I began work at DailyMe a month ago, and have injected exactly 4,100 words into the web’s noisy blogosphere since. This number would be greater if our oft-used company name was split into two words, but I appreciate that our current figure is easy to convert into scientific notation. After all the summer’s toiling, though, many friends have begun noting my transformation from footloose-and-fancy-free teenager to drab corporate stiff. The first term that comes to mind may be “sell-out”, but I’m not making enough money for that to do their observation justice. Instead, I think any differences in my personality can be attributed to a 40-hour-per-week exposure to office life. I don’t want to become a square, but I can already sense the areas where I am diverging from my own age group. Here are a couple of them:

1. Sense of Humor: Although “that’s what she said” jokes continue to tap the universal male funnybone, my friends and I can’t relate over many other gags. It’s not that a big-boy job has elevated the wit of my jokes, but, instead, it has changed the topics that I find funny. Since joining the civilian labor force, the only “size” I’ve heckled a buddy about is that of his pension.
2. Down-time: I pity the fool who sleeps ‘till noon each wasteful summer day, but I envy the contemporaries who found honest work at a summer camp: their rest hour after lunch is just what my near-adult body needs to get through the day. I’m yet to observe a siesta at DailyMe, but I get one notable break each Monday morning: I forget that my superiors are coming in at 9:30 instead of 9:00 AM, and end up with half an hour to kill while I wait to be let into the office. This is a good opportunity to sleep on a bed of tile, chug a Red Bull, or stick my head down a flushing toilet until my eyes open. Either way, I’m all the more energized for a day of work.

I can’t think of much else that distinguishes me from my peers, and I’m grateful: I’d hate to put “Density of Body Hair” as a third category. The bottom line is that I’m still a kid at heart—and in physique--and will not lose sight of this as I continue my internship. Just don’t call me Peter Pan!

It’s only 10:00 AM on July 5th, but the flame of Independence Day in South Florida is extinguished. Though yesterday’s holiday spirit seemed more charged-up than Benjamin Franklin’s libido (or so I’ve heard), the zest has since fizzled like a child-safe sparkler. Nestled in an online chatroom because its building was closed, however, the DailyMe staff remained largely oblivious of the holiday’s coming-and-going. One could chalk this up to the management’s international background, but I attribute the diligence to our site’s impending launch date. As we prepare to go public with the service, we expect to work harder hours, to stay for longer days, and to drink Spicier-flavored V8 juice. It will take some extra energy on my part as well, but the fruit of labor will be next month’s launch party. We originally wanted the celebration’s theme to signify progress and innovation—we do claim to produce “next generation news”, after all—but we’ll probably just go with something risk-free like “Daily Me, Vegas Style”.

I’ve spent a good deal of time discussing the energy our staff has put into the homestretch, but I haven’t yet told you the nature of our work. This is partly because it would defeat the purpose of pleasure reading, but there is also some pressure from the powers that be to stay hush-hush. We are currently fleshing out some marketing strategies, and are trying to keep them under wraps as crunch-time continues.

In parallel, our computer whizzes will program codes and algorithms into the new web design while the others focus on some “QA”. The latter undertaking may be illegal in most grammar books (what’s the deal, Q? Too cool to hang out with U these days?), but Quality Assurance (full name) is essential for the detail-oriented startup.

I don’t know how I’ll fit into the final countdown, but I hope it involves either blogging or jumping out of launch cakes. Enjoy the holiday-less remainder of summer, I’ll be keeping you company several times a week.

-John the Intern

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I’m only getting paid for four hundred. This is why I’m going to reiterate the events of “office photo day” quickly.

Office Photo Day (noun): similar to “yearbook photo day”, “passport photo day”, and “mug shot photo night”, it is an opportunity to fake-smile for a professional picture that you, on principle, will be unsatisfied with. Unlike other photo days, though, this visually-memorable event includes a fair deal of digital touch-up, and you get more than one picture to choose from. Someone involved will, at some point, make a throwback reference to either “bunny-ears” or “cheeeese”, but this won’t make it any easier to smile with sincerity.

Still, the noon arrival of photographers to the DM headquarters was a welcomed diversion from yesterday morning’s hard work. In fact, it felt similar to another, slightly more nourishing diversion that I would have otherwise taken at that time. But it’s like my mother always said-“You can eat food for lunch any day, but how often do you get a chance to eat a migraine-inducing light flash? Less sodium, really.”

Overlooked in her nutritional analysis of flash photography, however, were the optic side effects. These were only brought to my attention when a co-worker (another VeePee of Product Management) was unable to keep his eyes open for nearly twenty takes. Let me tell you: this guy’s eyes were SOOO closed. How closed? So closed that…well, so closed that he probably can’t relate to the hit song “Hungry Eyes”.

