Today’s cruel taunting of the already wounded comes to us courtesy of regular commenter Basset, who forwards this photo of the Ohio State University Marching Band’s postgame show Monday night:
Funny, but sloppy Photoshopping; I can see the cloned areas. Although I’m an alum of the smaller, less well-known Ohio University, with its own excellent marching band, I have to say: I always enjoyed Script Ohio. Early in my career I had to do a lot of “first woman” stories. That is to say, “Miss X is the first woman to do whatever” stories. Among them was one on the first woman to dot the i in Script Ohio, a big honor for the sousaphone players. I recall only that my lead called it “something to toot your tuba about.” How thrilled my editors must have been, to see this early promise of the writer within.
Gah, a long day lies ahead. I hope I have all my obligations written down. The night before last was a stressful one, with two middle-of-the-night phone calls, followed by a busy day. In late afternoon I tried to catch a nap. I was lying on my bed with a paperback, trying to relax, and the next thing I knew it was dark outside and the phone was ringing. Foolishly, I answered it. Of course it was someone who wanted to talk to me about a job. I’m sure they won’t want to hire the aphasic idiot they spoke to, who said “uhhhh” a lot and seemed to be communicating from the bottom of a Placidyl binge, but you never know. I appear to have made an appointment to speak with them later. Note to self: Use lots of under-eye concealer.
One thing before I forget: Is anyone out there flying on Northwest Airlines this month, at least before the in-flight magazine changes to February? If so, grab the January issue. Kate’s in it. Really. This was yesterday’s excitement. Her birthday party in November was a repeat of last year’s, with a small group of her friends invited to ice-skate at Campus Martius Park downtown. A photographer was lurking around the edges of the rink, snapping photos. He was obviously a professional — he held his camera like one, anyway, and he wasn’t wearing skates — and we struck up a conversation. He said he was shooting candids of the rink for Northwest Airlines’ magazine. The girls went insane, of course, thinking their next step would be America’s Next Top Model, so I explained about how photographers shoot dozens of photos and only one or two get used, if that, so don’t get your hopes up and blah blah blah. Then we had pizza and everyone forgot about it.
Until yesterday, when I had to go over to Kate’s school, and she shows me the magazine, and whaddaya know, there’s her birthday-party ice conga line. Everyone’s in profile except one of the girls in the middle, who had turned to look at the photographer, resembling this sort of serene blonde ice angel. One of that girl’s mother’s friends was flying somewhere, opened the magazine, said, “I know that girl,” and the rest is a bunch of phone calls and checks sent off for extra copies. If you’re on an NWA flight, though, grab one (there’s a snorkeler on the cover, enjoying the many benefits of a vacation to Cancun) and drop me an e-mail. You can never have enough extra copies of Baby’s First Appearance in a National Magazine.
I guess next year I’ll have to invite Vanity Fair.