Alright. Round 1 is over. I have three hours to kill until my last interview. The morning started with the Wall Street Journal. That went pretty good, I must say. Damn, I was kinda sweaty when I sat down and had to wipe my brow a few times during the interview. Whatever. It was kind of humid in the lecture hall so everyone was kinda sweaty. We went through the basic interview questions, yada yada, and he was pretty impressed with my experience at Wired, especially the part when I told him about coming into work at 7 every morning to write the business briefs. In fact, I think he became aroused. Sexually. And then he loved my story idea about the poker cheaters and he got another boner until I stupidly told him that Rolling Stone rejected it and so he lost it.

I was surprised that he asked me about my extracurriculars, shit about my drama experience and comedy troupe stuff. He asked me the improv process and shit which totally caught me off guard. I mentioned Whose Line is it Anyway like a fucking dummy. And he also asked me about my tutoring and mentoring shit. So I appeased him with a touching story about how I took those cambodian kids under my wing and showed them what geometry was all about. I did my Sean Connery voice and said, "You the man now, dogg!" Bah. But when he started asking me more questions, I kind of blanked out and all I could doo was stare at this little bead of sweat that trickled down from the right side of his forehead to about the level of his nose and just stopped. I was watching it slowly evaporate and I about that one scene in Total Recall when Arnold sees the bead of sweat on that guy and shoots him in the brain. When he said $30,000 I snapped out of it. That's a pretty good salary for entry-level journalism. And also the fact that he mentioned figures was a definite good sign. I talked to some of my friends who interviewed with them later and he didn't mention that shit to them. Anyway, that went well.

People, on the other hand, can lick deez nuts. First of all, I didn't even want to interview with them. I said fuck it and didn't think up story ideas. But right when I sat down, the stupid lady gave me a 10 minute speech about how great it was to have newspaper experience (and how I didnt' have enough). Then she told me to basically fuck off. The nerve of those People. So I punched her in the face (in my mind) and got outta there.

Hey, I just realized that my beard looks fucked up. Damn, I cut too much on one side, I look like a dummy. bah. anyway, all I got left is Rodale and I will tell them I want to write stories for Men's Health, starting with my male breast reduction story. Damn, you should hear the fucked up stories they talk about on this mailing list I got on. Dudes talking about going to Sears and hitting up the women's lingerie department to get custom-fitted for bras and shit, getting orgasms off rubbing their womanly breasts, being discriminated in the army for having man boobs, horror stories about their breasts flopping up and down during gym class, it's awful. I feel really sorry for these freaks. One guy even has a karyotype of 47, XXY, and says he is not 100 percent male and not female, but member of a 3rd gender, which is called "intersex." Crazy.