Because I act as my own copy editor, I know (and Hiram knows) how hard it is to catch errors in one’s own writing. But real newspapers used to have copy editors to do that job and, while I’m sympathetic to the financial woes of that industry, I can’t imagine copy editors are all that expensive. English majors, sadly, come cheap.
So it’s ironic that in an article on a newspaper reporter becoming a strip club manager as a new career, the Journal prints this:
Soon afterwards, he was visiting Israel when the war with Hezbollah in Lebanon broke out, and to his surprise he found himself disinterested in covering it. “As much as I loved my job and was proud of what I’d done, I didn’t have the urge anymore to run up to the border and explain it all to the American people and then come back and brag about how I’d been shot at,” he says.
A beauty contest judge at a strip joint should be disinterested but not, one hopes, uninterested. In the burned-out reporter’s case, it would be quite the other way around.