Charitable Getting: Draft 2, Chapter 6
Oct. 1st, 2010 09:15 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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originalsam_backupCHAPTER SIX
John was not a morning person.
On Mondays, especially, John was not a morning person, but it was a point of pride to beat Anna and Zoe into the office. He hadn't yet beat the admins in -- nobody beat the admins in, and if he did he'd have no idea how to get into the office anyway -- but when he was the first into the Creative pod, he counted it as a personal triumph.
"Coffee in three minutes," Ian called from the staff kitchen, where the smell of fresh grounds was already permeating the air.
"You're gimping along better," John said, carrying his mug into the kitchen. "It's sort of -- what did you do?"
Ian looked down at his cast, which was covered in a brilliant spiral of purple glitter. "Sparks needed a test subject for his new glitter glue pen."
"I thought you said we couldn't sign your cast because it would look unprofessional," John accused.
"Hey, he's the boss," Ian replied. "He wants me to sparkle, I sparkle."
"You're so cheerful," John grunted. "It's kind of disgusting."
"Paid to smile!" Ian replied, beaming.
"You should be moping and making people bring you things. Shiny things," John said.
"Shiny things won't make the coffee in the morning."
"Shiny things do make the coffee in the morning," John pointed out, stroking the nearest coffee station. "Good coffee machine."
"That's the decaf," Ian told him. John scowled at it and moved on to the next one.
"Hey," he said, pulling out the carafe as soon as it had a bare cupful of coffee in it, "have you noticed our magic window?"
"Our what?" Ian asked.
"Magic window. It's cool, come on," John took him by the (sparkly, broken) arm and pulled him out into the lobby. Through the enormous picture window that dominated the room, the grey overcast reflected the sun rising on the other side of the building, throwing a dull glare over the city.
"So, here, no snow," John said, pointing to the window. He waited as Ian peered at it and nodded.
"So?" Ian said.
John turned and pointed down the hall, past the Creative pod to the window at the end. Ian followed his gesture, cocked his head, and then laughed.
"Snow!" he said.
"Yep," John answered. "It's snowing like hell out. Snow in the window at the end of the hallway, no snow here. Magic window."
"Probably something to do with how the glass is tinted," Ian mused, wandering over to the tall sheets of glass in the lobby.
"Way to spoil the fun," John said.
"Sorry, I like poking things to find out how they work," Ian told him. "I promise if I figure it out I won't spoil your magic window theory."
"I've been thinking of writing a short story about it. Very urban fantasy," John said.
"You write fiction, right?" Ian asked.
"Yeah, here and there. Writer, you know," John admitted. "Freelancing doesn't pay the bills, though."
"Publish anything?"
"Short stories mostly."
"Can I see them?" Ian asked, grinning.
"Sure. Buy a magazine," John replied.
"Oooh. Do you have a mailing list? Do you have a bloooog?" Ian teased.
"I have a website. It's -- puff PR stuff, I'm embarrassed I wrote it," John said, feeling his face heat slightly. He probably shouldn't have said anything. "You can't read it."
"Can I Google you?" Ian pressed.
"I use a nom de plume."
Ian laughed. "Oh, John. You write erotica, don't you?"
"No!"
"Genre? You write swords-and-sandals fantasy, I bet."
"I write serious dramatic literature!" John protested, because the barb was hitting slightly close to home.
"I am so going to find out your fake writer name and read everything you wrote," Ian said. "I'll charm Anna and Zoe to find out, if I have to."
"Zoe's married and Anna's boyfriend wears Armani," John reminded him.
"Yeah, but I've got charm," Ian said.
"You try that and let me know how it works for you."
"GOOD WEBINAR MORNING!" called a voice behind them. John started and turned; next to him, he saw Ian sigh faintly.
"Morning, boss," John said.
"Yes it is. Today I am going to dazzle the internet," Sparks said, slinging his bag down in his office and re-emerging as he shed his coat and hat. Ian followed after, picking them up and hanging them on a hook near the door. Sparks rubbed his hands and stared out the picture window at the snow that wasn't falling there, singing.
It's a beautiful day for a webinar!
It's a beautiful day for bananas
Would you eat some?
Could you eat some?
"It's snowing out that window," John pointed down the hall. Sparks peered past him.
"Huh. Microclimates. Weird," Sparks said. "So I spent all weekend on my PowerPoint slides. I invented something."
"Oh?" John asked, edging away cautiously.
"THE BANANA OF WEBSITE PHILANTHROPY," Sparks boomed.
