Monday, July 31, 2006

The seamy side of a job






Before my first involvement in a press team, I used to ask myself – like some delegates do – why its members are so joined. I also urged to know why a great number of reporters, not the "presstending" ones from this simulation, are alcoholics, downcast and very stressful. A single day observing our routine answers all of these questions.
Considering that we don’t have a schedule, it is common to find one of us having insomnia at the office or even having lunch when is actually time for dinner – on those lucky days when it is possible to have lunch. During the long and hard way between the office and the printing house, we face the time running, complaining and yelling at ourselves. The article that you are reading right now was planned on Friday and written yesterday. During a press day, everything has to be done by midday, including the designing, which takes a long time – maybe the entire morning. Our Editor-in-chief takes it to the printing house, and process of printing the newspaper takes 4 or 5 hours – if we are lucky. By the was, while I am writing this, a rushed reporter, Mariana Muniz, just fell off the stairs and is lying down on the floor of the hotel’s hall. That’s the seamy side of a job.
As you know, all the efforts do not avoid mistakes. The first edition made the whole press mad, jaded and a little confused: we just could not understand how the errors passed by us without noticing, after all, at least five of us had read that.
These hard days made me believe that suffering join people together. As in the staff, press members became real friends after all these days of work. Besides the fact that it is very tiring, the passion for the job justified all of our nights without sleep. Actually, the smell of a brand new and warm newspaper makes everything worthwhile.







P.S: Da última edição do United News, no AMUN.


Special thanks: Rafael Targino. Quem mais né? ;D

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

compra-se vida modelo.



Eu quero uma casa no campo.
Dessas de madeira, com janelas enormes. Camarote para o espetáculo do amanhecer e anoitecer. Pode anotar também que eu quero ouvir o galo cantar todas as manhãs. Quero um poço artesiano, um córrego nas redondezas, muito mato, cobra, calango.
Eu quero três filhos.
Duas meninas e um menino, dois meninos e uma menina, tanto faz. Quero casa com cheiro de criança, brinquedo espalhado por todos os cantos, muita gritaria.
Eu quero um marido convencional.
Com todos os defeitos convencionais. Roncos, sapatos pela casa, latas de cerveja e futebol são bem vindos. Desses que têm manias esquisitíssimas, TPM masculina e perdem as chaves do carro. Não esquece de incluir “fidelidade”, se não estiver em falta.
Eu quero um monte de parentes intrometidos, agregados folgados e gente inconveniente.
Faço questão de cuidar do almoço de domingo. Ensaio da banda do menino? Pode ser em casa, mamãe prepara um lanchinho!
Eu quero barulho.
Muito jazz, blues, mpb e cantos de chuveiro. Menino aprendendo a tocar gaita, menina no piano, pai na velha guitarra. Papagaio gritando, cachorro latindo, panela de pressão. Pode misturar tudo, por favor.
Pensando bem, manda descer aí a vida que eu não tive. Pago com a minha liberdade. À vista.

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