This morning, I came in to work and asked our current intern how things are going?

"Ask [Assistant Editor] how it's going," she says, so I walk over to the Assistant Editor's cubicle.

"[Intern] says to ask how it's going," I say to him, and he begins to laugh maniacally as he turns his computer monitor towards me so I can read the New York Times article:

CurtCo Media, publisher of The Robb Report and 15 other magazines for the very wealthy that often wind up on coffee tables in East Hampton, N.Y., and Palm Beach, Fla., is putting its catalog of titles up for sale. The company may be sold for more than $500 million, perhaps to a rival publisher like Condé Nast or American Express Publishing, or to a private equity firm [...]Besides The Robb Report and a series of offshoots like Robb Report Luxury Home, the magazines includes Worth, Art & Antiques Magazine and ShowBoats International.

We're being sold. Again.

Not only are we being sold again, we found out we were being sold when a freelance writer for the magazine sent us the link to the NY Times articles. Our Editor-in-Chief, Managing Editor, and Art Director just got back from Malibu, where they were meeting with the CurtCo head honchos, and not a word of this was mentioned. Someone from the company contacted the Editor-in-Chief about it today...after we'd already read the article.

So this transitional period we're going through...it's for nothing, because it's going to happen all over again in a few months. This time, I doubt there will be guarantees about everyone keeping his/her job or lies about how "nothing will change." I am so glad I am about to jump ship that I can't even express my relief that I won't be here when this happens. Still, I am pissed for my co-workers, who have been lied to and strung along. I am very angry at the treatment they are receiving from CurtCo. This whole thing is a joke.

I have referred to the intial sale as a prison rape. Well, the big dude has just traded us to another inmate for a pack of smokes and some toilet paper. Classy.

To top that off, the previous owner of our magazine complained about the magazine's employees wearing denim on Friday. The previous owner's employees can't wear denim and since they are "our hosts" (correct me if I'm wrong, but since we're paying rent to be here, doesn't that make them landlords, not hosts?) and we don't want to offend anyone, the one good thing to come of out this whole sale is being taken away from us. What a joke.

One more week before I put in my letter of resignation. One more month before I leave, and this whole mess is no longer my problem.

Art galleries, like theatres, are typically closed on Mondays. This does beg the question of why we must work on Mondays, when on these days we cannot contact over half of our sources. Come to think of it, galleries also tend to keep 10-6 hours. That wouldn't be half bad, either.

Of course, my plan has flaws. Galleries are open on Saturdays, which isn't exactly my idea of happy working funtime. And just taking into account the continental American galleries, we'd have to be in the office from 10am-9pm to accomodate gallery hours.

Ok, nix the "keep the same hours as the galleries" idea.

My coffee is cold and my cubicle is cluttered and the May issue is on my desk. On a Monday, sometimes one out of three is the best you can hope for.

Oh yes, it must be the sound of me drowning in a sea of tasks that I don't really recall being a part of my job description.

I'm sure that you remember the issues with the job description. The document of which I was given three copies (two annotated) and told to "display prominently" so I wouldn't "forget" what tasks I should expect to complete on a daily basis, because clearly I am too incompetent to read minds using said job description as my scrying device. The document over which I was harassed, insulted, and, dare I say it, even a bit persecuted. Yes, that document.

I would like to know where in this document I was suddenly moved into the Sales or Contracts department. I've read it. I've reread it. I can't find "gather sales leads" or "rewrite contracts" in there anywhere.

Yes, I understand I have a plethora of "general administrative duties," so many that they should have, in fact, called my position Administrative Assistant, and not Editorial Assistant, but sales leads and contracts just don't seem to fall under that general admin. umbrella. I returned to work this week to discover no fewer than 25 emails from the Managing Editor in my inbox, most of which were sent on Saturday and Sunday (she thinks up the best tasks for me over the weekend), instructing me to gather sales leads and rewrite contracts.

A little backstory: the official sale of the company to Ritzy Lifestyle Magazine owners happened last week, so this week we're all scrambling to change the way we do things, despite the assurance that little-to-nothing would change. Riiiiight. When the buyer tells the buyees that nothing about their jobs will change, look for crossed fingers. I remember the '80s and the IBM/Sears merger. I remember the promises that were made to my IBM-employed father and his co-workers, and how long those promises lasted. If you aren't familiar with that particular story, instead call to mind the land deals brokered with the Native Americans, only with fewer smallpox. So, honestly, I didn't go into this buyout expecting the hunkidoriness that other, more optimistic (or naive, take your pick) people might have expected. I honestly expected all of us to get screwed with our pants on, as my mother would put it (and did put it, after the IBM/Sears debacle).

And yes, the screwing has begun in earnest. The pants-on screwing is rampant at the Art Magazine.

The editorial staff have been screwed out of their paid lunch. Because they typically work more than 40 hours in a week, office hours here were previously 9-5, with an hour of paid lunch (which each employee worked through at least once a week). Under the new ownership, work hours are extended to 8:30-5:30, with a mandatory unpaid lunch. This was a last-minute edition to the sale, of course, and not something the employees were told until the sale was completed. They also lose their holiday on Friday, as the previous owners of Art Magazine close on Good Friday, but the new owners do not. Oh, they have the option to take a personal day, of course, but that comes out of their own time. Again, this was a last minute, "oh, by the way" issue.