John hesitated. For a moment, morbid curiosity warred with self-preservation, but before he could decide on a course of action, Sparks grabbed his arm.
"Come see!" he said excitedly, pulling John into his office and plugging a flash drive into the computer. "CEE!"
"Coming!" Cee called from the staff kitchen. She gave John a pat on the ass as she passed through the doorway. John glanced back quickly to see if Ian noticed, but he was busy at his desk, looking industrious now that the boss had arrived.
"You need to see the banana," Sparks informed her. Cee glanced at John, worried.
"Banana?" she said hesitantly.
"Here!" Sparks pointed at the screen. John reluctantly joined Cee behind Sparks, looking over his shoulder.
There was, it had to be said, a banana on the computer screen. It was some kind of graph, with plotted points and info bars and everything, but the mass of it did look like a slightly curved banana.
"This is all the visitors to any given site," Sparks said, pointing at the widest portion. "These are people who just visit briefly and then disappear," he added, pointing to the far left, to the narrowest, flattest part. "Then you have everyone who comes to the site and explores, and this tapering bit is the people who stay to give a donation. The number gets narrower and narrower as people get further in the donation process, until you have the stem, here, where the actual donations occur."
John stared at the graph in bafflement. This was why he'd studied the arts.
"That's...a sort of logic," Cee allowed, while John was still squinting at the bold yellow blot in the middle.
"It's genius," Sparks informed them. "Now, what we want our clients to want to do is, they should want us to help them make this part of the banana fatter, where people donate. So in the end it's...more like a...sideways pear," Sparks finished.
"This is your webinar presentation?" Cee asked, doubt in her voice. "Do you want me to take a look at your notes?"
John gave her an encouraging look, but Sparks shook his head.
"No notes! I run a great company, I know this stuff backwards and forwards. I'm winging it," he announced.
John reached down and squeezed Cee's hand tightly, behind Sparks's back. Sometimes all he could do to help was look sympathetic and make sure he had enough cash to buy her a drink later.
***
When Sparks and Roxy went into the conference room to start the webinar, all work in the SparkVISION office stopped dead. Everyone crowded around Zoe's high-resolution computer screen while she put the telephone on speaker and passed out snack bags of granola. Even the interns had been allowed a few minutes away from their tasks and were sitting behind the others, eating snacks. Erin saw Question Girl subtly try to send a text message; Sarah reached out and took her phone away while the rest of the office watched the webinar with a mixture of awe and horror.
"How does he do it?" Anna asked, after a few minutes. "He just dives in with a picture of himself on a horse, for some reason, and somehow it all makes sense when he says it."
"Classic PR technique," Erin told her. "Remind people you're human, make a personal connection with the viewers."
"It's very shiny. Maybe it's hypnotic," Zoe observed. "He used just about every stock "sparkly" image in PowerPoint's clipart file."
"Is that a banana?" Anna asked.
"It's the Banana Of Website Philanthropy," Cee said. Erin could hear the dismay in her tone as Sparks explained how to make the banana fatter.
"He's set up some more for 2010," Naomi said. Everyone looked at her. "He's allocated money from the budget for it."
"Did he also budget time for me to have a nervous breakdown?" Erin asked, panic creeping in.
"I'd talk to Cee about it. That's more of a scheduling issue," Naomi replied.
"Yeah, it is," Erin said. "Because you know what webinars cut into? My drinking time. Which I need more of, because I have to do webinars!"
"I'm sorry," Ian said to nobody in particular. "I'm so, so sorry."
"I'm not sure I can watch," Vicky mumbled. "Poor Roxy's stuck in there with him."
"But it is instructional, sort of," Jess answered.
"We need to copyright that graph," Sarah said, squinting at it.
"He does know this stuff. He's definitely not boring. And he's making good points," Erin sighed. Just then the slide faded out, to be replaced by an animated image of a dancing banana.
"I'm sure that will be relevant somehow," Cee drawled.
"I will bet anyone any amount of money," Erin announced, "that this is going to end with me handing out bananas to our clients."
"Real or plastic?" Ian asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Well, plastic bananas are more likely. I think I've seen banana-shaped pens on the internet."
"DON'T TELL HIM THAT," Cee and Erin said in unison. Erin grabbed Vicky and pulled her to one side just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by Ian's cast when he raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.
"Thanks," Vicky whispered.
"Don't mention it," Erin whispered back.
"Banana candy is gross," John remarked, apropos of nothing.
"Bananas are gross," Anna added.
