You want to be famous. You want to be one of the heads on an airport screen who gets paid handsomely to spout vitriol and rile up the seniors. We get it. But you were better off writing those anything-goes op-eds for that New York business paper than you are with this venture. Already, you've been used for op-ed space by someone who only wanted to convince the L.A. Times that she deserved op-ed space. Now, you're basically the wedding photographer for a Vancouver street gang? That's what you're doing: Editing encounters with randos at the Womxn's March so your clients have something to put on Facebook? When you were attending college here, under the guise of "becoming a journalist," when did the goal change? Was this what you were hoping for: To be used as a medium for locals with axes to grind? You have one partner who clearly views you as an intellectual subordinate and another who sees you as a means to an end (largely because his people are terrible videographers with poor camera presence). Was this how you thought it would end up when the school paper fired you? Is this really the message you took from your trip across the ocean? Your legitimate qualms with those in power have ended with you simply serving different masters. If this was what you wanted, you've set laughably low expectations.
A Hard No
The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.