Since I don't get paid time off and I only work half-days anyway, however, the above screwing over of employees isn't a big problem for me. My problem comes from the fact that the new owners want a long, long list of tasks accomplished, and somehow it was determined that I was the Editorial Stooge for the job. First, a generation of sales leads. Now, I know that the new company has a huge sales department. You can't tell me that the new company doesn't already know the exact location of every single book store catering to every single affluent area in the United States. And yet, here I am, putting together a list of affluent or art-centric cities and the book stores which populate them. First we asked our writers to send us these lists, but then I had to fill in the holes, because as an affluent patron of the arts, I know a great deal about affluent, art-centric cities and the bookstores which populate them. Or, you know, not. With the help of the writers, I was able to put together a pretty good list, but it does leave me wondering why neither the sales department of the big new owners NOR the sales guy we brought with us from the original owners of Art Magazine could manage this on their own. Instead, I spent the beginning of my week neglecting the editorial staff to compile this list. How is that helpful, I ask you?

Now I am putting together contracts. While this has an element of administrative work to it, what with the filling out of a contract template, the next step is decidedly non-administrative. The Managing Editor, currently away for a week of so-called vacation (during which time she phones and emails us every 20 minutes because she can't actually stand being away from the office), wants me to write up assignment and pay schedules, use her on-file signature to sign these contracts, and then mail them to the respective writers, all without the Managing Editor ever laying an eye on the contracts herself. Does that sound like the best idea to you? I'm not sure it is a good idea at all. I'm not even sure it's legal, let alone ethical, but whatever floats her boat. The precious sainted mail is on hold whilst I work on this crap.

I am drowning in paperwork. Little bubbles float up the surface and when they pop, you can hear my sad voice saying "kill me...kill me now."

Today we are all being terminated and no one is upset about it.

No, the magazine isn't closing down and we aren't restaffing. The sale of Art Magazine to the company that owns the high-end magazine is complete at 1PM today! In order for the sale to fully process and the employees to move the the new company, we're all required to fill out termination paperwork. Tomorrow the HR rep from the new company comes to help us fill out our hiring paperwork. There have been some jokes to the effect of "I'm not sure I want to fill out termination paperwork until I've already filled out the new hiring paperwork!" but everyone seems to be very happy. They're having a fancy dinner tonight, which I am not attending in favor of a presentation I am locked into doing for one of my graduate classes.

I'm annoyed that I have to go through a whole paperwork fiasco tomorrow, when I will be filling out those termination papers for good in less than two months, but I must keep up appearances until I turn in my letter of resignation on the first of May, I suppose.

Still, it's great news for the rest of the office. I'm happy for them. For me, I just want a nap.

I think someone spiked the water cooler with Clomid. We have a prolific office. Someone gets pregnant every few months around here, and the office really isn't that big. I'm sure a lot of that has to do with our employee demographic -- mostly young women, relatively newly married, at a time in their life when they either feel comfortable leaving the work force or they feel confident in their ability to balance career and family.

The big surprise, however, was the Managing Editor's pregnancy. Yes, that's right. My own personal tyrant is with child -- and the change in her personality couldn't be bigger. Apparantly, the stress of keeping her pregnancy from us in that first trimester was enough to drive her over the edge. She's she made the announcement, it's sunshine, roses, and kittens around here. We were all quite surprised. She has a son already, almost five years old, and we figured she'd met her personal requirements for "having it all" and probably wouldn't have any more children. Well, color us wrong!

We're very happy for her. I'm personally thrilled in this shift in attitude. She's so pleasant to deal with now. Even though she spent a month making work a living hell for me, I pretty much have to forgive her for it. After all, she was keeping a pretty big secret and probably doing her best to disguise a host of unpleasant symptoms like nausea and exhaustion. She was bound to be cranky and irrational (not to say that pregnant women are, by default, crank and irrational, but under these circumstances I think the strain on her was probably pretty high). Now she's glowing and benevolent. Works for me!

Babies, babies, everywhere. I've warned my co-workers to avoid the water cooler. I still think it might be the culprit.

Spring has most definitely sprung and with the elevated pollen count comes a distinct elevation in mood in the workplace. Everyone is so happy that it's almost...well, disturbing is the worth that comes to mind. I find myself wondering who are these people? Not the same dour bunch slogging through the March and April issues. No, these are happy folk. Downright jolly. Laughter rings out between offices and cubes. Could be The Art Magazine. Could be Disney World. Lately, I find the lines between those two are blurring.

With this sudden shift in mood, I am forced to wonder. Is this some cruel joke played on me by the Universe? I finally make the commitment to leave the corporate world and begin my freelancing career, and suddenly my work environment is merry, boisterous, and full of love for our fellow man? The last time I had a manager switch so quickly from moody and confrontational to laid back and jolly was when I worked for a web hosting company, where the owner alternated weekly between pot and speed. I don't want to leave anymore. Well, I stll want to leave, but I don't yearn for it with every fiber of my being. This is a nice place to work. Suddenly, and without warning, I enjoy my job again, much as I did when I started working here late last spring. Clearly, the mood in the office is weather-based. The correlation cannot be denied.

Of course, it could also be that we have a break coming up. May is wrapped up, June is nearing completion, and with the Summer issue we are done until fall. Summer comes out in early July, and then nothing new hits the stands until September. That means that the editorial staff gets a breather for most of May, and May is on its way. The timing couldn't be better for the staff, as May also heralds the big move from this office space to the new office (if that deal goes through, which is looking more and more certain). Instead of slogging away, fact-checking articles, people will be packing up and moving on to a bigger and better space. I envy them. As much as I look forward to working from home, to devoting my work to my writing, I envy them this opportunity and the excitement that goes with it.

Am I considering staying? Not on your life! I have bigger and better things to move on to my self. Do I secretly wish I could have it both ways, and work a few days here and a few days at home? Maybe a little bit. I might shoot myself in the foot a few years from now when I look back and see missed opportunity. More likely, I will look back with confidence that I made the right, if slightly riskier, choice.

I am performing a minor data cleanup on our writers database. This one is no big deal, mostly an issue of removing the strange little boxes that popped up during the data dump and replacing them with commas or spaces, then making sure the address is formatted correctly and the "on comp subscription list" box is checked if the writer is, in fact, on the comp subscription list.

