In which Bwog staffers reminisce–namelessly, by and large–about how they occupied themselves for the last few months. If you’ve got something better, send
it (bwgossip@columbia.edu) in and we’ll share!
So my boss just sent me out on an errand, with nothing more than an address and his credit card. I assumed the location was a store, I assumed wrong. I ended up at a vet’s office, picking up his cat’s medicine. I returned to the office, pissed off, and told him, “I hope your cat doesn’t die.”
Ten minutes later, he walks over sheepishly, hands me a bottle of shitty wine and apologizes. Cellar No. 8. California Merlot. 2005, aged to perfection.
- Lucy Tang
Small(ish)-town newspaper writing is inexorably absurd. My summer experiences include: riding a creaky fire-boat around Lake Erie with drunk seamen, driving 2 hours in the rain because the police in Pennsylvania cracked a case about a pizza delivery man who robbed a bank just before his head literally exploded, interviewing historical re-enactors in one of their encampments (including a man named Ghost in the Head who actually lived the life of a 19th-century Native American trapper), having another reporter violently cuss out a cop who didn’t want to tell me the name of another cop’s baby who drowned in a pool, trying to get a bunch of media-hatin’ rednecks at a freakin’ tractor pull to talk to me… Not to mention the obituaries!
…Like sand through an hourglass, such were the days of my life.
- Katie Reedy
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