By the end of photo day, I was pleased to have a few solid individual headshots to my name. Yet the Kodak moment has not fully passed: we could not agree on a formation for the group shot by the end of the day, and have to revisit that ensemble pose next week. Some major topics of contention among the staff included the battle for the middle spot in the back row (result pending office height measurements, for this spot is reserved for the tallest), along with my futile attempts to convince the CEO that he would look “rockstar” if he lay across everyone else’s arms for the picture.

I would love to “freeze-frame” my work for longer to continue discussing photo day, but the time has come to go from loud to mum. Have a good 4th of July, but remember: it's tough to launder clothes that include all three primary colors.

Enjoy both symbolic freedom and the day-off.

-John the Intern

Sorry I didn’t post yesterday, but I was catching-up with my Forearm. It’s not hard to see why I’d choose the ulna-based appendage’s company over yours (he has well-groomed hair, looks great in sleeves, and always knows the time), but I swear: it was only because our reunion was so long overdue. Yep, yesterday marked my first short-sleeve work experiences since my tenure began at DailyMe. The experience was liberating, but significant solely because it made me realize that there has never been a mention of dress policy in the 1-3-5.

Still, I have to think that my uniform male colleagues follow some set of guidelines, for how else would one explain their daily synchronicity? The impulsive teenage intern would jump to emulate the obvious dress code of his co-workers on the second day, but I knew better when the time came. Though any male other representative of the DailyMe staff will be found in a Lacoste shirt and fashionable jeans on a normal day (the female equivalent is more diverse), I stayed true to the monotony of my “pleated khaki n’ Oxford” collection until my laundry cycle prohibited it. Here are three reasons why I didn’t let down my guard until yesterday:

1. Ever heard the phrase “dress to impress”? Me neither, but I know someone who has. Quoting it may make me a poet (who didn’t even know it!), but I’m following simple transitive logic: one cannot overdress for anything besides a pool party, and a day of work is (usually) not a pool party; thus, it’s better to play it safe with some cuffs and a button-down collar for a new job.
2. My teenager-esque jeans are less acceptable than those of my superiors. While DailyMe executives enrich their lower halves with dark, well-fitting denim, I sport material that is inconsistent, coarse, and pre-frayed. It hasn’t’ ever bothered me before, but I now curse myself for buying pants that already had holes and rips. I mean, what message are my peers and I trying to casually get across? “Yeah…I had some extra time during my lunch break, so I wrestled with a bone saw. Don’t worry about me, though—I like the way the wind feels on my bare kneecap.”I’ve always been reluctant to follow the never-ending trend of ripped jeans, but I think my first big-boy job has inspired me to move on.
3. Self-preservation. Long-sleeves and stain-resistant slacks help my cause.

Have a great weekend readers, and don’t be afraid to send some “adult” jean brand suggestions this way!

-John the Intern

It’s 11:45, and I’m beginning to feel uneasy. My concern is one that our “hunt-and-gather” ancestors would call modern and jaded, but I imagine it haunts many a Working Joe (and Joanna): “What am I going to do for lunch today?”. It may seem like a simple part of the 9-to-5 stretch, but--unless you hit up the Chinese buffet on 46th—this mid-day meal is in no way a free-for-all.

Let’s define the two most obvious insecurities that plague you and many like you by high noon:

1. The early battle between your sense of stick-to-itiveness and….well, your craving to merely stick two pieces of rye bread together. No one wants to be the first in the office to announce recess, but I’ll bet every suit is ready to chow down once that clock chimes 12*. It’s seldom upheld in DailyMe’s casual, progressive environment, but I generally suggest that the highest-ranking employee pioneers the move to the mess hall. The strategy holds little practical value, but it’s the first step towards a lowly intern’s guilt-free lunch (the second step: no Trans fats).
2. The Solidarity Question—you and colleagues may “ride together and die together”, but does that necessarily mean you must eat together? In large corporations, this is hardly an issue: the group is big enough to allow everyone to comfortably go their own way. This is a greater concern for small startups like DailyMe, where six employees inhabit the office per day. This gang is small enough to make singular lunch break-offs awkward, but sizable enough to make a meal en masse too drawn-out and clunky; after all, a half-dozen guests is the cut-off for the average restaurant’s automatic gratuity charge.

Setting aside my stated compulsions, I think an office worker should go with the flow during lunch. Some days you’ll eat with the group, and on others you’ll take company in a magazine and a corner table; occasionally, you’ll even choose to microwave a meal in the office. But beware—lasagna burns easily.

Peace, Love, and Personalized Media.

-John the Intern