I have never been more inundated in journalism as I was yesterday. My entire Saturday disappeared as I sat in front of this computer finalizing the layout of the monthly newspaper I am co-editor in chief of. I picked up layout where my co left off around 12 p.m. By the time I emailed the pages out to the publisher, it was almost 11 p.m. Half the weekend gone and I hadn't even begun the four stories I have to write for class/other publications.
Now I've finished one article and am halfway through the second one. In the course of all this reporting, I've realized something. I don't know how to ask the proper questions. You know, the interesting ones, the probing ones that get really colorful quotes. Take this one article I'm writing for example. It's about film classes on campus. In the middle of writing the article, I go to insert a quote from a student I interviewed, and here's what I have to choose from. "Film is something I'm interested in," "This class fills up quickly" and "It's exactly what I expected." Nothing earth-shattering, nothing mind-blowing, nothing even halfway decent. These statements can apply to 97.5 percent of the film classes offered at any university.
Most people, no, make that pretty much every person, would usually not choose to put themselves through such a rigorous pre-professional program unless they actually wanted to go into that field. Of course, we've all learned by now that I'm not like most people. Freshman and sophomore year I was constantly thinking, I don't know what to do, should I drop this major. Now, all that anxiety is gone. It's like I've finally made peace with myself. I may complain every day about it, but the thought of dropping the major has left my mind the way the autumn leaves fall off the trees. You don't actually notice when they drop, but one day you look up, and they're gone. One day I just accepted that I was graduating with both degrees no matter what.
But the entire thing has taught me one thing. I finally understand the meaning behind a love-hate relationship. I keep saying I hate it, but I keep getting more and more involved in it. This week was my first time doing layout, and I devoted about 20 hours to it this week. I'm writing more articles at one time than I ever have. And while I dread calling and interviewing people, when the time comes for me to actually write up the story, I find myself kind of enjoying it. To be able to take a jumble of fact, quotes and data and synthesize into something readable, now that's something. But I know that no matter how good it feels to see that finished product, there is absolutely no way I could build a career just on that article-writing.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Quiero
Quiero hablar un otra lengua. Quiero vivir en una otra cultura. Quiero escapar de mi vida loca. Todo que hago, escribir ensayos, articulos, leer los libros, todo es aburrido.Esto es todo lo que sé. Quiero una otra vida, una vida europeana. No sé porque la vida europeana me parece más romantica, más cosmopolitana, mas sofisticada. Hay un mundo enorme y estoy pasando todo mis días en este pueblo. Yo hago las mismas cosas, llevo la misma ropa, habla con las mismas personas. No es que no lo me gusta, pero quiero algo diferente. Quiero andar por las calles por horas, sin dirección, sin un plan. Quiero tomar café en una café y mirar a la gente que me pasa. Queiro tener una conversación con un desconocido. Quiero enamorarme con un hombre que veo en un parque. Quiero tener una vida lenta, quiero ver a la vida. Quiero apreciar la vida, quiero tener un día en que no necesitas más de veinteuatro horas para hacer todo. Quiero algo diferente.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
75 Days To Go
I should be finishing my English paper right now, but it's almost half done, so I thought I'd take some me-time, just for a minute.
Man, what a depressing day. Yesterday I was utterly overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I have to get done this week. You think the other weeks have been bad; wait til you see this one. Council meeting story for journalism, three articles due by Sunday/Monday, English paper due Friday, government reading due Thursday, AND to top it all of, an entire newspaper to get through production. Yeah, I know, it's a ridiculous week.
So I went to the council meeting this morning, hoping to get another slam dunk akin to last week's court story. No such luck. I will say it was absolutely great seeing everyone in Councilman's office again (I interned there in high school.) But, I wasn't there to chit-chat, I was there for a story. Turns out, the topic they were discussing, development stuff in C-burg, is one completely over my head. Joyce, the resident expert on C-burg, was out this morning, so I was sitting in this meeting trying to decipher planning language into English. Yeah, didn't happen. But, I saw Joyce on my way out and she said she'd be happy to talk to me and explain me everything, which means I still have a chance at knocking this story out of the park. Random thought - I emailed my jour prof to ask him what I should do at 9:31 tonight, check my inbox 6 minutes later and bam, I've got a response. I love efficient professors. I mean, isn't everyone addicted to their email nowadays? His response - this is a tough one, let's talk about it in class tomorrow.