This little task is actually quite fun, and I will tell you why. Each writer has a comment box. This comment box, for most writers, holds information on their specialties, their background, the articles they have written for us already, and/or their resumes. The comment box may also contain notes on the writer's ability to meet a deadline, whether or not they are easy to work with, and the like.

It also contains color commentary from previous editorial staff. Brilliant and amusing color commentary.

"Bad teeth, breath and clothes," one editor wrote about a writer.

"Terrific writer, albeit petulant," someone has written about another writer.

Apparently, "Chilly Bill has chilled out." He is now "not active."

"Make a fake deadline," several entries note, just as several say "double-check his/her work; a little flaky."

Several writers have been designated "diva" or "prima donna." Quite a few are "snarly." Others have notes saying "No, no, no! [Insert one of a number of editors' names] will never hire him/her again!" There are a few labeled "horrible writer." Some of them "demand too much money."

One of my favorite writers is a bit touchy to deal with. His notes says "major author w/own rules; don't impose ours on him." I added a note to go with that, reminding future staffers that this writer "doesn't like new voices on the phone." We all take special care not to spook this brilliant, if absurdly high strung, man.

Of course, some of the notes are positive. "Can make a boring story interesting." "Strong writer."

My absolute favorite note, however, is: "IF YOU ASSIGN A STORY TO THIS INGRATE, YOU MUST WORK WITH HIM EXCLUSIVELY AND SUFFER HIS INCORRIGIBILITY."

Writers, beware! Beware of how you act with your editors! They will be kind to your face, but they will eviscerate you in the notes section of the writers database.

But you probably deserve it.

It's tearsheet day here at the Art Magazine. Can you feel the excitement in the air? No? Me, neither.

Tearsheet day could also be known as "Giant Gaping Waste of My Time" day. It involves making a list of writers and sources to receive tearsheest, sorting out those tearsheets, and then mailing those tearsheets. It's a 1-2 day process. Yes, it's of great value to the writer to have tearsheets, at least in theory, but even that doesn't make me feel better about spending so much time on this mundane little project. I think it's because my own tearsheet needs and experiences color my feelings on how important these pages truly are.

Yes, clips are absolutely a necessity when one is a freelancer, but most magazines I've dealt with lately don't want you to mail them clips. They want everything via email, which means they want PDFs. I could send PDFs of our writers' clips to them in the span of a half-hour, but instead I spend two days doing it the old-fashioned way. Do any magazines still request hard copies of clips? Maybe the big, classy ones still do, but it seems like we are rapidly shifting towards a paperless world, with virtual "tearsheets" in lieu of the flimsy, crinkly kind.

This shift has its pros and cons, of course. The cons of virtual tearsheets include the potential to create fake clips or alter real clips. PDFs are bulky and have a tendency to bounce back (though a solution can be to host them on your webspace and send a link to your online portfolio instead of the physical files). An email full of PDFs lacks the "oomph" of an accordian file full of magazine pages, carefully stored in clear plastic sleeves. The pros, however, seem overwhelming. On the magazine's end, sending PDFs in lieu of tearsheets lowers costs. No printing fees, no mailing fees. It means we can get the clips out faster. Instead of waiting for boxes from the printer, we can send the virtual tearsheets as soon as we put the issue to bed. The final version can go to the printer and the writer all in the same day. The writer can then distribute copies to his sources, instead of sending me a list of addresses for me to send physical copies to his sources, which adds yet another step (writers are notorious for forgetting to send source information) to this already slow process. Having the file as a PDF means the writer won't have to scan his hard copy in order to create a PDF to send digital clips. The image quality will be clearer -- straight from Quark/InDesign file to a PDF, rather than file to hard copy to scanner to file.

As it is, I often have to create PDFs of a few specific articles to email to certain writers, which means I'm spending time mailing their hard copies and then spending time (though considerably less) making PDFs for them. Wouldn't it be better if I just sent them all PDFs and send a few hard copies of tearsheets for special requests only? Maybe I'm just too "modern" for this magazine. Perhaps it's that writers need that feeling of pride that comes from holding pages in your hands, pages you created, that bear your name and your words. I understand the pride of the writer. I understand that constant need for affirmation, the "proof" that says "yes, this is a real job. You do a real thing with real output! What you do exists!" PDFs don't create this same feeling, as they're just pictures on the screen. Perhaps the need for something tangible will never quite go away. I hope it doesn't, as I don't really enjoy reading novels on the computer screen.

I guess i just hope for a happy medium. Hard copies on the stands and digital copies in your in-box.

Nothing like starting out an entry with a little Raymond Carver, especially an entry that has absolutely nothing to do with love. Well, perhaps it does have a bit to do with love: a love of freelance writing.

What is a freelancer? According to our pal Wikipedia, "the word's etymology was apparently invented by Sir Walter Scott, the 19th-century poet, to refer to a medieval mercenary, a 'free lance,' a knight who was not attached to any particular lord, and could be hired for a given task." A knight with no lord? Sounds pretty grandiose!

Though freelancing can happen in almost any field (you can be a freelance bounty hunter or mercenary, Wikipedia notes, in keeping with medieval tradition), it most typically refers to those who work in journalism, magazine writing, corporate writing, graphic design, and other visual media. These are your freelance writers, editors, and designers.

Most of us have a grand dream of one day working for ourselves, but freelancers make it happen. It's a tricky process. Sure, you can get lucky and stumble into a writing contract you weren't expecting. It's happened to me, in fact, but you can't set your clock by it or, more importantly, plan your bills around it. No, to be a successful freelance writer you must actively pursue writing contracts. This means writing a lot of query letters (or emails), making a lot of query phone calls, requesting submission guidelines and editorial calendars, compiling your clips from previous contracts (if you have any), and generally making a nuisance of yourself with every publication in town until you start getting some work. The more work you get, the more work you are likely to get, as your portfolio expands. The more clips you have, the better you look -- especially if you can show a range in those clips -- and the more likely you are to be taken seriously by editors and publishers.

