First Thing in the Morning 3.0

Week three: The fever reaches...then grips!

Michael O'Shaughnessy's
First thing in the morning 3.0
 

4.3.02 Tomorrow the first paper of April is published. April papers bring May…capers? I don’t know. Very tired. Up early to the airport, returning my aunt and cousin to New York. Everyone’s too polite out here, they observed. Yeah? Try asking me to input an ad before I’ve had my first goofball. Changed El Coqui’s water yesterday. He’s doing swimmingly, his diaphanous fins all burgundy and indigo, exploring the shadows of the waterplants with the mythical presence of social sea serpents. Ads turned into production in an acceptable manner and timeframe (relatively). I ditch pit at 4. Into the day…

4.4.02 The moon like a filmstrip on the sky this morning. Bagels for breakfast. The bagel joint’s been handing out sample packets of breath-freshening gum. I love a shtickel of chicle post-Super Onion scarf! Uy Gevalt! My Yiddish’s getting rusty. The Advertising Department, of which I am a spoke, are out conjuring, selling and building Special Focus pages, promoting common services or particular achievements. My suggestions (rejected) follow: I Dig a Pony – Area Pet Cemeteries; Saluting Local Gangs; Dining Out in Chicago. Into the day…

4.5.02 Laboring under the shadow of the mountains. Friday at last. But the newspaper business does not differentiate from days. There is only one day: Today. Friday is merely a mood of the Big Today. Hopefully, I’ll have a mood swing and find myself in the dewy cool of Saturday. Into the day…

4.8.02 …out of the weekend. Mary brought around the new intern. I can hear her explaining this joint to her friends tonight: “Well, it’s a little bit “Ninth Configuration’ but mostly it reminded me of a live-action Muppet Show.” The insanity here rolls like a low fog, but it is the madness that broods beneath the surface. Why publish at all? Why even read, never mind write, a newspaper? Why not continue north and west and live among the Caribou? Why not? Because the Caribou loathe you. Get back to work and stop pontificating. Into the day…

4.9.02 Feverish, delusional. Hypnotized by El Coqui. Back and forth he swims. Up and down he floats. The hum of the computer sounds more like the howl in a wind-whipped cavern. The fluorescent lights seem angry. All the ads have been input. No faxing, no e-mailing to be done. A respite from the whirlwind and a moment to enjoy. But instead the fever (99° at least!) has me in its grips! Go home, they say. What? Who said that?!? Ye gods! I haven’t approved the Uwajimaya ad yet! Into the day…