Anyways, so I had to get back to school earlier than expected because Sam and I have to start production on the newspaper. She had to show me and our production editor how to actually use the software. So we practiced a bit until it was time for me to go to my research meeting.
Now, I haven't really explained my undergraduate research project, so here it is in a nutshell. There's a relatively low-income community nearby that comprises mostly Spanish-speaking immigrants. My team and I are going to conduct a needs assessment to determine what community services they want. But, no one on the team speaks Spanish, and while I've got some proficiency, it's not nearly enough to get us accurate data. I found a possible translator for our team, a grad assistant with experience working in our target community. She spoke to us today and basically pointed out just how difficult it will be for us to collect data for this project. I've been having doubts about the feasibility of this project for almost a year now, and this did nothing to ease those doubts. I know, usually I'm not the pessimistic one, but really, there's only so much an undergraduate team can accomplish. Anyways, I'm really glad she came because she gave us valuable (honest) insight and seemed genuinely interested in our project.
After the meeting Sam and I met for two more hours to work on stuff for the paper, which we didn't even begin laying out because the software we need is only on the computers in the lab. Which only means this paper business is going to get even more stressful as the week goes on. The good news is I was back in my room by 9, meaning I actually had a chance to get work done tonight, namely the English paper. The bad news, I'm only halfway through the English paper and my eyes are getting pretty heavy...
P.S. The day wasn't totally bad - I scheduled three interviews for the stories I have write this week.
Man, what a depressing day. Yesterday I was utterly overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I have to get done this week. You think the other weeks have been bad; wait til you see this one. Council meeting story for journalism, three articles due by Sunday/Monday, English paper due Friday, government reading due Thursday, AND to top it all of, an entire newspaper to get through production. Yeah, I know, it's a ridiculous week.
So I went to the council meeting this morning, hoping to get another slam dunk akin to last week's court story. No such luck. I will say it was absolutely great seeing everyone in Councilman's office again (I interned there in high school.) But, I wasn't there to chit-chat, I was there for a story. Turns out, the topic they were discussing, development stuff in C-burg, is one completely over my head. Joyce, the resident expert on C-burg, was out this morning, so I was sitting in this meeting trying to decipher planning language into English. Yeah, didn't happen. But, I saw Joyce on my way out and she said she'd be happy to talk to me and explain me everything, which means I still have a chance at knocking this story out of the park. Random thought - I emailed my jour prof to ask him what I should do at 9:31 tonight, check my inbox 6 minutes later and bam, I've got a response. I love efficient professors. I mean, isn't everyone addicted to their email nowadays? His response - this is a tough one, let's talk about it in class tomorrow.
Anyways, so I had to get back to school earlier than expected because Sam and I have to start production on the newspaper. She had to show me and our production editor how to actually use the software. So we practiced a bit until it was time for me to go to my research meeting.
Now, I haven't really explained my undergraduate research project, so here it is in a nutshell. There's a relatively low-income community nearby that comprises mostly Spanish-speaking immigrants. My team and I are going to conduct a needs assessment to determine what community services they want. But, no one on the team speaks Spanish, and while I've got some proficiency, it's not nearly enough to get us accurate data. I found a possible translator for our team, a grad assistant with experience working in our target community. She spoke to us today and basically pointed out just how difficult it will be for us to collect data for this project. I've been having doubts about the feasibility of this project for almost a year now, and this did nothing to ease those doubts. I know, usually I'm not the pessimistic one, but really, there's only so much an undergraduate team can accomplish. Anyways, I'm really glad she came because she gave us valuable (honest) insight and seemed genuinely interested in our project.
After the meeting Sam and I met for two more hours to work on stuff for the paper, which we didn't even begin laying out because the software we need is only on the computers in the lab. Which only means this paper business is going to get even more stressful as the week goes on. The good news is I was back in my room by 9, meaning I actually had a chance to get work done tonight, namely the English paper. The bad news, I'm only halfway through the English paper and my eyes are getting pretty heavy...
P.S. The day wasn't totally bad - I scheduled three interviews for the stories I have write this week.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
My Day in Court
When I started this blog, I thought my days of procrastination would be over. I've lost so many vacation memories that way, by just putting off writing them down until they were all fuzzy and the emotion was gone. And now, I 'm afraid, the same thing is about to happen to the story of my court adventure. The second half of last week was so crazy that I thought if I took out some "me-time" to update the blog, none of my work would ever get done and then I'd just fail. Yes, I know, I'm a little extreme sometimes. But now it's the weekend and since I never really did justice to this court adventure, here goes.
