I was listening to someone I know talk about a crazy experience they had with a knight while they were in London. The story involved a porridge incident and Sir So-and-So, who by the story, sounds like a bit of an eccentric.
I was third in line to buy coffee from Lina when she noticed me. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What a beautiful surprise!” she yelled over the other customers.
When I opened the paper on June 1st, and saw that they had published my little ditty in the NY Times, my parents were on vacation in Mexico and Andy was visiting family in Florida.
They all got the message, but my Mom didn’t read the story as she thought it was a piece posted earlier on my blog. It was a piece that had not been posted, so it was new to her and anyone who reads my blog.
My mom acts as my editor-in-chief when I write, texting me to tell me that I have misspelled something or that something is amiss after I post it. I miss things all the time, so I find her corrections helpful.
The New York Times story was different, because I didn’t share it with anyone before I submitted it.
When you submit a story, it clearly denotes that you are giving the Times FULL rights to edit the story as they see fit. I was looking forward to submitting and seeing what came out the other end. What changes would be made?
They changed my original title which was A Caffeinated Goodbye. Then they added a hyphen in coffee-cart, and removed an Oxford comma towards the end of the piece.
Well it wasn’t until my mother returned from Mexico, and read the new story, that she texted me to tell me she regretted to inform me that there was a misspelled word in my piece:
She meant NY Times. Damn auto-correct!
I can’t believe that neither the Times or I ran a spell check. That’s so bush league!
After an hour of beating myself up, I realized that when Andy had his aneurysm last year (which he has fully recovered from), that I texted aneurism to my family and friends so many times, that my phone (which I write on) now auto-corrects it to the wrong spelling. whomp whomp.
So I contacted the Times and in 10 minutes it was corrected. I received an email back that said, “Good catch!”
Aneurysm was spelled correctly in the original printed version, so I am not sure what kind of shenanigans they are up to over there in the online department. At least I can blame auto-correct.
My mom is back to being my editor-in-chief now, and I am excited to say that I saw Lina on Friday for the first time since the article ran. Check back later this week to hear all about it!
There is a Baptist Church on the corner of my block which is very well attended. It’s three-story frame and tall white steeple acts as a landmark to which I can judge the distance to my apartment. The congregation is black and largely from the neighborhood.
I was getting off the train in my neighborhood when I saw a woman wearing a beautiful pair of 6 inch heels.
James Holmes Watson. A Patriot.
Now that the weather is getting warmer, and I’m spending more time outside, my thoughts have shifted to one thing: Dog pee. Continue reading
There is a woman who I recognize, sitting directly across from me on the subway.
Last week, there was one seat left on the morning train, and I squeezed into it. It was a snug fit, but not terrible. Everyone still had some room to move.