Mark Bossingham

On the job II

WELL, HERE I am, at last. It’s after 7 p.m. and the dog is undoubtedly becoming a bit uneasy. Where are they? Are they never coming home? That’s how dog’s think, I think. Regardless, she is hungry, missing her dinnertime of 6 p.m. It can’t be helped; she is just going to have to get used to a later dinner. I won’t get out of here until 10 and maybe if I am lucky home 45 minutes later. I took the Yurikamome Line to work. Lots of fun—it’s a monorail and moves pretty slow. The view as it moves in and out of the bay area is cool, from freight switching yards to tall ships at berth. The trip from Toyosu to Shiodome takes 29 minutes. Gives me time to listen to music—something I haven’t had much time for recently. Because Toyosu is a shuten, or terminus, I have the train to myself when we get under way. I get off at Shiodome, an architecturally spectacular recent development anchored by the Dentsu ad agency building. The plan was for me to take my new little computer and finish off my Kiki and Jiji story. But because Jiji is so old, it quickly became apparent that I would need a new plan. Bursting into tears in the middle of a coffee shop might not be too cool. There is a time to finish that story. It is coming, but it is not here yet.

The Worm turns

IT'S 8:30 a.m., and it the first day of my new 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. schedule. I had a rather convoluted plan—at 11 a.m. take the Yurikamome monorail to Shiodome, hang around, write, buy dinner and stroll down the road to the office. And then walk from the office at the end of the shift Shintomicho subway station. Travel cost 10 yen more, but at least a change of scene. All of this after I work out as usual. Problem is: It's raining like mad out there and cold. Kind of takes the fun out of it. Don't care to get drenched walking from Shiodome to the office. May just move at glacial speed here and go to work in the usual manner. However, the dog can't get it through her head that Kiyomi isn't here this morning (in Korea) and keeps wandering about in confusion. I'll file my next report from the office.

"Two Lights"

OK, YA got me. I can't listen to Five for Fighting's (John Ondrasik) song "Two Lights" without crying a little bit. I stay in my room until my 57-year-old eyes are dry. It is said there are many kinds of heroes and John certainly is one. If you would like to know more about this remarkable man, this interview in National Review should help.

Finished. Fondly, sadly. Thank you.

NICE DAY out there today. Jiji, after a walk around the IBM building and a glance at the waverunners tearing up and down the canal and the power boaters, chomped down a doggie Oreo and strolled home. I kept her company on my bike. Now, she lies in the sun, taking it easy. Me, too. This is my last weekend before I am tossed into the copy pit. Our final Weekend Beat installment came out OK this morning. OK, means, at the the very least, no errors. The first thing I do every Saturday is get the paper and check the pages in my section for "pullbacks"— typography marks indicating the page was yanked back for a fix. In our case an ugly (scary if you are the editor) bullet above the folio line at the top of the page. So, bottom line—in the four plus years I have worked the section we've had only one pullback and that was a least three years ago. A good record. However, no one in their right mind would give me a Pulitzer for proofreading—I had a great deal of help from my immediate superior to editors in other sections of the paper. Thanks to all.

What are they doing?

FOR MONTHS construction workers have been doing their thing in my backyard. First they tore up a few hundred meters of brickwork and promptly replaced it. Now they are, well, I am not exactly sure what the hell they are doing. What was a parking lot is getting the treatment. Certainly, the industrial gardeners and stonemasons must be ecstatic. The tired old asphalt is being replaced with expensive paving stones and the trees, bushes and flowers I don't know the names of are being laid and planted. But to what end? Embedded in the stonework are white lines that at first were nicely symmetrical, apparent parking places for autos. But things went haywire yesterday. Unless your car is 30 meters long my one meter, the new "parking spots" just won't do. My wife says it is going to be a bicycle parking lot. I say I have no idea. Plant more trees, I say. My dog likes them.

On the Job: End of an era

TONIGHT, WHEN we put our paper to bed, an era ends. The feature department disappears, and much else as well. It's a sad day, indeed. I'd like to say that it signals a new beginning, but that is not the case. We are in an unstoppable slide into oblivion. The newspaper, if you can call it that, is on life support, and at some point some committee far away is going to pull the plug. We had a good run, but competition from the Internet, a saturated market and some ill-considered decisions put a stake through our heart. As for me, I have little room to complain, my job changes, and not for the better, but other friends will have no job at all. To rework a recent movie title: "We Were Journalists Once and Competent."

Jiji is 14, Celebrate!

Jiji is 14, Celebrate!

Jiji is 14, Celebrate!

Changes at work suck

THINGS ARE always changing in our newsroom, and usually not for the better. On the first of the month, many people I like will be leaving (not by choice). They will be missed. Most will not be replaced. I am used to a high turnover, this is a newspaper after all, but with no replacements in sight, I am afraid the place will be like working in a ... well, let's just not go there. Personally, I will be moving back to the news desk three days a week and put in two days on the feature desk. I am weary of goodbye parties. One more to go, on Wednesday, for the extremely talented feature writers who are getting the ax. I've worked with them for years and the whole situation really and truly sucks.