Despite my fairly chipper mood when describing the impending court adventure, I was feeling slightly apprehensive about how the whole thing would go. True, I did have a court case to see and a police officer who would help me, but I'd never done anything like this before. I kept pushing those thoughts out of my head and replacing them with reminders about how I was already ahead of the ball.
Tuesday morning: The alarm went off at around 6:30 or so and I was entirely confused as to why I was waking up at the crack of dawn on a weekday in my bedroom at home. Then it all came back and I remembered today was THE day. Fast forward to 8:45 when I reach the courthouse and find my courtroom. I walked in and found a semi-large wood paneled room with about, 10 or so rows of pew-like seats. The room was fairly full and the docket was long. I double checked that my case was going to be argued there, and sure enough, my defendant's name was right there. Step one, finding the room, check. Time to work on step two, finding the right people.
I asked one of the cops in the room if he knew my Cop buddy, and was politely told that there were about 1300 police officers in that building, so no, he didn't. I took a seat in the very back corner, closest to the door and wondered what I should do. I thought my mind was going to start freaking out any moment now; I expected my anxiety level to skyrocket. Surprisingly, though, I remained quite calm. I think, somewhere deep down inside, I knew everything was going to work out fine. I stole a look at everyone entering the doors behind me, and if that person was in uniform, I focused in on their name tags, hoping to get a glimpse of my buddy.
Since I didn't really know what else to do, I simply absorbed the entire scene. The lawyers were going back and forth, in and out of the courtroom, sometimes pulling clients out to talk. There was one lawyer who, in fluent Spanish, was basically yelling at this poor man, who I'm pretty sure had no idea what was going on. I felt bad for him, forgetting we were in a court house and the only reason he was even there in the first place was because he (probably) broke the law. But the way she was yelling at him, as if he were a child who knocked over a glass bottle or something, it seemed so very condescending. Yes she's a lawyer, and I'm sure she's an intelligent one, but still, no matter who they are, doesn't everyone deserve to be treated with a little dignity?
Around 9:15 or so, the bailiff made an announcement, the judge entered the courtroom and court went into session. The attorneys began calling cases, and the defendants would walk up with their lawyers, and I can't really tell you what happened next because I could not hear a thing. The bailiff had told us we were not allowed to talk while court was in session, but, rules are meant to be broken right? I realized sitting at the very back may not have been the wisest idea. What if my case went up there and I missed the whole thing because I couldn't hear it? I glanced over to where all the cops were sitting and tried to figure out if any of them was my buddy. I thought about walking up there and asking some of them if they knew him, but decided against it. So I sat there and listened intently, trying to figure out how the hell this all worked.
Case after case went up there, and just as Professor had told us, decisions were made fast, and most of it was in legalese. Then, the door opened and in walked a guy in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffs. I think my eyes widened a bit. As the cases went by, it dawned on me that I was sitting in a room full of, well, criminals. I mean, technically, they had broken the law. The people in this room had stolen things, broken into cars, homes. It's not that I was scared. It just hit me that this was a situation I'd never been in before. I mean, these people didn't look like criminals. They just looked like people who'd messed up and done something stupid. That's also when I realized I couldn't be a lawyer. Not that I had ever, ever even considered being a trial lawyer or a criminal prosecutor or anything. I don't have that ability to twist facts, nor am I thick-skinned enough to do things like the lawyers on TV do (and yes, I know, it's television, but someone has to argue all those murder trials in real life, right?) But at least those high profile cases are interesting. These cases, the ones I was witnessing, they're all boring. It seems like such a mundane way to make a living.
Anyways, back to my adventure. About an hour after the session started, the judge decided to take a break and left. For a second I thought, that better not be the end of it, my case wasn't even argued. Then I figured I should go and try to find cop buddy, otherwise I'd have no story. As I walked over toward them, I was trying to figure out how I was going to find my buddy without being really awkward and staring at everyone's name tags. Luckily, I didn't have to worry much, because the first cop I saw was my buddy!
After all the introductions, he sat down and explained me the case. I absorbed all the information and like a good journalist thought of some additional questions to ask him. I was waiting for him to come back over to me, when I realized I was the journalist, this was my story, so I should just go up and ask him for more information. We stepped outside, since court had now gone back into session, and he answered all my questions. It was a bit confusing, since there were three people involved in this particular crime, and everyone's case was handled separately. It was complicated, but interesting at the same time. We went back inside and Cop buddy pointed out both the defendant and the plaintiff.