"How do you not like bananas?" Ian asked. "They're delicious and full of potassium."
"They're stringy and they bruise when you throw them at people."
Erin sighed. The future stretched out in front of her, and it was filled with webinars and fruit.
"Now I want you to pretend," Sparks was saying, as a picture of an elderly woman appeared on the screen, "that you're much more afraid of technology than you are. Pretend you barely know how to operate the internet."
"My internet runs on solar energy," Sarah said.
"I have to twiddle the knobs on mine," Jess added.
"...maybe home alone, and just want to talk to a friendly voice. One of the best things a website can do is make sure that there's 'real' contact information on every page, even if it's just a phone number..."
"Ian, isn't that your desk number?" Naomi asked, as Sparks called up the SparkVISION website.
"My desk number is on everything," Ian replied. "All our mailings. All our websites. They are all belong to me. Because I'm the receptionist, and the scapegoat."
"My heart bleeds," Erin said.
"Good, because I'm going to transfer half the stupid questions to you, and the other half to Roxy."
"There are no stupid questions," Jess scolded, jerking her head at the interns.
Erin bit down on her reply of Only stupid people and instead said, "I'll pay someone ten dollars to bang the gong."
"I'll do it!" Rhinestone Shoe Boy volunteered.
"You're an intern, you're not Someone yet," Naomi said sternly.
***
Bo Sparks was still fidgeting with pent-up post-webinar energy when Cee leaned through the doorway just before lunch.
"Boss, I have a call," she said. "Tanya Montray with Weekly City? She says you met at the annual dinner. And she saw your webinar."
Bo beamed at her. "Montray! I remember her. We flirted at the dinner. Or maybe we fenced. I'm not sure."
"Is there a significant difference?" Cee asked. Bo scoffed.
"Of course there is! If it goes wrong, one ends in a sexual harassment suit and the other in a libel suit."
Cee laughed, which was what he'd been angling for. "She wants to talk to you. Should I have her make an appointment?"
"No, put her through! See, I knew the webinars were a good idea. We're getting more media coverage already," he said, holding up his finger like a recently-fired gun and blowing on the tip. Cee gave him one of her best administrative smiles, the one that he knew meant she tolerated him because he was pretty, and went back to her desk. A second later his phone rang.
"Bo Sparks, webinar impresario, free interviews," he answered. There was a second of confused silence on the other end of the line, but his caller recovered gracefully.
"Mr. Sparks, this is Tanya Montray, I don't know if you remember me -- "
"Of course I do," he said warmly. "Our media presence at the annual dinner. You work for Weekly City."
"Two for two," she said, sounding pleased. Bo preened.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Montray?" he asked.
"Predict what I'm going to say next," she said.
"I bet I could," Bo laughed. "My admin Cee says you saw the webinar this morning."
"I've never seen a more impressive use of fruit," Montray informed him.
"Well, we aim to please. I'm glad you enjoyed it," he enthused.
"I was wondering, if the webinars aren't keeping you too busy, would you have a few spare minutes for an interview? I'm doing a piece on the not-for-profit sector."
"Sure, I think I can book you in, let me check my calendar," he said, and on cue Cee appeared in the doorway with his calendar, which he was no longer allowed to touch after That Incident With The Plane Tickets. It was a miracle she'd let him keep his phone, but he needed that for Twitter. "I'm booked up much of the week, I'm afraid. How's Friday? "
Cee immediately shook her head and mouthed No. He raised his eyebrows.
"Friday's a little hectic for me," Montray said. He could hear her turning desk-calendar pages in the background. "Perhaps next Monday? I hate to push it back so far..."
"Monday? Hmm." This time he consulted Cee, who frowned. "I don't think so, but..."
"I'm happy to meet outside of work hours. In fact, I prefer it," Montray said. She must really want the interview.
"Well -- Thursday evening would work," Bo replied, studying the calendar. "As long as you don't think it's inappropriate to meet in a bar. I have an appointment, but I can spare you some time."
"An appointment in a bar?" She sounded amused.
"You'd be amazed how much you can get done in a bar," he said, grinning at Cee. "Does that work for you? Otherwise, I think next Monday we could meet in the morning."
Cee nodded her approval.
"No, I think tomorrow will be fine," Montray replied.
"Great. Is the north side a problem at all?"
"Not until after midnight," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Did Cee get your email address?"
Cee nodded right as Montray said, "Yes, she's very efficient."
"I probably underpay her. She'll email you with the details. Looking forward to it, Ms. Montray."
