Monday, the only day of the week that I get to practice the skills of a graphic designer here at the Gaz now that I'm Ultimo-utility player. The reason I took the job, the reason I resigned myself to a life without the sun. The resume building stock and proof that I can be just a little artistic even though it's in a contrived 1-6 column space.
And wouldn't you know it, apparently the sales representatives haven't been having much luck lately (print news is a dinosaur). There are no ads to be designed, no pick-up ads to alter to taste, no spec ads for Independence Day, nothing...not a damn one. So here I sit.
I'm dangerously close to the end of the internet and to tell you the truth, it's like getting kicked in the dick. For the rest of the week I have to be responsible, take charge of the output and upload of the entire kit and kaboodle. I have to make sure the product is flawless before printing, fix the mistakes if there are any (editorial and advertising), take PDF's of each page and use OLIVE to separate stories, jumps, headlines, bylines, images, captions, ads, charts, graphics, leads, subheads, supplimentals, link them to their respective partners in crime and label each to make sure that all you webfolks can get a specific story from the internets in its entirety with one click of the mouse. Triple check the 3 editions and spice to taste.
And with a bit more prodding I can make coffee.