In other semi-related news, I now have a pretty piece of paper assuring me I made it through a Bachelor of Journalism with Distinction, which is lovely.
Just for kicks, here's a token graduation photo.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Inspirations and updates: graduation and Run,Rabbit
I'm about a week away from putting out the first issue of Run, Rabbit (you can read more about the project here, or at the website www.runrabbitmagazine.com). It's exciting, but I'm already bouncing with ideas for the second issue and impatient to get started!
In other semi-related news, I now have a pretty piece of paper assuring me I made it through a Bachelor of Journalism with Distinction, which is lovely.
Just for kicks, here's a token graduation photo.
In other semi-related news, I now have a pretty piece of paper assuring me I made it through a Bachelor of Journalism with Distinction, which is lovely.
Just for kicks, here's a token graduation photo.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Feature: 'New Year's Peeve' for Biscuit Magazine Issue 15
I really hate fireworks.
Read the article online here.
Let’s try a little experiment. I want you to picture a New Year’s Eve memory. Just go with the first that comes to mind. While we’re sharing, here’s mine. It was 2009, at one to midnight on the last day of December. At that moment, I stopped throwing up on a stranger’s porch and was swept up in the romantic New Year’s Eve kiss I’d been hoping for. Whether that anecdote is somewhat sweet or wholly revolting depends on your point of view. What’s a given is New Year’s Eve ending in disappointing laced with regret wrapped in vomit. You’ll have a better take-home memory of ringing in 2012 if you save yourself the jacked up taxi fares and fall asleep at 10:30pm watching re-runs of Jersey Shore. ‘But, Anna’, you say, ‘I’ve never thrown up on my own shoes’. Fine, fancy pants. Here’s a few perfectly valid reasons to boycott the celebrations.
Read the article online here.
Let’s try a little experiment. I want you to picture a New Year’s Eve memory. Just go with the first that comes to mind. While we’re sharing, here’s mine. It was 2009, at one to midnight on the last day of December. At that moment, I stopped throwing up on a stranger’s porch and was swept up in the romantic New Year’s Eve kiss I’d been hoping for. Whether that anecdote is somewhat sweet or wholly revolting depends on your point of view. What’s a given is New Year’s Eve ending in disappointing laced with regret wrapped in vomit. You’ll have a better take-home memory of ringing in 2012 if you save yourself the jacked up taxi fares and fall asleep at 10:30pm watching re-runs of Jersey Shore. ‘But, Anna’, you say, ‘I’ve never thrown up on my own shoes’. Fine, fancy pants. Here’s a few perfectly valid reasons to boycott the celebrations.
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