"Not half as much as I am, Mr. Sparks," she replied, still sounding like she was trying a little not to laugh. "See you then."
"Bye," Bo said, and hung up the phone. "Hey Cee, do I underpay you?"
"Got a million dollars?" Cee asked, making a note in his calendar.
"Nope!" he replied cheerfully.
"Then no," she said with a grin. "I'll send Ms. Montray the info. She might think you just asked her out on a date, you know."
"She's a reporter, I'm sure they're used to shady locations after-hours. Parking garages, rooftops, the sound of a voice in the shadows. Very Woodward and Bernstein." Bo waggled his fingers dramatically.
"For the love of God," Cee told him, "don't ask her to call you Deep Throat."
"I was considering Anonymous," he said. Cee blinked. "He wrote Primary Colors!"
"Anonymous has written a lot of things," Cee pointed out.
"Fox Mulder, then?" he asked. Cee got up with a shake of her head and turned to go. "Too nineties?" he called after her, as the door closed on her laughter.
***
Date: Wednesday, 12/16/09
Subject: Haven't You Always Wanted A Monkey?
Hey, you guys remember when BNL wrote interesting lyrics? I long for those simpler days.
I was sixteen. The internet was in its infancy. The word 'blog' didn't exist. I had an e-mail pen-pal who sent me a bootlegged audio cassette of Gordon, which contained the original cut of their iconic song "If I Had A Million Dollars".
It encapsulated every wistful daydream we had. It was a time when they really didn't make pre-wrapped bacon. It would be years before I would even know that Accidental Dismemberment Insurance existed, or what a 401(k) was. Now, of course, I have a 401(k) and a PPO health plan. I'm seriously considering the accidental dismemberment insurance, and there's pre-wrapped vegan bacon in my freezer.
I make good money doing what I do, and I do it for a 501(c)(3) organization -- the kind that sends you letters with photos of huge-eyed starving children or puppies or fluffy owl chicks included. They pay me a living wage and are happy to have me, because I'm damn good at my job.
The problem with hearing that coming from the mouth of a not-for-profit employee is that people get angry I'm not earning a bare minimum living wage (you all know that minimum wage is not a living wage, right?) so that more money can go to the fluffy starving owl puppies. Don't get me wrong, I love the fluffy starving owl puppies and I want to save them all, but a prophet's gotta get paid. Non needs his vegan bacon.
I'm not a vegan, by the way, I just think food made to look like other food is funny.
Most people will still accept that in order to keep a skilled pool of talent, you have to pay them competitive rates. Otherwise there's high turnover and burnout and I-just-need-a-job-ers filling the ranks of the not-for-profits. If you explain it to them, they take a second to think about it and acknowledge that okay, maybe that extra few percentage points in the cash output breakdown really should go to administrative costs. So that's okay, right?
Here's my problem: what do you do when this concept of competitive pay works its way up to the management level, and past that to the executive level? The CEO of a large for-profit corporation can expect to make seven or eight figures if his company is prospering. He's a capitalist, that's his right (though I personally think it's sketchy and probably speaks to issues of insecurity). Should the CEO of a similarly successful not-for-profit be paid competitively? How do you measure the worth of an executive? Should people who "really believe" in their charitable activity earn less because they have a deep sense of their mission? Doesn't that seem a little in the vein of religious masochism?
And is it fair that I get paid what I'm worth in any job, while my boss gets underpaid compared to his for-profit peers just because a million dollars seems like a lot of fucking money?
When I try to grapple with these issues, I think about Barenaked Ladies (I know that sounds pornographic, just go with it). I think about all the things they wanted to give their imaginary perfect woman in order to buy her love.
If I had a million dollars,
We wouldn't have to eat Kraft Dinner --
But we would eat Kraft Dinner...?
Of course we would. We'd just eat more.
In a pure sense of scale, yes, my boss should earn what he's worth. He should be paid competitively not only because it's fair, but because otherwise he has no motivation to stay. The problem is that we don't live in a world of pure scale; we live in a world made up primarily of public image.
Plainly put: it looks bad when you tell your donors that you need to raise a thousand dollars to protect the owl puppy hatcheries, and two days later they see the head of your company wearing a Rolex. The immediate reaction is to say, "Save the owl puppies your own damn self". The secondary reaction is to inquire just what the boss does for the company, and what he earns, and why. And that's just a carload of stress that no 501(c)(3) needs.