Knowing Professor had told us we had to try and talk to everyone involved, I asked Cop buddy if it was okay if I tried to talk to them. He replied that was fine, if they were willing to. I realized later that I had sought approval from Cop buddy for a number of things that day. I think I had kind of latched on to him as my connection into this whole different world and as the wise adult in the room. It's weird, I still feel like a kid sometimes. It was almost like I was asking Cop buddy's permission to do all these things, when in reality, I didn't need it.
Anyways, after sitting down and mentally readying myself, I walked over to the plaintiff, introduced myself and asked if I could talk to him after the case. He agreed. One more thing checked off. Now, now came the hard part. I had to talk to the defendant. I knew he wasn't going to comment, and the thought did cross my mind about just writing that he refused to talk to me. But I knew that was absolutely unethical and totally wrong, so I quickly trashed that thought and went back to figuring out just how I was going to build up the courage to talk to this guy. I guess it did help that he was exactly my age, so it wasn't like I was walking up to some burly old criminal man.
And then, for the first time that day, I was nervous. Really nervous. You know what I mean, when you can feel every thump of your heart, when your stomach starts doing backflips in your abdomen. This is the reaction I was expecting this morning, when I couldn't find Cop buddy. Anyways, I knew I had to do it, so I took a deep breath, got up and walked up a couple of rows to where he was sitting. I knelt down beside him, introduced myself, and asked if he had any comment. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew I had to do this, and that I wasn't expecting him to actually say something. He gave me a half little sympathetic smile and replied, "I don't think so." I smiled a sigh of relief in understanding, thanked him and walked back to my seat.
I had done it! I had walked up to him, talked to him, and he was polite! Dealing with police officers is one thing, but dealing with someone who has made probably the biggest mistake of his life and wants to do whatever he can to make it go away is another. He didn't yell at me, he didn't curse, he didn't even give me a dirty look! The world doesn't hate reporters (or maybe the world just doesn't hate me :)
With my newfound confidence, I ask Cop buddy if it would be possible for me to obtain a some of the paperwork so I can check the facts. Another cop took me downstairs, gave me all the information I need and more. I returned to the courtroom in time for my case to be heard, and thankfully by now, the courtroom was pretty empty, given that it was almost two and a half hours since court started. The case went by quickly, but I was able to hear everything and Cop buddy explained me what I didn't get. I stepped outside, spoke to the plaintiff for about 10 minutes, and when I went back in, I saw that the lawyer was still there. This was my chance, the last person on my list I needed to talk to. I ask her for comment, and she sat down with me and explained how she can't really comment at all, you know, case is still open, all that stuff.
I think I said this last week, but I'm really surprised at how helpful people have been. I was expecting people like cops and lawyers to completely blow me off, a) because I'm a journalist and b) I'm not even a real journalist, but a student. Why would they, who have full schedules and important things to do, take out time to talk to me, some kid who's doing her homework assignment. But that's not what I've gotten at all. People are not only willing to answer my questions, but they're willing to explain me how things work, how the media relationship functions. They're actually teaching me, taking time out to explain things to me! If I've learned one thing in the past month, it's that the world really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Or, I'm just the luckiest girl alive.
Needless to say, I walked out of that courtroom absolutely on top of the world. It was noon on Tuesday and the hardest part of my assignment was done. All I had to do was write the article, which was the easy part. I wouldn't have to spend the week glued to my cellphone calling everyone and their mother in pursuit of a story. And not only that, but man was Prof impressed on Wednesday morning when I whipped out all the prized information I'd collected on Tuesday.
Man, there's nothing like writing about a great adventure to lift your mood!
Despite my fairly chipper mood when describing the impending court adventure, I was feeling slightly apprehensive about how the whole thing would go. True, I did have a court case to see and a police officer who would help me, but I'd never done anything like this before. I kept pushing those thoughts out of my head and replacing them with reminders about how I was already ahead of the ball.
Tuesday morning: The alarm went off at around 6:30 or so and I was entirely confused as to why I was waking up at the crack of dawn on a weekday in my bedroom at home. Then it all came back and I remembered today was THE day. Fast forward to 8:45 when I reach the courthouse and find my courtroom. I walked in and found a semi-large wood paneled room with about, 10 or so rows of pew-like seats. The room was fairly full and the docket was long. I double checked that my case was going to be argued there, and sure enough, my defendant's name was right there. Step one, finding the room, check. Time to work on step two, finding the right people.
