A Festive News-Years Eve

It’s our first annual “News Years Eve” party this evening. (Yes, I regret the name, but the banners are done and printed.) The Ostrich never had a holiday party before—Max Colander wouldn’t allow it, but I think the team can use a night off, once a year. Clayton Brusk assures me he’ll be there, no doubt with a dueling sword at his hip, to taunt me. Winslow Vance says he’ll come, too, after the print run is finished. Beyond that, it might be a small gathering: just me, Mrs. T, Matt Damon, and the news desk admin who’s mad I forgot her name, and won’t let anyone remind me. The genie might drop by early on. New Years Eve is a big night for him, I understand.

I’ve invited the Casual-Observer crowd, but haven’t heard back from anyone. I know they were hoping I’d find them work at the Ostrich sooner. The budget’s looking rosy, though; I bet I can convince Clayton we’re solvent enough to bring on a few good columnists. Hopefully no one snatches them up in the meantime.

And that’s the state of things. I’ve worn a butt-sized indentation in my new office chair, and the old guard is starting to realize I’m serious about my job as publisher. I’m not just in it for the tycoonitude, as much as I relish that aspect. I still wake up sweaty from the occasional nightmare that I don’t own a newspaper, and it’s so relieving to rub my eyes and discover that, of course, I do. If you’ve ever thought about buying one, I recommend it. It really is the best feeling.

We’ll be back next week with an issue that’s about something. For today, there are hats to be fetched from the party store, and silver tinsel to hang from the rafters.

Here’s to a year full of wonder, delight, and contentment (I’m looking at you, November). Whatever comes, the Ostrich has your back. We’ll be here to cover all the news that’s not too scary, and to pass on any interesting whale facts that come across our desk. Raise a glass for us tonight, as we raise ours for you!