All of this leaves us with three options:
1. Pay the boss what she's worth and damn the consequences;
2. Underpay the boss and risk turnover and burnout;
3. Pay the boss what he's worth, but prohibit him from ever spending any of it.
You can see why I yearn for my youth, when having a million dollars meant you could buy someone a green dress. (But not a real green dress. That's cruel.)
Post A Comment / 245 Comments Posted
***
From: Sarah
To: Ian
Date: Thursday 12/17/09 10:04
Subject: Hot
Climate Master,
I'm baking back here. Can you please call the building and ask them to turn the thermostat down from Hades to merely Heat Wave?
Thanks!
Sarah
--
This email is covered by the Electronic Communications Privacy Act, 18 U.S.C. 2510-2521, and may be legally privileged. The contents of this email, all related responses and any files and/or attachments transmitted with it are CONFIDENTIAL and are intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed.
***
From: John
To: Ian
Date: Thursday 12/17/09 10:08
Subject: Shrinkage
I'm fucking freezing.
--
John McGill
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Grant and Publicity Writer
Writers aren't exactly people. They're a whole lot of people, trying to be one person. -- F. Scott Fitzgerald
***
From: Ian
To: John, Sarah
Date: Thursday 12/17/09 10:13
Subject: Re: Hot Shrinkage
In an email dated Thursday 12/17/09 Sarah wrote:
> Can you please call the building and ask them to turn
> the thermostat down from Hades to merely Heat Wave?
In an email dated Thursday 12/17/09 John wrote:
> I'm fucking freezing.
You two need to switch desks.
Fine, that won't work, I know. I'll call the engineers and see if we can't get this regulated, but the building is made of windows so climate change takes time. I suggest one of you put on a sweater and the other one have an iced coffee.
IB.
--
Ian Butler
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Front Desk Administration
"Providing for those who provide for the providers"
***
Roxy had been looking forward to a quiet week, after the webinar on Monday. She'd ironed out all the website problems, briefed Ian on the issues that people were likely to have with their clients' donation pages, and colluded with Zoe on a nice winter theme for the new Holiday E-Cards feature that Sparks had decided upon instead of the animated sock-puppet movies. The following Monday was too close to Christmas for a webinar, so she was looking forward to putting her feet up and watching everyone else run around attending events and courting new clients.
She decided, as she banged on the copier-room door for the tenth time, that she needed to stop expecting serenity.
"HANG ON," John yelled from the other side, and the door swung open. Roxy sighed. She knew that John had a roommate and Cee's apartment had thin walls, but surely they could find somewhere more comfortable than the copier room to do their secret wooing.
"The queue for the color printer is borked," she said bluntly, ignoring the way John was casually double-checking to make sure his shirt was tucked in. "I need in."
"Sorry! The lock sticks," Cee said.
"I was just showing her the...thing," John added. Roxy tried not to snigger.
"The thing!" Cee agreed. "It was broken. I had to -- "
"Right, the thing was busted, totally," John agreed.
"Is the thing fixed now?" Roxy asked pointedly.
"She asked for help," John said, which seemed to contradict his earlier information.
"Thank you, John, for that help," Cee said quickly.
"Uh-huh." Roxy rolled her eyes.
"I was just helping her!" John insisted. Ian, passing by with a box under his good arm and a bin of mail balanced precariously on his cast, snorted.
"Well, I need to see the color printer, because whenever Zoe sends anything to it, it holds up the rest of the print jobs and never prints," Roxy said, standing aside and gesturing for them to leave.
"I'll help you with that!" Cee beamed.
"John, do you want to help me too?" Roxy gave him a sweet smile.
"No. No, I'll just -- with the -- words and things," John brushed past her and went to hide in his cubicle. Roxy stepped into the room, opened her laptop, and set about trying to discover why their color printer hated their graphic designer.
"We need to print out some proofs of the holiday card for Sparks to look at," she said. "Cutting it a little close this year."
"Sparks thought it would be fun to send New Year's cards," Cee said fondly.
"That explains the special fee Zoe was talking about for added glitter printing," Roxy said. "By the way, everyone knows. It's okay, we think it's cute."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Roxy gave her a cocked eyebrow. "Seriously, Ian wipes down the copier daily, just in case. Jess is afraid you're going to traumatize poor Vicky someday."
"He was helping me with the thing!"
"Oh God, stop saying that," Roxy groaned. "Look, nobody cares. Sparks would probably throw you a -- ohhh," she said, realization dawning. Cee nodded. "Sparks would be very enthusiastic."
"Everyone would be enthusiastic," Cee said.