I asked one of the cops in the room if he knew my Cop buddy, and was politely told that there were about 1300 police officers in that building, so no, he didn't. I took a seat in the very back corner, closest to the door and wondered what I should do. I thought my mind was going to start freaking out any moment now; I expected my anxiety level to skyrocket. Surprisingly, though, I remained quite calm. I think, somewhere deep down inside, I knew everything was going to work out fine. I stole a look at everyone entering the doors behind me, and if that person was in uniform, I focused in on their name tags, hoping to get a glimpse of my buddy.
Since I didn't really know what else to do, I simply absorbed the entire scene. The lawyers were going back and forth, in and out of the courtroom, sometimes pulling clients out to talk. There was one lawyer who, in fluent Spanish, was basically yelling at this poor man, who I'm pretty sure had no idea what was going on. I felt bad for him, forgetting we were in a court house and the only reason he was even there in the first place was because he (probably) broke the law. But the way she was yelling at him, as if he were a child who knocked over a glass bottle or something, it seemed so very condescending. Yes she's a lawyer, and I'm sure she's an intelligent one, but still, no matter who they are, doesn't everyone deserve to be treated with a little dignity?
Around 9:15 or so, the bailiff made an announcement, the judge entered the courtroom and court went into session. The attorneys began calling cases, and the defendants would walk up with their lawyers, and I can't really tell you what happened next because I could not hear a thing. The bailiff had told us we were not allowed to talk while court was in session, but, rules are meant to be broken right? I realized sitting at the very back may not have been the wisest idea. What if my case went up there and I missed the whole thing because I couldn't hear it? I glanced over to where all the cops were sitting and tried to figure out if any of them was my buddy. I thought about walking up there and asking some of them if they knew him, but decided against it. So I sat there and listened intently, trying to figure out how the hell this all worked.
Case after case went up there, and just as Professor had told us, decisions were made fast, and most of it was in legalese. Then, the door opened and in walked a guy in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffs. I think my eyes widened a bit. As the cases went by, it dawned on me that I was sitting in a room full of, well, criminals. I mean, technically, they had broken the law. The people in this room had stolen things, broken into cars, homes. It's not that I was scared. It just hit me that this was a situation I'd never been in before. I mean, these people didn't look like criminals. They just looked like people who'd messed up and done something stupid. That's also when I realized I couldn't be a lawyer. Not that I had ever, ever even considered being a trial lawyer or a criminal prosecutor or anything. I don't have that ability to twist facts, nor am I thick-skinned enough to do things like the lawyers on TV do (and yes, I know, it's television, but someone has to argue all those murder trials in real life, right?) But at least those high profile cases are interesting. These cases, the ones I was witnessing, they're all boring. It seems like such a mundane way to make a living.
Anyways, back to my adventure. About an hour after the session started, the judge decided to take a break and left. For a second I thought, that better not be the end of it, my case wasn't even argued. Then I figured I should go and try to find cop buddy, otherwise I'd have no story. As I walked over toward them, I was trying to figure out how I was going to find my buddy without being really awkward and staring at everyone's name tags. Luckily, I didn't have to worry much, because the first cop I saw was my buddy!
After all the introductions, he sat down and explained me the case. I absorbed all the information and like a good journalist thought of some additional questions to ask him. I was waiting for him to come back over to me, when I realized I was the journalist, this was my story, so I should just go up and ask him for more information. We stepped outside, since court had now gone back into session, and he answered all my questions. It was a bit confusing, since there were three people involved in this particular crime, and everyone's case was handled separately. It was complicated, but interesting at the same time. We went back inside and Cop buddy pointed out both the defendant and the plaintiff.
Knowing Professor had told us we had to try and talk to everyone involved, I asked Cop buddy if it was okay if I tried to talk to them. He replied that was fine, if they were willing to. I realized later that I had sought approval from Cop buddy for a number of things that day. I think I had kind of latched on to him as my connection into this whole different world and as the wise adult in the room. It's weird, I still feel like a kid sometimes. It was almost like I was asking Cop buddy's permission to do all these things, when in reality, I didn't need it.
Anyways, after sitting down and mentally readying myself, I walked over to the plaintiff, introduced myself and asked if I could talk to him after the case. He agreed. One more thing checked off. Now, now came the hard part. I had to talk to the defendant. I knew he wasn't going to comment, and the thought did cross my mind about just writing that he refused to talk to me. But I knew that was absolutely unethical and totally wrong, so I quickly trashed that thought and went back to figuring out just how I was going to build up the courage to talk to this guy. I guess it did help that he was exactly my age, so it wasn't like I was walking up to some burly old criminal man.
