My Aunty Clarens said to me that it’s always best to get your beauty sleep because good looks will get you very far in life. Everyone knows that all the most successful editors are attractive, charming people, and I’m sure they got that way because they had more then enough sleep.
Which is why journalists, who look the way they do, are still journalists, and not editors.
I am only capable of thinking these Zen-like thoughts because I declined the imploring pleas of my fairweather friends and didn’t go to Moyo on Monday night. I went back to my backpackers, put on a face pack, checked my Facebook, clipped my nails and fell into a deep and wonderful sleep.
During the night I had a weird dream that I had gone with the City Press editor with the union cap to join the customs officials at OR Thambo on strike. Many very important people were quite upset. We were both fired from our jobs as incredibly important editors, and had to take up jobs as distributors of the Sandton Gazette.
What a nightmare.
I woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the day ahead. Crashed another editors breakfast and packed my bag with pastries to last me the morning.
What I’ve learnt in the last few days is that journalists and editors LIKE personality, even if they don’t necessarily have any. So much so, that they’ll do anything to be around personalities of any kind, even Amor Vittone.
Take, for example, the people organizing this conference. I’ve already spoken about that fiery redhead I am fervently pursuing. But what about that good-looking, short guy, who rattles off in French, Spanish and English, and manages to look disheveled yet charming at the same time? Look, I don’t bat for the other side, but I have respect for a guy who can look like he went to bed in his suit, but can still charm the pants off of any lady.
You know, he almost looks like a complete sleazeball, but something tells me he’s a nice guy underneath.
Then there’s the soft, sweet-voiced young British lady who stalks the seats of the auditorium, organizing editors and managing difficult Frenchmen (this one makes Inspector Clouseau look calm) as easily as she calls people “sweetheart”. I almost changed my loyalties to her until I walked past the auditorium and heard her shouting orders to the sound people, with her smile still pasted insanely to her face. I may be adventurous, but I’m not ready to go out with a crazy woman.
I have great respect for people who manage to organize editors while simultaneously flirting with each other in an outrageous manner.
Clearly, editors keep these kinds of characters close because it makes them feel normal in a crazy world.
That aside, someone at the conference must have chuckled with glee when they managed to book the Deputy President of South Africa (Pumzi as I fondly think of her) and Deputy President of the ANC, JZ (yo) at different lunches, at the same time. Now this was going to be interesting: who would go to which lunch? Which journalists would run between both? Which speech would be worse?
As you heard from my Monday entry, I picked Pumzi, though her speech was literally, to die for. I almost did – of boredom. But in retrospect I should have picked JZ. Apparently he was almost massacred by the media after his speech (which I heard was as dreadful as Pumzi’s was boring) and got very upset.
Presidents, politicians, editors, publishers, fancy people, all swanning around on a cloud of media righteousness. I love it! It’s like everything they do is justifiable by their belief that they represent the PUBLIC. Which, granted, on many levels they do. But that a different blog for a different day. I have the closing party to go to! Woohoo!
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