Bieber and faceplants

The company that owns The Palm Beach Post is consolidating the copy desks. That means that after less than two months of interning here, the desk moved from the newsroom to a new segregated space (I'm not joking: I am the only girl down here, and I am the only person that sits on the east side of the currently occupied banks of desks). I came back to work after the wedding to find my old desk bravely standing amid several demolished ones. A few people huddled at their surviving work spaces, cheap paneling and straggling wires trailing in the rubble. I gathered my few things, sobbing softly, and traipsed downstairs.

It's not all bad. Down here I have huge windows behind me (i.e. light without distraction), nine huge TVs in sight (surprisingly not a distraction), and a view of the intermittently passing trains (a mild distraction). The downside is that we are ramping up to editing the sports sections for four papers, but we are on the very first bit of that ramp, and for a few more days I have little to do.

When I find myself in this aimless situation I try to improve my mind by reading about sports. Unfortunately, that often brings me to Deadspin, a wonderful sinkhole of vulgar but entertaining stories (be warned, if you click any of the ensuing links) that vaguely relate to sports. Wednesday's catch was a feature about singing the national anthem at a minor league ball game. I saw the writer is also a GQ correspondent, and I clicked through to the magazine's site. A feature on teen pop star Justin Bieber stood out (why? I dunno). It was four pages long. (And, as several of the Post interns discussed, any mid-story clicking requires a higher level of reader dedication.) I accidentally clicked to the end, painstakingly clicked back to make sure I didn't miss a word, and proceeded to soak up details of a mediocre interview with the baby king of pop.

After I finished reading the article, my first thought was that I would have written it with either more snark or more philosophical reflection on the perils of fame.

Then I thought, WHAT IS SPORTS EDITING COMING TO? Bieber-critiquing? Really, Rebecca? I knew I was really in trouble when I went home making Bieber puns in my head (there are problems with that on many levels).

(Incidentally, with my acute aptitude for drawing parallels, I realized that Justin and I both have the attention span of a chihuahua on caffeine (much like my dopplegänger). If we were friends we would probably need a safety guard just to help us cross the street without chasing butterflies and getting hit by cars.)

My thoughts were punctuated by some heels-induced slapstick (ladies, take note: vanity is not always worth it). I took one step onto a tile floor in the new office space and felt my foot slide backward while the rest of my body obediently followed Newton's first law of motion. I landed completely flat, trampoline-artist style, with no casualties except for the innocent recycling bin I took down with me. If this had happened around my family or friends, I would be guaranteed an ab-workout-level laugh. Instead I politely answered polite inquiries as to any injuries and have politely laughed along to a few good jokes about it since.

I was told to make the most of my internship. Good thing I have a couple weeks left.