And then, for the first time that day, I was nervous. Really nervous. You know what I mean, when you can feel every thump of your heart, when your stomach starts doing backflips in your abdomen. This is the reaction I was expecting this morning, when I couldn't find Cop buddy. Anyways, I knew I had to do it, so I took a deep breath, got up and walked up a couple of rows to where he was sitting. I knelt down beside him, introduced myself, and asked if he had any comment. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew I had to do this, and that I wasn't expecting him to actually say something. He gave me a half little sympathetic smile and replied, "I don't think so." I smiled a sigh of relief in understanding, thanked him and walked back to my seat.
I had done it! I had walked up to him, talked to him, and he was polite! Dealing with police officers is one thing, but dealing with someone who has made probably the biggest mistake of his life and wants to do whatever he can to make it go away is another. He didn't yell at me, he didn't curse, he didn't even give me a dirty look! The world doesn't hate reporters (or maybe the world just doesn't hate me :)
With my newfound confidence, I ask Cop buddy if it would be possible for me to obtain a some of the paperwork so I can check the facts. Another cop took me downstairs, gave me all the information I need and more. I returned to the courtroom in time for my case to be heard, and thankfully by now, the courtroom was pretty empty, given that it was almost two and a half hours since court started. The case went by quickly, but I was able to hear everything and Cop buddy explained me what I didn't get. I stepped outside, spoke to the plaintiff for about 10 minutes, and when I went back in, I saw that the lawyer was still there. This was my chance, the last person on my list I needed to talk to. I ask her for comment, and she sat down with me and explained how she can't really comment at all, you know, case is still open, all that stuff.
I think I said this last week, but I'm really surprised at how helpful people have been. I was expecting people like cops and lawyers to completely blow me off, a) because I'm a journalist and b) I'm not even a real journalist, but a student. Why would they, who have full schedules and important things to do, take out time to talk to me, some kid who's doing her homework assignment. But that's not what I've gotten at all. People are not only willing to answer my questions, but they're willing to explain me how things work, how the media relationship functions. They're actually teaching me, taking time out to explain things to me! If I've learned one thing in the past month, it's that the world really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Or, I'm just the luckiest girl alive.
Needless to say, I walked out of that courtroom absolutely on top of the world. It was noon on Tuesday and the hardest part of my assignment was done. All I had to do was write the article, which was the easy part. I wouldn't have to spend the week glued to my cellphone calling everyone and their mother in pursuit of a story. And not only that, but man was Prof impressed on Wednesday morning when I whipped out all the prized information I'd collected on Tuesday.
Man, there's nothing like writing about a great adventure to lift your mood!
Thought of the Day
You know you're crazy when you refuse to read "The Overachievers: The Secret Lives of Driven Kids" by Alexandra Robbins because you know reading about those high-schoolers will make you resentful and jealous, even though you're in college.
See I told you....crazy
Good night :)
See I told you....crazy
Good night :)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Never Good Enough
I really don't know why I hold myself to such high expectations. I thought this semester, what with 320 and the newspaper and all this responsibility would humble me, would make me appreciate things. I thought finally, I'll be able to appreciate an A instead of writing it off as just what I was supposed to get.
And I did learn to appreciate them. The first two at least. But now, now I'm back to expecting no less than an A. For the past week or so, I've been nothing but elated at my ability to succeed at 320. Now I've fallen right back into that same old rut of just expecting to be good. And it sucks. For the last 30 hours or so, I've returned to my frustrated, nothing is ever good enough status. Before, I would finish an article and it would be like, oh my god, I did this! Yesterday afternoon, I was over the moon in joy at getting my court story. This morning even my professor was impressed at my success. Now, I'm critiquing every little thing I do, back to freaking out about how I'm going to get everything done, how I'm going to write the five articles I have due in the next week (not including class assignments) and help put an entire newspaper through production, something I've never done before.
Amazing how quickly your mood changes from day to day.
And I did learn to appreciate them. The first two at least. But now, now I'm back to expecting no less than an A. For the past week or so, I've been nothing but elated at my ability to succeed at 320. Now I've fallen right back into that same old rut of just expecting to be good. And it sucks. For the last 30 hours or so, I've returned to my frustrated, nothing is ever good enough status. Before, I would finish an article and it would be like, oh my god, I did this! Yesterday afternoon, I was over the moon in joy at getting my court story. This morning even my professor was impressed at my success. Now, I'm critiquing every little thing I do, back to freaking out about how I'm going to get everything done, how I'm going to write the five articles I have due in the next week (not including class assignments) and help put an entire newspaper through production, something I've never done before.