As I complain about my day job at the magazine, I often mention my developing freelance writing career. Well, "career" is putting it a little boldly at this point, as I don't yet have the regular stream of contracts that would probably be necessary to define what I do as a career. Most of my work thus far has been for a regional bridal magazine, and while I've done several featured wedding for them (seven, at this point), it doesn't add a great deal of depth to my portfolio. Yes, I can clearly write about weddings. I can write about weddings of many different styles, price ranges, and themes. I can put together a descriptive sentence and talk up a vendor without overtly selling anything. Those are handy skills. Yet, when looking at my portfolio, you wouldn't get a very good idea of what I could write.

That brings me to where I am today, which is working on range in my portfolio. I have sent out a dozen query letters -- most with no bites -- and asked for submission guidelines from a slew of regional magazines. I'm not shooting for national publications at this point, as my portfolio just doesn't look good enough for that. Yes, I have a small stack of tearsheets from Art Magazine, which is a national publication, with my name on them, but my little monthly queries column is not impressive enough to sway the editor of a national magazine into hiring me for anything big. A "compiled by" does not an impressive byline make.

I'm hesitant to even send clips of some of my freelance work. My work for an well-known (and internationally published) role-playing game company might not win me any friends with a women's magazine, for example. This really is a shame, as I am currently contracted to co-write two more books with this company, and have already published well over 100,000 words in two previous books as a co-writer, not counting the additional materials I have contributed to two other books, which add another several thousand words. However expansive or well-written my horror writing or my technical writing (for the game line), I'm not sure that it's the best foot to stick in that proverbial door. While it definitely shows range -- zombies in Detroit and weddings in Tennessee are probably as diametrically opposed as you can get -- it also shows that sometimes I'm a little bit creepy and possible even mildly mentally disturbed. These are not the features I want to emphasize in my attempt to "brand" myself.

So, what's a girl to do? Keep chugging along; that's all I suppose I can do. Keep sending out queries. Keep adding to my portfolio one little chunk at a time, and hope that an article here and an article there will eventually add up to a wealth of regular contracts. I have just under three months before I make the leap from editorial assistant to full-time freelance writer (though doubtlessly, no less the editorial stooge). It's risky. It's scary. It's walking on the tightrope with a very, very small net. Still, it's the only way to do it. If I don't take that chance and just commit to doing it full time, I will never have enough time to do it. Quitting my job makes me reliant on my freelancing. It gives me no choice but to have the confidence to ask for the big contracts. It gives me no option but to manage my time wisely, stay organized, get contracts completed quickly and effectively, so I can turn around and say "Please sir, may I have some more?"

I may fail. I may never be a great success. I may never publish in the big magazine. I may never make enough to support myself long-term. These are risks I have to take. I would rather fail on my terms than to not try at all. I would rather do my best and not make it than to not make the attempt because it was outside my comfort zone.

This is my cubicle, but baby, I am stepping outside of this box. I can't wait to see where I end up!

Is it a bad sign when I'm encouraging the intern to go after my job?

Here is the big secret we're not supposed to share: our magazine is being sold. Hopefully. If things go well, than the owners of another high-end design magazine will be purchasing Art Magazine within the next few months. This is actually nothing but good news for the staff. The new owners want to keep the staff as-is, allow us to work in the same way in which we've always worked, bulk up our page count by 50+ pages, give us access to prime advertisers (like Tiffany's) instead of low-end ads (Ye Olde Crappy Antique Shoppe), and move us to our own brand new state-of-the-art facility not too terrible far away from where we currently are, so as not to increase our commute significantly. Pay wouldn't change, though the frequency of raises would increase, as our budget will greatly increase. Benefits will be worlds better, as we're joining a 500+ employee parent company, and leaving a <100 employee parent company. Instead of being hampered by budget, seeing our editorial spreads split up by advertising, and limiting the number of tear sheets we can send our writers, we will be free to run the magazine in the way we see fit, do a quality editorial spread, treat our writers well.

The down side? I won't be here to enjoy it.

The Big Move will take place at the end of May, the same time that I will be putting in my letter of resignation for various reasons, including making the move to full-time freelance work. It's almost a shame, really, because my job would be getting much better. At the new location, we'll have an administrative assistant, whose job it is to open mail, send comp copies, etc., allowing me time to do actual editorial work. Even with that, I'm just not interested in making the move with the company.

I'd like to say I've gotten a lot of experience working here, and in a way, I have. I've learned a lot about art. I've learned a little about the publishing process. I've learned nothing new about editing. It's a great line on a resume, it really is, and that's about where it stops.

I'm encouraging our current intern to apply for my job when I put in my letter of resignation. Things will be much better at the new location, and she really hates to leave in May. I hope she gets the job.

So, I haven't had much to say around here lately. My office morale is at an all-time low at the moment, and it's hard to write about my job with a whole lot of enthusiasm. The negativity has been so impacting that I actually find it hard to write about the bad aspects of the job. Even thinking about it has been too exhausting, too disheartening.

If I were to describe my current work situation by way of metaphor, I would liken it to the situation of an abused spouse, staying in a marriage for the children. Last week I was given a good figurative beating and the cuffs upside the head continue daily. Going in to work every day is an exercise, not in humility, but in humiliation. Having found a weak spot, and apparently needing someone upon which to vent her wrath, the Managing Editor is now going out of her way to create a laundry list of reasons to digitally degrade me and my work every day. I say digitally, because verbally is just not how things are done at the Art Magazine. No one talks. No one listens. No one is interested in discourse. They email you after-hours or from behind closed doors.

