Thursday, November 30, 2006

Pub Fiction

It's not something that you read about much, but it sure affects you: firings. Especially when they are unfair.

No, no, not the Editrix. Heavens, you would have seen far more entries lately had that occurred!

I am refering to the firings of two of my former bosses in association land, aka The Boxmaker. Over the last few months, first my former VP and then my direct boss were fired from the hellhole. Not that they aren't glad to be gone. When the senior management is convinced that any new and really different way of conducting business is a threat, who wants to stay? Especially when, in my former boss' case, the new VP (who has already earned the nickname of Lady Vader among staff) calls him in a week after she has been on the job, to tell him his performance is iffy. Yeah, that must be because the flagship magazine I used to edit for him was successfully redesigned and hit its budget targets, two new publications were successfully launched, etc., etc. BAD performance, BAD!

What an unbelievable load of crap. Which is more or less what my former boss, Mr. Goodpub, thought to himself. So he quit putting off the publisher he had been putting off about coming to work for them. That was over the summer. Mr. Goodpub, being the upright, ethical guy that he is, did not want to leave until after the association's annual meeting, aka Hell 07. He's a better person than the Editrix, I assure you.

So, while at Hell 07, Mr. Goodpub one day consumes a grand total of a cup of coffee and something salty for breakfast, some juice around lunch time, and at the cocktail hour, a couple glasses of wine. If you are the kind of person who keeps up with health recommendations, I'll bet you can name the big nutritional item missing from Mr. Goodpub's intake: WATER. Sure enough, as he was going to his hotel room to get ready for dinner, he collapses at the doorway to his room. He gets rushed to the hospital while Lady Vader goes to quiz the security guard at the event about Mr. Goodpub's intoxication. She also makes sure to get the doctor to confirm that, gasp, yes, he had alcohol in his system. (Unlike her--she apparently runs on pure bile and acids.) So rather than, say, pay attention to the doctor's diagnosis of severe dehydration, Lady Vader, the CFO, Lady MacBroken, and the president, Lord of the WASPs, decide to fire him for drunkeness while at Hell '07. But since the Boxmaker is a NICE place, they also decide to pay him some severence.

Two days before he was going to hand in his notice, that is.

Good guys: 1
Nasty ninnies: 0

Monday, November 13, 2006

Ja, Wilhelm!

From a CCH newsletter I subscribe to: "George Miller will helm the House workforce committee."

Quick, who knows what makes the Editrix crazy about this sentence? Hint: It's not the change in party leadership in Congress. I'm pretty happy about that. Until the Dems blow it, anyway.

Will HELM???? A helm, you hapless CCH editors, is an object. It looks like a wooden steering wheel with extra spokes, like this. It is something you act upon; the helm itself does not act. It is a close cousin of the bump on a log. Above all, it is not a verb. Dammit.

Have those monkeys finished with writing Hamlet and moved over to CCH? Inquiring minds want to know.