Amazing how quickly your mood changes from day to day.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Old Me is Back
We got our first journalism assignment back in class, a beat memo including contact info, census data and a paragraph on a key issue in our beat. My grade: A MINUS!!!!!! Yeahhh, that's right, on the very first assignment of the hardest course known to man I got a near perfect score.
Okay, I realize that sounds a bit conceited, but if you've been following this whole journalism class saga you'll understand just how excited this makes me. On the paper, my professor wrote, "Terrific - thorough, easy to read, smart." I only made one mistake, got one census number slightly off, and normally that tiny "glitch" as my prof called it would drive me insane. But not today!!!!!!!
As we were having class discussion, Prof brought up the whole O.J. Simpson thing and asked us if we'd want to cover it. I was hoping and praying he wouldn't call on me, since my answer would be a definite no. I don't care if it's O.J. Simpson or Homer Simpson, I don't really want to be covering anything. But I couldn't very well say that, seeing as, well, this is a journalism class and everyone else was gushing over how they'd love to cover such a career-making story. Prof warned us that while it's all high-profile and would put our names on the map, a story like this would consume the next six to nine months of your professional career. "Your life wouldn't be your own," he said. But that's what he loves about journalism, the non-routineness of it. And that's what I hate. I'm the kind of person who needs a schedule, a time to work and a time to go home.
But I finally came up with an answer if he did call on me (which he didn't), and it's that I would rather be a magazine journalist going more in-depth into things and not racing the guy to put something out on the front page. Which is a cop-out answer, but it is kind of true. I mean, I've always said that if I do end up going into journalism, it would most likely be magazine journalism.
But today's happiness comes from more than just grades. We've now got the ever-dreadful court story this week, and Prof has said it's the hardest one of the year. We've got two options. Stake out a court and find a case to do, or wait until Wednesday when Prof will give us a list of cases that have already been ruled on. But we all know I'm not one to wait. I want to get my story done asap, boom boom boom so that I can get my week back.
Enter last week's cop buddy. Turns out, his court case is tomorrow, the day I have absolutely no class. Not only do I have an entire day to dedicate to this story, but I no longer have to walk into that intimidating hall of justice blind and confused. So, I'm now chilling at home, drinking some homemade chai, listening to the pop and crackle of some delicious saag paneer and aloo subzi simmer on the stove. School success, a game plan for the week and a hearty meal. Life is good.
Okay, I realize that sounds a bit conceited, but if you've been following this whole journalism class saga you'll understand just how excited this makes me. On the paper, my professor wrote, "Terrific - thorough, easy to read, smart." I only made one mistake, got one census number slightly off, and normally that tiny "glitch" as my prof called it would drive me insane. But not today!!!!!!!
As we were having class discussion, Prof brought up the whole O.J. Simpson thing and asked us if we'd want to cover it. I was hoping and praying he wouldn't call on me, since my answer would be a definite no. I don't care if it's O.J. Simpson or Homer Simpson, I don't really want to be covering anything. But I couldn't very well say that, seeing as, well, this is a journalism class and everyone else was gushing over how they'd love to cover such a career-making story. Prof warned us that while it's all high-profile and would put our names on the map, a story like this would consume the next six to nine months of your professional career. "Your life wouldn't be your own," he said. But that's what he loves about journalism, the non-routineness of it. And that's what I hate. I'm the kind of person who needs a schedule, a time to work and a time to go home.
But I finally came up with an answer if he did call on me (which he didn't), and it's that I would rather be a magazine journalist going more in-depth into things and not racing the guy to put something out on the front page. Which is a cop-out answer, but it is kind of true. I mean, I've always said that if I do end up going into journalism, it would most likely be magazine journalism.
But today's happiness comes from more than just grades. We've now got the ever-dreadful court story this week, and Prof has said it's the hardest one of the year. We've got two options. Stake out a court and find a case to do, or wait until Wednesday when Prof will give us a list of cases that have already been ruled on. But we all know I'm not one to wait. I want to get my story done asap, boom boom boom so that I can get my week back.