I believe the Managing Editor was secretly hoping to make me cry. To make me blow up, get angry, freak out, or show some high level of emotion, so she could feel even more superior. To my credit, I did not freak out.

Apparently, I am just too uppity. Apparently, I had serious misconceptions about what this job would entail. Never mind that a good portion of my job description has been rewritten (figuratively and literally) by the Managing Editor in the last few months. Never mind that I was asked by the Assistant Editor to handle one of the columns (therefor entitling me to a byline), because the only byline work I am allowed to have must be done on my own time. Never mind that I pull more than my weight around there. Every day, she has something new to ream me about. Every day, I am failing to read her mind, execute this order flawlessly, type something up free of all typos (even if the typos were in the original document, and I hesitate to make a change because I would be reamed for not typing it up exactly as the author wrote it). I accomplish a goal perfectly and in a timely manner, and she must make a point of finding a way in which I am failing in something else.

She must be a truly unhappy woman.

I could go into more detail, but what's the point? I'm stuck. I am committed to staying at the magazine for a full year, which means through the end of May, before I quit to become a full-time freelancer. I'm working on my website, my client base, my resume, my clips. I'm making connections with local magazines and looking for some corporate clients.

I know that this is not what being an Editorial Assistant is about. I know other EAs. I see them, happy in their jobs, wracking up writing credits, developing content, participating in the daily flow of their magazines. I shouldn't have to be the secretary. That's not my title.

Not that title accounts for much of anything.

[DISCLAIMER: As The Editorial Assistant has been terribly ill for the past week, this post is brought to you by your friendly neighborhood Office Fridge Poacher.]

Office community refrigerators are a beautiful thing. Trusting souls, we all put our labeled food-type belongings into the fridge on Monday and trust that they will still be there at lunch time. We trust that they still will be there at every lunch time throughout the week. We trust that on Friday the magical Fridge Cleaning Fairies will come and throw away all unlabeled food, leaving behind all labeled food for use the following week. The office community refrigerator is a glorious emblem of comaraderie, of brotherhood, of security in this scary modern world. In Fridge We Trust!

Yeah, right.

Everyone knows what the office fridge is all about: "eat or be eaten," or, more precisely, "Eat! Or it will be eaten by someone else when you aren't looking, you newbie." There is no sanctity in the office fridge, though there are some basic rules of fridge poaching which all the but most desperate and wily of fridge poachers obey.

The Commandments of Office Fridge Poaching are as such:

On Mondays, thou shalt not eat of thy coworker's food.

On Tuesdays, thou shalt not eat of thy coworker's food if it is marked with his or her name or initials, placed inside of a paper or plastic bag signifying ownership, or is widely known to belong to certain individuals, unless it is cream cheese, which shalt always be fair game. Unmarked foods of unknown origin are A-OK.

On Wednesdays, thou shalt not eat of thy coworker's food if it is clearly marked with his or her first name or place inside of a paper or plastic bad signifying ownership. Unmarked foods, be they of origins known are unknown, are A-OK, and those initials could belong to anyone, really.

On Thursdays, thou shalt not eat of thy coworker's food if it is clearly marked with his or her full name. Unmarked foods of any origin, foods marked with meaningless letters which probably aren't even really initials when you stop to think about it, foods clearly intended for group consumption but accidentally left in paper or plastic bags, or foods marked with first names only are A-OK. After all, thou cannot be certain that "Steve" means an actual Steve who works in thy office.

On Fridays, thou shalt not eat of thy coworker's remaining food before 1PM or if anyone else is present in the breakroom.

On all days of the week, all these laws shall be repealed in cases of coworkers who have been deemed A Large Pain in Thine Ass. Foods belonging to Larges Pains in Thine Ass are fair game. Enjoy!

And so it has always been in The Editorial Assistant's office, and so it will continue to the end of time, for, you see, The Editorial Assistant (TEA) and her partner-in-crime, the Associate Art Director (AAD), have an office vendetta that can only be played out through Fridge Poaching. It is a true Fridge-detta.

When TEA first came to work for Art Magazine, she was set upon by the most loathsome of coworking species: the In-Your-Space-Loud-Talker. In-Your-Space-Loud-Talkers (IYSLTs) understand neither the principles of personal space nor the basic mechanics of how sound travels over distance. IYSLTs have no "inside voice." IYSLTs have no "this is my dance space, this is your dances space." On TEA's first week of of work, her office IYSLT receive a page for a phone call. Does she walk back to her own cubicle? No. Does she quickly phone the receptionist to tell her to place the call into voicemail? No. She leans across the low wall of TEA's first office cubicle (low-walled, by the breakroom), and takes the call. Not only does she take the call, she takes it at high volume. Not only does she take a call at high volume in someone else's cubicle, it's a personal call that she stays on for five minutes. Needless to say, she won no great points with TEA that day.

Time passes, and TEA moves into her "Big Girl" cubicle, complete with real walls. No more Loud Talkers leaning over her walls, no sirree, but tall walls will not stop IYSLT. Never! IYSLT's next move is to accuse TEA of stealing her mail, in the most round about and passive aggressive of ways.

IYSLT: Have you gotten any mail for me?
TEA: I only get mail for my department. It's sorted in the mail room.
IYSLT: Well have you gotten anything with my name on it?
TEA: Your mail is sorted out in the mail room by the mail room guys. It's already sorted when it gets to me.
IYSLT: *fake laugh* Well, things get missorted. Anything with my name on it?
TEA: When things get missorted, I take them back to the mailroom and put them in the correct boxes. If I received any of your mail, it would be in your box.
IYSLT: Well, is there anything?
TEA: Is there anything in your box?
IYSLT: No.
TEA: Nothing today then!
IYSLT: Well, I'm expecting something. It should be here and *accusingly* it hasn't made it to me.
TEA: If I see anything for you, I'll be sure to put it in your box. Is it something specific you're looking for, like a package? I can keep a special eye out.
IYSLT: An envelope.
TEA: An envelope?
IYSLT: With my name.
TEA: Ok then!

