I’m an old-timer over in these parts.
Well I’m an old-timer in all parts, but these here newspaper parts, I’m the last woman standing. (Cue the airhorns. Then the ballad, “All By Myself.” If you have time, maybe toss on Motley Crue’s “Without You.” Then some Sinead O’Conner right quick? And I (yeeeee IIIII) will always love yooooooooou.)
I mean, I have a design team in the Philippines who lovingly put her together as I give them the guts of the paper, but I’m the last woman standing in Boulder.
And now during this fine September of 2022, it’s my 18 year anniversary with the Daily. Now my job can buy cigs, get into big-kid shows and call itself an adult. It can go to peep shows, buy Hustler Magazine and clove cigarettes. It can vote! My career is ready to party.
“I’m gonna get on my sparkly Beyonce horse, wear a diamond thong and ride this bitch out for 18 years,” is not what I said 18 years ago.
It was more like, “I’m gonna slide down this Brittany Spears python and try not to break my leg while shotgunning a PBR.”
Aside from blood family, the Daily is the longest relationship I’ve ever had. We should get a room. Like one in Vegas with a double toilet we can share.
It’s quite remarkable, to be honest, though. I’m patting myself on the back. Most humans I know only hold a job down for a couple of years before they move on. Or they chase 15 jobs in one year after getting constantly canned. Or they don’t work. Which I don’t understand. (Adults work.)
But through all of Colorado Daily’s redesigned eras, wardrobe changes, staff cycles, boss batches, age spots, I’ve spent my formative years working under her masthead.
And boy howdy, It’s been a sweaty ride. I learned about cortisol, that bitchy stress hormone. I also learned not to drink newsroom coffee black or I’ll throw up tar. And that that empty offices make for zen panic attack oases, even if it’s 52 degrees in there. Old carpet soaks up tears without staining it. Saving sauce packets is key so you can suck down a Taco Bell Fire pouch when there’s no time to go get sustenance. Rooting through old boxes in the newsroom library will find you old bottles of Mad Dog. Designers, publishers and editors make for great babysitters when you have to bring your child to work. Saving old newspapers is an extreme fire hazard. But also comes in handy for lighting charcoal and campfires.
Many life tips over these nearly two decades.
From blossoming under some of the best editors in the world to ladder-hopping all the hell over different sides of the newsroom — it’s been a spectacular disaster.
And I’m still here. But even better, this month the Colorado Daily also turns 130. I love that she and I ride the same September tide. Hers is a life I shall aspire for. But I mean, for maybe only like ~80 years tops. I’m already a bag of achy bones at 45.
For Ms. Daily’s birthday, let’s go on a journey of her last 130 years.
I’m kidding. Nobody has time for that.
Instead I’m going to wish myself a happy workiversary and get back to the grind. I love what I’ve learned about journalism and life over 18 years of working beside so many talented humans. I love the people the Colorado Daily brought into my life. From readers, freelancers, Silver Foxes, fans of my column and haters, I’ve met a screenplay of unique people. And I miss the ones who left the world too soon.
Now quit crying about things, I have shit to do. Like hallucinate into the night sky while I tell my wildflowers about my day.