I had the strangest dream last night. It was just like those final destination movies, where fate tries to kill some sweet-looking batch of trim young sexual prodigies using random rube-goldbergian configurations of everyday objects, but it was happening in the Smithsonian. Lotta stuff in the Smith, lotta dark corridors filled with weird stuff, and that’s all I have to say about that.
Another edition of the paper out. Did a complete graphic re-vamp, filled the thing with text, some of which acutally managed to be campus news, and increased our adbase a little.
Check it out! I’m a journalist! I get to go to things for free! (just give them name, rank, press affiliation. . .)Last night, a co-worker and I went to clubboxing totally gratis, and we actually got photography permission, because the guy trusted us not to flash (down girls and mirozel, not that kind of flash). We had pimped-out ringside seats right next to the judge and doctor – I mean literally *ringside* not *in the first row* -and I got some pretty good pics. I didn’t think the press pass trick would work . . . but they totally bought it. It being true helped, I guess. . . I can’t wait to try it on say, a large concert . . .
Also, I have noticed that all popular sites have some sort of contest or interactivity, so I want suggestions on how to interact with my audience. And no, I will not sell you my used panties.
edit: I took a quiz:
 .Your name alone strikes fear into others; but maybe, just maybe, there’s a little vulnerability and weakness beneath that stoic, fierce exterior of yours. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz. |