Yes. The Editorial Assistant is squirreling away IYSLT's envelopes for her own pleasure, apparently. War was declared -- war that could only be carried out through one medium: reallocation of resources. Or, as we like to call it in the office, stealing the half-n-half.

The Editorial Assistant and the Associate Art Director began to use the In-Your-Space-Loud-Talker's half-n-half. It began cautiously, with one of them on the look out and the other pouring, but after some time, they became cocky. They became masters of the Stand With the Fridge Door Open and Your Back to the Break Room Door While Your Pour maneuver. No one suspected. They drank the half-n-half in their tea, and they rejoiced.

Petty thievery in response to petty office politics. It's a low move, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, the guys in Sales were all out of cream cheese, so something else had to fill the dairy void.

Yours Truly,
The Office Fridge Poacher

It's Tuesday. The bosses are out of the office. I'm celebrating by making copies.

Ok, I'm not celebrating. I am obligated to make copies. It's not exactly a choice. I get to make copies of huge (20 page) Top Collectors articles from the last 6 years of magazines. I get to put those copies together into a packet and mail them to a writer. The writer will then begin working on the 2007 Top Collectors list. Yes, this is the issue that we just finished. No, it never really ends around here.

After I finish these copies, I get to start mailing off comp copies to our collectors. Between copying and envelope licking, I'm sure feeling pretty good about the $12,000 student loan debt I've tallied up for graduate school.

In honor of Presidents Day and the lack of mail, I thought I'd write a little about the United States Postal Service. Oh yes, our old friends the USPS, those wizards of delivering our mail in a timely manner and excellent condition. Or, conversely, those sons-of-bitches that insisted on losing all our outgoing mail for the month of January, delaying 3-day Priority mail to New York by two weeks, and delivering damaged packages inside little clear plastic bags that say (rather tongue-in-cheek, if you ask me) "We Care!"

From whence came this wonder-of-wonders, this postal monstrosity? Like pretty much everything else wrong with this country, we can safely pin the blame on a bunch of dead, rich white guys:

"On July 26, 1775, members of the Second Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia, agreed:

That a postmaster general be appointed for the United Colonies, who shall hold his office at Philada, and shall be allowed a salary of 1000 dollars per an: for himself, and 340 dollars per an: for a secretary and Comptroller, with power to appoint such, and so many deputies as to him may seem proper and necessary.

That a line of posts be appointed under the direction of the Postmaster general, from Falmouth in New England to Savannah in Georgia, with as many cross posts as he shall think fit." (from "the Postal Service Begins," USPS web site).

Yep. It goes back to 1775, folks, when, for the not inconsiderable sum of $1000 a year, a postmaster general by the name of Benjamin Franklin (that name sounds sort of familiar, don't you think?) organized the American postal system, which originally carried correspondences between Congress and the armies. Pretty handy, when you think about it, especially in light of how long it takes to mail a soldier a box full of chocolate bars and DVDs these days. A list of other significant dates in USPS history can be found here, and include such highlights as the beginning of the Pony Express (1860), the establishment of ZIP Codes (1963), the introduction of self-adhesive stamps (1974), and the Day the Editorial Assistant Accidentally Printed the 19-Page List of Postal Abbreviations While Attempting to Print a List of State Abbreviations(2006).

Well, ok. That last one isn't actually on the list, but surely that can only be due to the lack of recent updates.

This brings us to a brief confession. I am pathologically incapable of remembering the abbreviations for the various states. The obvious ones like NY and GA and FL I have no problems with, but the moment you start asking me to abbreviate states starting in "A" or "M," I start looking around frantically for an escape route. Now, I am intelligent woman. I pride myself on my near-photographic memory. And yet, something about state abbreviations just slips through my mind like jelly through a sieve. This morning, I finally had the brilliant idea to just to to the USPS site and print off the list of state abbreviations. I would never again wonder if AK meant Arkansas (it doesn't) or Alaska (it does), or whether Maryland, Massachusetts, or Maine is abbreviated MA (hint: it's not Maine or Maryland). I hit print and happily hopped off to the printer to retrieve me life-saving list.

It printed. And printed. And printed. It printed for 19 pages. You see, in my complete lack of powers of observation, I had printed, not just the list of state abbreviations, but all approved postal abbreviations for every word that could ever be abbreviated on an envelope in the history of man.

Some interesting notes:

The USPS does not know how to spell "bayou" (listed as "bayoo"), but lists the abbreviation as BYU.

If you need to mail something to an Expressway, well, EXPY is the way to do it.

Someone must have an address on both an overpass (OPAS) and an underpass (UPAS), because abbreviations for those addresses exist.

While "park" is abbreviated PARK and "oval" is abbreviated OVAL, "neck" is inevitably shortened to NCK.

I didn't even know the word "stravanue" (abbreviation STRA) existed -- it seems to be a street where the median is also a storm drain, or at least, that's the closest definition I can find.

In the end, instead of a single page of abbreviations I could take up to my cubicle wall, I ended up with a 19-page packet of largely useless, though somewhat interesting, abbreviations for addresses including "viaduct" (VIA) and "radial" (RADL). I wonder who compiled this list. Who decided on these abbreviations? Was it through a general consensus? Was it by order of the Postmaster? Was an Abbreviation Task Force assigned to assemble a complete list of street names and appropriate abbreviations for them? The list creates more questions than it answers (unless your questions are along the lines of "How do I abbreviate 'Trail'?" In which case, the answers are pretty easy to come by).

So, here's to you, USPS. You rarely deliver our mail on time or, indeed, intact, but your list of abbreviations has given me a half-hour of amusement. I still recommend putting more work into public relations -- perhaps consider actually delivering the mail that we send or, barring that, consider reinstating the Pony Express. Those ponies were darn cute.

