I Am the News

I was just offered a sweet dealio (dealio? where did that come from? Too much watching of "The Office" [UK]) by Big Media. Soon -- if I did not fail the copyediting test, which featured a three-page snorefest of an article about Bombardier -- I will be controlling your media. I am the big floating green face behind the screen. Mwah ha ha. They lured me with promises of fun and benefits. Benefits! For the first time in six years I can have my teeth looked after and BUY NEW GLASSES (I have a real complex about my present glasses, which are losing all their anti-glare coating. When seen at a certain angle to the light, the glasses become totally opaque. I'm always afraid people will see it as an ominous sign, like the mad glint in the eye of a born killer). But it is bittersweet. I will miss the airy, colourful offices of the Immoderately Popular Women's Magazine, and the girly repartee. Instead, Big Media's offices seemed designed to keep you from knowing about things like time and weather. I.e., total dearth of windows. Also the decor is grubby and half the staff consists of etiolated older men. But how can I complain? They are even talking about letting me write for them! My name, delivered to your doorstep -- and yours, and yours, and yours...