Did They Show the Broom? Wednesday, August 13, 2003

Just discussed tonight's stories with reporters, news editors, sub-alterns. The reporters were gracious and generous and didn't comment on the state of their stories, which were something like those computer-"aged" pictures on milk cartons: Johnny, ran away age 10, probably looks something like this.

Editing isn't an art; it's like playing Telephone. The reporter tells you a story, and you pass it along to 2 million people, trying to make it sound more interesting than the one you heard in the first place. (Start off with the dog driving the car instead of the economic forecast, etc.) Along the way, you have to tell it to squads of people who can fire you and pretend not to understand a word you've said. (An accelerator. How is my grandmother supposed to understand what an accelerator is?) So you tack on paragraphs like donkey tails--while chopping out any remaining traces of the original, in the interest of space--and tell it all back to the reporter ten minutes before deadline. While he's still stunned you tell him to call the night editor with any changes, and run for the ferry.

In all, a process that brings to mind the title of this post. I swear to God I saw with my own eyes an unfinished, unpublished Beetle Bailey strip in a "history of cartoons" anthology once with that as the punchline. I won't explain the joke--this is a family blog--but it involves a prison movie, a shower scene and a violation of personal space.

My own eyes. Swear to god.

-30-, which means goodbye.

@ 12:37:00 PM,

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