We'll just call today a success. Yes, it's only 11:34 AM my time, but the day is already a success, and I'll tell you why. Our March collectors issue (the one with a hundred collectors, for whom I have been tracking down addresses) is finished. It is in house. Yes, March is in the house! W00t, even!

I have to say, the issue is gorgeous, and I feel even better about it knowing how much work I've done on this issue's behalf, even if most of it was post-production. I have a warm spot in my heart for our collectors, especially the well-mannered and enthusiastic ones who blithely handed me their home addresses, trusting that the nice lady claiming to be from the magazine really was -- and luckily for them, I really am. I've enjoyed speaking to the artists whose works are collected by the collectors.

For the record, if you ever thought you might like to invest in hand-crafted furniture made solely out of nickels or quarters, I recommend you contact Johnny Swing. Not only is his work pretty hip, he's a great guy to swap emails with.

But the issue is gorgeous. The cover is charming and the issue is full of bright colors, smiling collectors, a fascinating variety of artworks...oh yeah, and a guy in front of a poster covered in swastikas.

Oops! Somehow that escaped the notice of the Art Director and Associate Art Director as they compiled the art and assembled the spread. It escaped the notice of the editorial staff as they edited the proofs. It escaped the notice of the two writers as the approved the proofs. The swastikas were not, in fact, noticed until the AAD was thumbing through the finished copy of the magazine yesterday afternoon.

"Oh dear!" she muttered. "Have you noticed the swastikas?" No, we had not, in fact, noticed the swastikas.The image in question is a poster belonging to a collector whose specialty is propaganda art, especially WWII-era propaganda art, and the picture appears to be a map showing Nazi-occupied territories. The collector is absolutely not a Nazi-sympathizer by any stretch -- he even started a museum dedicated to educating the public about propaganda and cultural politics. Still, we have a conservative reader base (and if you don't know magazine lingo, "conservative" means "old"). Cue some nervous tittering from our area of Cubesville, a few remarks about having to answer the phone "Guten Tag!" and so forth. The message is passed to the Managing Editor, who I just knew would be livid that this was missed. I expected cries of outrage. I expected heads to roll.

Hysterical laughter? I did not expect that.

"That's great!" she exclaimed, mid laugh. "I hope people notice. Let 'em notice! Let 'em write in!"

That's when I realized why she wasn't upset. Our magazine is seldom controversial. In fact, the motto of the magazine could be "[Art Magazine]: Where Art is Never Controversial!" Finally, we have a chance to do something a little risky, even if it's only in retrospect. We published a picture of a reputable art collector and educator standing in front of some barely-noticeable swastikas, and you know what? That might piss some people off. It shouldn't, but it probably will. And we're going to stand by that image. We're not going to apologize or explain ourselves. We hope someone notices. We even hope they get a little pissed off and write in so we can stand up for the image -- it's rare we have to (or get to) do that.

I feel just a touch cutting edge today. Like a rebel in the art magazine world. I feel good about this issue, about our magazine. I'm glad we haven't made the decision to go the PC route and scramble around trying to cover our asses or explain or clarify that "it's not what you think!" (because any intelligent person should know that it's not intended to be anything but an example of the art in this wonderful man's collection).

Today, we rock.

As part of my daily work day, I make a lot of phone calls. The past few days, as I put together the list of contact numbers for America's best and brightest artsy persons, I have placed an exceptionally high volume of calls, to the tune of 40-50 a day. I have spoken with a colorful array of people, some very polite and some very rude, and I have left over a dozen voice mail messages. I have done this all with a vicious head cold, a sore throat, and a weird hole in the side of my tongue that refuses to heal.

Let's just say that while my phone manners have not suffered, my phone voice is not at its best.

This was just pointed out to me by my co-worker and office-partner-in-crime, our magazine's equally disullusioned Associate Art Director as I left a message on some collector's voice mail, asking them to call me back and wishing them a pleasant day.

"You know," she says over the cubicle wall separating us, in her musical South African accent, "you really don't sound very sincere."
"What?" I ask, confused.
"I mean" she says, "that you don't really sound like you mean it."
"I have a cold," I say, a little defensively. "I'm sincere about wanting them to have a good day. I'm just not too sincere about talking."
"Well, that could do it, too," she says.

Some days you can't win for trying, and the best manners in the world can be overwhelmed by a stuffy nose.

We're in the middle of bluelines right now. Of course, in our case, what we call "bluelines" are actually the prepress proofs, specifically digital proofs. Whatever the color, bluelines week is always a rough week on the editorial staff.

This is the one time where I have it comparatively easy. I don't usually have a major role to play in the proofing process. They're wrapping up March's bluelines, and I'm already fact-checking April's articles, compiling April's calendar, begging the appraisers for enough material for April's appraisal segment. I get to call galleries and ask for the next month's images, while the rest of the editorial staff is tearing out their hair.

Our Managing Editor has been locking herself in her office every day this week. She is not happy with the March bluelines. March is a huge month for us, as it includes a major feature on collectors, one that sets the standard for how all the other art magazines profile collectors. Our list is the gold standard, the "top 100" list that matters. We have approximately 20 collector profiles to proof, along with images of the collectors, their collections, and short entries on the other 80 collectors.

Apparantly, we're having some issues with the images. The finger has not been publicly pointed yet, but I suspect the Managing Editor is looking to blame her favorite office scapegoat, the Associate Art Director. Whether or not she was the actual cause of the problems doesn't matter. The art in the bluelines is "all screwed up" and this thing needs to go to press immediately about a week ago. The tension level is running very high. The Managing Editor alternates between snapping at people for no reason, hiding in her office, asking very sweetly for favors, and yelling at anyone who crosses her path at the wrong moment.

