Crowns worn clumsily, sexily

I'm an asshole, as of today. Forever. I've asked--for the first time--that a freelancer do a re-write. Not because other pieces haven't needed rewrites, but because I am a man of towering ambition, and this poor fellow got his story into me early, not 5 minutes before print, like everyone else.

My stable of crack music journalists. All ladies. All fabulously talented.

Proving this: punctuality is not good for you, it's good for the people who control you.

And also this: I need to run a tighter ship.

The thing was actually pretty good too. I just want something more, and I know he can give it to me. Holding certain people to a higher standard, also something I do now.

I know I'd be mortified (resentful, angry) if I was asked to do a rewrite. So I worded the e-mail very carefully. It really wasn't that bad, seriously. I just had another idea. I feel guilty, like I'm not qualified to ask for one since I've never been asked for one.

Apparently they happen all the time, though, rewrites. Just not at our paper. At more prestigious ones.

Until now.

Does that make me a bad ass? Let's just say yes and move on.

I am. Bad ass.

Read the full thing here.

A few somethings spoiling the something

Turned on comment verifying because this weekend comment spam has been raining down like [insert natural disaster]. It asks you to copy a small line of garbled text before you can publish your comment. If you're a person and not a spambot, this should be easy. If you are a spambot, boy, you're in for a headache. If you're a human, spamming the old fashioned way, you are a pestilence without a cure.

Except possibly shame.

But probably not.

Though just in case:

You're a bad person.

Read the full thing here.