Work craziness is finished!!!

Every year, from February to mid-July, my boss and I go absolutely out of our minds trying to produce our fall catalog of books. There aren't all that many of them, (we have 12 this fall) so it shouldn't be so much stress. Except that it is usually just the two of us. He does the graphics, design, layout; we share scheduling; I do all the editing (on the production side), proofing, routing covers, and maintain one in-house freelancer and work with a small group of off-site freelancers (the number of people I use as freelancers has drastically slimmed in the last year because I've gotten more and more anal retentive). The thing is, one of those books is a huge directory that is primarily stats, poured from a data base, and then copy edited by myself and around 4 other poor souls you should really pity. That bad-boy weighed in at 1,600 pages this year. I almost suffered from a hernia trying the lift the passes of the damned thing. It’s huge. The other books range from 300 pages (easily do-able) to 800 pages (much more difficult), with all the normal run of the mill crap that goes on in publishing—editorial not delivering stuff on time, the occasional freelancer melt-down, and the higher-ups occasionally making me chase them down for weeks for cover-copy approval—but with only 2 full time people and 1 part time person working on them, it’s hectic. Very, very, very hectic. Which is why I tend not to read, write, craft, create, socialize, work out, or do any of my normal activities—I’m too damned exhausted from staring at page proofs and computer screens to want to do anything besides go home and veg. By the time I get there, my mind is usually close to an oatmeal consistency.
BUT, no longer! The busy season is over, so I will commence catching up on all the “me-stuff” I haven’t been doing, including driving my friends crazy with lots and lots of blogs. I hope you’re ready people. ;-)

Anti-technology after 6 & on weekends...

I e-mailed a friend this morning with my apologies about not responding to an e-mail that he sent me on Friday until today, Monday morning. I'm a slacker on the weekends and after 6 p.m. Lately it's been really hard to drag my butt to our home computer when I spend 9 hours in front of one during the day. I just can't do it. I don't have that kind of attention span--and besides, if it is so important to get in touch with me, call my cell phone. I rarely don't answer it (unless it is during the day at work, in which case it is more than likely off anyhow, and you can get me at my work number). I just hate technology sometimes. I would rather hang out with my husband, my family, my kitties, do something productive, or do nothing more than take a nap. All that seems like it is a lot more important than checking e-mail. Maybe I'm just rebelling against e-mail and computers after-hours because I feel like a slave to them during the work week. One of my coworkers is on vacation this week--in Jamaica (I am so envious) and she actually e-mailed me back about a work issue. Is she crazy? Checking work e-mail on vacation? Completely nuts. No thanks. That wouldn't be me. I'd rather sunbathe.

Production Editor Work-a-holic

I know that I'm working too hard when extra-large rubberbands are constantly around my wrist and have become a staple fashion accessory. I continually forget to take off my building pass when I get home. This morning, I woke up and noticed that I had a pink page flag (of the Post-it plastic tacky variety) stuck slightly above my belly button and I have no recollection of how it got there. Oy vey.

Swamped

Too busy to blog...what with me actually having to do a ton of work and all...I'll be back one day...I hope :-(

One of my favorite things about my job...

We have a roof-deck. My job is on the Upper Westside in Manhattan, and the building is only 4 stories high, so we have roof access and my company built a roof-deck that they throw parties on during the summer. It's pretty sweet. When it's not being used for parties, I get to relax in the sun and eat my lunch up there. Occasionally, my boss and I even schedule meetings on the roof-deck because it's nice to be out in the sunshine. Needless to say, on this gorgeous 70 degree sunshine filled day, that is where you will find me between the hours of 1 and 2 pm.

Boobies

My boss often tells me about the cute things that his kids come out with sometimes--his daughter Lena is 2, his son Miles is 4. I've met Miles and he is adorable--one of those so-cute-you-want-to-bite-them sort of kids. Anyway, Lena had quite the observation this morning. "Daddy, I have small boobies." Which my boss proceeded to tell me that it was simply a statement of fact and she was perfectly okay with her two year old small boobies. That made me happy. Can't have any self-depreciating image-conscious two-year olds.
Lena's boobie observation made me think about my own obsession with boobies when I was little. At not quite 4 years old, my mother (pregnant with my brother at the time), took me to the Staten Island Mall to get my picture taken with Santa. I had throughly rehersed what I wanted. A new Easy Bake Oven, a set of roller skates, a Little Orphan Annie dress--and you guessed it--BOOBS! I climbed up on his lap, rattled off my list, and closed with the boob request. I don't remember what Santa's reaction was, or who prompted me to come out with boobs, but I must say, though Santa may not have delivered that year, he certainly made sure to do so later in life.