"I can see how that might...complicate things. Still, at least then you could sneak off somewhere other than the copier room."
"I didn't hear that and if I did I wouldn't know what you meant."
"Have it your way," Roxy said, as the color printer creaked and spat out a spattered, smeared sheet of paper. It looked a little like Jackson Pollock's interpretation of a broken wineglass.
"Don't tell John," Cee said. "He couldn't talk about this logically like I can. Deep down he's really very shy."
Just then, Anna's faint shrieking filled the air.
"John! Stop defiling my stress squeezie!"
"He covers for it well," Roxy remarked.
Chapter Seven
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 04:26 pm (UTC)A couple of chapters ago:
"On Thursdays, Sparks usually left SparkVISION at 4:30 sharp, bound south to a weekly board meeting of some Chicago arts enrichment council he belonged to."
This chapter:
"Well -- Thursday evening would work," Bo replied, studying the calendar. "As long as you don't think it's inappropriate to meet in a bar. I have an appointment, but I can spare you some time."
no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 04:31 pm (UTC)I think I may stop commenting on every chapter now, 'cause otherwise you'll probably get a lot of this comment in different words.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-01 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 12:43 am (UTC)"Well -- Thursday evening would work," Bo replied, studying the calendar. "As long as you don't think it's inappropriate to meet in a bar. I have an appointment, but I can spare you some time."
"An appointment in a bar?" She sounded amused.
"You'd be amazed how much you can get done in a bar," he said, grinning at Cee. "Does that work for you? Otherwise, I think next Monday we could meet in the morning."
Cee nodded her approval.
"No, I think tomorrow will be fine," Montray replied.
So did the webinar happen on Wednesday? Or am I missing something (entirely plausible)?
I love the new banana graph. I'm also glad you kept Erin's "The future stretched out in front of her, and it was filled with webinars and fruit." because for some reason this really resonated with me in the first draft and I've been quoting it a lot, even if it only partially fits into whatever I'm talking about.
Off to break for some dinner!
even_leap
no subject
Date: 2010-10-03 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:37 pm (UTC)Glad you like the graph! :D
no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 02:51 am (UTC)2. Underpay the boss and risk turnover and burnout;
3. Pay the boss what he's worth, but prohibit him from ever spending any of it.
Did you mean for the boss to be female in #1?
I'm enjoying the re-read very much!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 07:39 pm (UTC)And I agree with anonymous up there. The first part of this chapter takes place on Monday, but then Bo tells Tanya he'll meet her Tomorrow on Thursday.
Unless Bo is supposed to be "still fidgeting with pent-up post-webinar energy" two days later.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:38 pm (UTC)Yeah, the 'tomorrow' thing is from back when this happened on a Wednesday :)
no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 08:57 pm (UTC)But yes.... real green dresses are in fact cruel, and we all secretly know it.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-03 10:32 pm (UTC)I'm quite enjoying the rewrite!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 05:08 am (UTC)The graph took me a few minutes of staring at, though this might be because I'm in a statistics class and I now need to analyze ALL THE GRAPHS. You're showing the range between "high use" and "average" viewers? Why is the y-axis labeled "number of visitors"?
no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-11 05:48 am (UTC)2. All your base are belong to us... But do you think it will sound too weird to someone who doesn't know it? Just because it's a "They", not a definite noun. They are belonging, they all belong... it almost looks like a typo. I like the joke, though.
3. "you all know that minimum wage is not a living wage, right?" - thank you for this line.
4. I always liked this entry, and always have the same reaction at the end, from Tick Tick Boom...: "Green green dress, twenty buttons and a strap..."
End: This chapter seems largely unchanged. I like it.
ETA!
5. You changed the ending place, you sneaky sam! I didn't scroll down because that was where I thought it ended before. However, again, Climate master sequence always has me laughing.
6. Hahaha sock-puppet e-cards. That was seriously what I thought it said at first. But I'm glad they nixed that idea.
7. Nice ending. Is it new? I like it. I feel like that sequence it tightened. It's better, or the lead-in is better.
thought: I really don't notice time passage much, at least compared to the other commenters!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-11 01:52 pm (UTC)A couple people have dinged me about "all your website are belong to me", but not nearly so many as you'd think!
Re #3, I read a statistic this morning that when you factor in inflation rates, minimum wage has actually been falling since 1973. I was horrified.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-11 06:29 pm (UTC)I'm not sure what's different here from the first draft, where I didn't mind at all - it feels like more incidents more rapidly, though.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-20 02:34 am (UTC)