband-or-barrette route. Damn food service requirements.

CPJ Waiter tried to scare me in the employee parking lot today by jumping out and banging his fist on my car window in the dark. It didn't work; I just laughed, and then we talked about his coat and his "NO WAR" button. I want one.

I got a cell phone. Yay for voicemail.

I have a new fetish for lemon poppyseed muffins. I've always loved them, but I just found out that Hy-Vee sells fresh ones in packs of 4, so I blow half my tips on muffins. I'm addicted; it's ridiculous. If I ever get fired, I guarantee it's because I'll flunk my drug test because of opium.

I got to be all indie and cool the other day. I've started wearing black ballet slippers as shoes because they're comfortable and they match everything. Some girl told me, "It's been done before." I replied, "So? It's not really a question of whether or not it's been done before; it's a question of whether or not I like it." She was duly impressed, and my street cred was maintained.

There aren't very many Democrats in my school. Somebody called me a "radical," to which I replied, "I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center." I figured quoting Vonnegut was easier than laughing at them.

This is my life right now: work, school, work, work, homework that I never do, school, chorus practice, play practice, drumline practice, pep band, work, making up the homework that I never do, school, and work.

And dammit, the phone is never for me.

Today is New Clothes Day, and that is a beautiful thing.

This is my newest problem: when I get in the shower, the hot water opens my pores, and I can always smell the distinct odor of baking pizza. My natural scent is Eau de Pizza now. I am highly disturbed.

Did I mention that I work a lot?

A couple of days ago, a guy in my class tried to pants a sophomore during band. Apparently it's an uber-jock bonding thing. The sophomore, unfortunately, was wearing sweatpants and boxers, and um, everything came down. It was an eyeful, I'm sure. I'm just glad I was sitting behind the kid--that's a little better than I ever wanted to know any of my fellow percussionists.

Quote of the week (in reference to an amazingly dumb/annoying girl I know who happens to have a hot emo boyfriend that I'll admit to coveting): "I just want to kill her when she starts talking. I want to put her out of her misery. No, wait. Actually, I want to put her out of my misery."

So, George, would you like that cowboy hat broiled or fried?

Dos cosas hoy.

First off, I forgot some things about the newspaper rant. Grievance #43 reads: "Corrections to a previous article are to be placed in a separate 'Corrections' box, not at the end of this week's lead story as an afterthought." Grievance 44? "If an individual is wrongly identified, one would think that it would be quite obvious to spell said individual's name properly in the correction." Yes, yes: they wrote the wrong name as homecoming king, and then, in the correction, they spelled the real king's name incorrectly. Wait, it gets worse--they also identified the queen in the correction, and...you guessed it! They spelled her name wrong, too.

Do you think they'll print corrections to their correction?

And, for my second point of the eve: Jesus is painting my school. There's a good-looking fellow in roughly his mid-20s with long brown hair and a well-kept beard who works with the construction company as a painter. He always wears all white, adn he bears a distinct resemblance to the more handsome representations of Christ. So I guess the reborn Messiah is a South Dakotan house painter.

First things first, play me. (It won't open in a new window because I'm lazy, so you should actually finish reading this post before you click that.)

If you haven't been paying attention, I am the daughter of a newspaper editor. I was employed by a newspaper last year as a typesetter, and I was a reporter for the school newspaper. Journalism is in my blood.

This year, the school paper (actually, it's one page in the local paper) is under new staff leadership. Consequently, the journalism students have decided that newspaper is a class, not an activity, and students not in a journalism class are not allowed to be on the Red and White staff.

This makes me livid.

Issue #1 came out 2 weeks ago the day after coronation. I didn't read the whole thing. When I read the first story and noted that they named the wrong guy as Homecoming king, I couldn't bear to look at the rest. For God's sake, it's the school paper, it's the day after coronation: they've got nothing else to freaking write. They got the most basic fact in their biggest story completely wrong.

Jayson Blair is giggling like a schoolgirl right now.

I picked up issue #2 after an anonymous tip today. Dear God, it actually gets worse.

First off, I would like to note the headlines: "Victorious Homecoming," "John Quincy Public" (actually, it's the name of the boy who is this week's senior feature), "Homecoming Survey," and the only decent one, "Olson Attends YEA Camp." Inspired, aren't they?