Sensing the tension, the Editor-in-Chief finally stepped in to do something about it. She ordered pizza. The pizza was quite good, but everyone spent the whole lunch shifting in their seats and looking uncomfortable. Conversation ("How are the bluelines coming?" "Horrible. The art is all screwed up." *pointed glace at the Associate Art Director*) was strained, at best, and no one lingered after the pizza was finished. We all had places to be, proofs to finish proofing, articles to prepare for the next issue.

Might "deadlines" be called so because of the number of strokes suffered by people attempting to meet said deadlines? It's a distinct possibility.

When you work for a magazine, you're never really done. One issue wraps up and the next issue falls into your lap like a drunk at last call. It's also impossible to get ahead on an issue. Someone always hinders that, be it a writer, an image source, or an editor deciding that an article needs more space/less space/to be held until the next issue. Most days, I just come in to the office and try my best to complete some task, any task, before the time to head home rolls around. Some days I even succeed.

Today is not one of those days.

Today I have been opening mail for quite a while, and the pile doesn't seem to get any smaller because, in between envelopes, I'm calling galleries in New York to fact-check listings for our monthly calendar, while simultaneously looking up websites for galleries in Oregon for a travel piece, and putting together comp copies for the writers who insist they never received theirs, but are probably lying and just want another free copy. My cube is a mess, my tummy is in a knot, and I have no idea if I'll be able to finish the calendar by Thursday or the Oregon piece by Friday, or whether the packets sent to our guest appraisers will really be in by Monday so I can put together my monthly contribution to the magazine -- my "compiled by" credit.

Not to mention that this job has been so thankless lately that the Associate Art Director and I are considering mutiny. Morale is low, workload is high, and could someone remind me again why I'm working here instead of boldly striking off on my own to freelance?

My point is that it's not an easy job. It's not an easy field. We all do what we can, and sometimes we meet deadline, and sometimes we don't. I spend at least three days a month feeling the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, threatening to piece right through my career's metaphorical skull if I can't get things done on time. I forget that I'm not Wonder Woman. Unfortunately, so does the rest of the editorial department.

Next time I seek gainful employment, maybe I'll look into something with a slightly lower stress rate. Maybe diffusing bombs or teaching middle schoolers with multiple behavior disorders.

I'm lucky that my ass isn't grabbed on a daily basis, or so a previous magazine employee tells me.

Actually, the office environment doesn't seem quite as bad as when she worked here five years ago, but as we've exchanged stories I have found that the basic tone of the office hasn't changed much. It's not a progessive environment. For a magazine with a primarily female staff, the office is not exactly a woman-empowering place. Once you get beyond the actual magazine staff -- all female, save for one Associate Editor and the Art Director -- you notice that this office doesn't have a lot of high-ranking females. The parent company for the magazine publishes several other mags as well. The heads of those magazines are all male. The executive staff is all male. The sales and marketing staff is almost exclusively male. The accounting staff is female, but the CFO is male.

The "panty hose requirement" was repealed shortly before I came to work here. Before then, all women were required to wear panty hose or stockings, no open-toed shoes allowed. Apparantly, the women finally got up in arms about it and demanded a little equity -- yes, the men had to wear ties, but those ties didn't cover half their bodies in the steaming heat of summer. The current company president changed the dress code rule, and that was a huge day for the women of this publishing company.

The previous magazine employee told me that when she worked her, she was encouraged to wear short skirts or something very flirty/feminine any time she had to meet with the former owner (now retired). Sexual harassment was just part of working here. She put up with insulting comments on a regular basis. She was even given a hard time about taking a day off work for the death of her grandmother.

Not that much has changed, sadly. I haven't been encouraged to wear skirts (I wear pants almost every day) and no one expects me to wear panty hose, but it's not an empowering place for a woman or for an "underling" employee like me. The executive staff are often very demeaning to the under staff. The Managing Editor of our magazine, especially, has days where she's down right ugly to anyone who talks to her -- as if she's taking the day to remind us that she in in charge, a fact none of us have doubted. The Editor-in-Chief is sweet, but she's gone as often as she's here, and she never stands up to the Managing Editor. When the Managing Editor rewrote my job description (to put me in my place), the Editor-in-Chief told me she disagreed, but, well, she trusted the Managing Editor to allocate employee resources where they're most needed.

It's frustrating. I expected to be the low man on the totem pole, but I was promised a lot of things when I started working here, including advancement. The one time I tried for a vacant position, I wasn't told it was filled until days after everyone else knew it -- and then, I was just told "I forgot that we have a policy that you have to work here a year before you can apply for another position. Oops, sorry!" Within two months, the Editorial Assistant at the magazine two cubicles down was promoted to Assistant Editor -- she started at least a month after I did. The work is so often unrewarding, and instead of making strides forward, I feel like I'm being pushed backwards.

Is this the publishing industry? Is it like this everywhere? Should I expect better treatment? Better office policies? Better office politics? Or am I just an idealist, and bought hook, line, and sinker into the idea that when someone tells me "your job has a lot of potential for advancement" or "we're like a big family here," they mean it?

Sometimes I really enjoy my work, but other days, it's hard to be the editorial stooge. Freelancing for a living looks better and better.

From Wikipedia:"Skitt's Law is an adage in Internet culture that originated on Usenet. Its precise wording is a matter of debate, but its general intent is that someone who corrects another's grammar or spelling mistake is bound to make such a mistake in the very post that corrects. In one phrasing, 'spelling or grammar flames always contain spelling or grammar errors.'

Some view the law as a curse."

This is very simliar to Tobor's Lor, which "states that every time one criticizes someone else's spelling or grammar, one tends to screw up one's own."


I could make a mote/beam comparison here, but it hardly seems necessary. Besides, I'd probably end up writing "beem" instead.