We'll attack the only story that passed the Headline Test first. Exactly one paragraph long, it quickly flunks the Good Journalism Test once one notes that Olson is referred to by only his first name throughout the article; any reporter knows to use the last name only. This may be a small town, but if you're not in the chicken dinner news section, you shouldn't write with such a familiar tone. (For anyone who's wondering, "chicken dinner news" is what I call the section that has about 15 different paragraphs, each reading along the lines of, "So-and-so's daughter, now residing in California, visited him last Saturday." Nope, not kidding--in a small town, people call in their own "news," and the little old ladies get pissy if you don't publish it.)

Now, let's give the Olson article the six question runover.
What? Youth Engineering Adventure Camp.
Where? South Dakota State University.
Who? Olson, a junior at AHS.
Why? Olson has a strong interest in mechanics and engineering.
How? Olson "applied and was one of the twenty selected out of South Dakota's youth." [NOTE: Ask any grammar buff--a good journalist only writes out "twenty" if it begins the sentence.]

You may notice that something is missing. When did Olson attend the camp? Good question. The article doesn't say. Seems like a bit of an oversight, eh? Not if you have Olson in your study hall, as this little critic does. He's quick to admit, "I don't get why it's in there. That was in June." In other words, it ain't news, honey. Perhaps it's just me, but when your paper consists of four articles, you can't afford to be using filler the second week of publication.

Another big flaw in the Olson story is this: Olson had to "design a project with a group." That "group" accomplished a "task" and explained its "design." (I should note that the original article actually has the group explaining "their" design; pronouns, people.) Hm...could you vague that up for me?

Now, article #2: "Homecoming Survey." For this, 10 students were interviewed and asked what their favorite parts of homecoming were. Do we use direct quotations? Yup. Do we know enough to use quote marks to indicate those quotations? Nope. That would be too easy.

Article #3 is "Victorious Homecoming," and...gah. I can't even begin. With lines like "The cheerleaders also got the crowd ready for the game by doing a pep fest followed by the drum line, band, and flag twirlers," I don't even know how many [sic]'s to include. I could say six or seven things about that line alone: cheerleaders don't "do" a pep fest, "drumline" is one word, "flag twirlers" should be referred to as "flagettes" or a "color guard," etc. All the commas in the world couldn't save that sentence. Believe me, the rest of the article isn't any better.

Last, we have the senior feature. I'll give this one credit. As a journalist, the author of this piece shows some promise. The reporter is a sophomore, and with a little practice, he'll be a decent writer. This article is a mess, though; I don't have the heart to tear it to pieces. I will, however, note that the ending ("Chances are, John will never be without a friend") positively smacks of the new journalism teacher's fondness for saccharine.

Don't get me started on the photos. You should never have 11 two-inch photos on one page. Need I say more?

All in all, I managed to compile a list of 97 grievances. Ninety-seven basic errors in grammar, layout, photography, spelling, and reporting on one page.

Methinks an underground newspaper is in the works for AHS. I know quite a few students who were on the staff last year and can't be this year, so I have a feeling that the high school will be feeling the gentle wrath of a few dissatisfied reporters. A girl in my class is an excellent photographer with a big ego, and she'd jump at the chance to be our official photographer.

I think I could do it. I think I could start an alternative periodical for AHS. If the journalism class wants to kick us off the playground, we'll build a bigger and better one for ourselves.

Two weeks and 97 grievances later, I have a plan.

Ok, quick rant:

The most annoying thing in the world is when your boss asks you if you want to do your job.

"Allison, do you want to do dishes?"
"Well, ah, no, not really, but I will."

"Allison, would you like to go clean the bathrooms?"
"Yes, sahib. Why, there's nothing I love more than being paid less than four bucks an hour to scrub urinals."

"Allison, would you be willing to go fill the salad bar right now?"
"Fuck no, bitch."

Ok, maybe I just really don't like filling the salad bar. That's pretty much the one part of my job that I absolutely loathe. I don't really know why; it just irks me.

That said, I love my job, even when we do close an hour and a half late and I have to make a Hy-Vee run and a 30-minute commute that results in me getting home at 1:15 on a school night. I may be sleepy, but I made $44 for 7 hours' work, about 2 hours of which consisted of folding pizza boxes, wrapping silverware, and jamming out to David Bowie with the new cook.

Corporate Pizza Joint gets a gold star for the day.

Ooh, and I totally got a hit for "little lolita illegal porn" today.