Enter last week's cop buddy. Turns out, his court case is tomorrow, the day I have absolutely no class. Not only do I have an entire day to dedicate to this story, but I no longer have to walk into that intimidating hall of justice blind and confused. So, I'm now chilling at home, drinking some homemade chai, listening to the pop and crackle of some delicious saag paneer and aloo subzi simmer on the stove. School success, a game plan for the week and a hearty meal. Life is good.
The Sun Rise
Finally, I can truly say that I've seen the sun rise. Not the sunrise. The sun rise.
This morning, I decided to do things a little differently. Usually the only time I can tolerate silence is while I'm studying. The radio is always (and only ever) on while I'm getting dressed, and I'll usually take my breakfast in my room with the TV on, so as to avoid waking the roomies with the living room TV.
But this morning I took my sweet maple-syrup-drenched whole wheat waffle and my steaming cup of tea and sat down at the table. And that's when I realized that silence isn't so bad after all. Here I was, munching my waffle, sipping my tea and looking out the window in front of me at my beautiful campus. When was the last time anyone in our culture actually took a second to appreciate the meaning of silence. No jarring music, no annoying commercials. Just me, my food and my thoughts.
And then it happened. It started as a spot of light popping up over the building in front of me. Before I realized what was happening I found myself transfixed at the sight of it. Disregarding the classic childhood rule, I stared directly at the gleaming spot. I felt as if I was the only thing, the only being the sun was shining upon. And then I saw it. Right before my eyes, the sun began to rise. The spot began to creep above the building, getting bigger and brighter. Only until the intensity became too much and everything around me turned to spots did I peel my eyes away from it. Once I did, I realized something momentous. I had just seen the passage of time.
We all know that the progression of day to night, of summer to winter, is indicative of the Earth's passage through space. But the connection between the two is very difficult to grasp. Yesterday the fire alarms went off around dusk and we had to evacuate the building. (Everything ended up being okay). As we filed back into the building the sky was that peachy-blue evening color. By the time I got back to my room and sat down at my computer, I glanced outside and noticed, with a start, that it was completely dark outside. Just like that. Not more than five minutes ago was I standing out there in the light, and now it was nothing but night.
But now I snap out of my philosophical meditations and return to the mundane monotony of daily life and dash off to journalism class.
This morning, I decided to do things a little differently. Usually the only time I can tolerate silence is while I'm studying. The radio is always (and only ever) on while I'm getting dressed, and I'll usually take my breakfast in my room with the TV on, so as to avoid waking the roomies with the living room TV.
But this morning I took my sweet maple-syrup-drenched whole wheat waffle and my steaming cup of tea and sat down at the table. And that's when I realized that silence isn't so bad after all. Here I was, munching my waffle, sipping my tea and looking out the window in front of me at my beautiful campus. When was the last time anyone in our culture actually took a second to appreciate the meaning of silence. No jarring music, no annoying commercials. Just me, my food and my thoughts.
And then it happened. It started as a spot of light popping up over the building in front of me. Before I realized what was happening I found myself transfixed at the sight of it. Disregarding the classic childhood rule, I stared directly at the gleaming spot. I felt as if I was the only thing, the only being the sun was shining upon. And then I saw it. Right before my eyes, the sun began to rise. The spot began to creep above the building, getting bigger and brighter. Only until the intensity became too much and everything around me turned to spots did I peel my eyes away from it. Once I did, I realized something momentous. I had just seen the passage of time.
We all know that the progression of day to night, of summer to winter, is indicative of the Earth's passage through space. But the connection between the two is very difficult to grasp. Yesterday the fire alarms went off around dusk and we had to evacuate the building. (Everything ended up being okay). As we filed back into the building the sky was that peachy-blue evening color. By the time I got back to my room and sat down at my computer, I glanced outside and noticed, with a start, that it was completely dark outside. Just like that. Not more than five minutes ago was I standing out there in the light, and now it was nothing but night.
But now I snap out of my philosophical meditations and return to the mundane monotony of daily life and dash off to journalism class.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Cops Are Friends
Alright, I know you've listened to me go back and forth on my fear of this journalism class for the past two weeks, but I can wholeheartedly assure you that I have once and for all put that issue to rest. I now have absolutely no doubt that not only will I survive this class, but I will not fear it and I will get an A in it and my professor will like me by the end of this semester.
Seriously, my mood today is a 180 degree change from earlier this week. I remember the dread that washed over me when professor assigned the police story, and now I can truthfully say I love the cops! As I wrote earlier, all the police officers I've talked to, while they didn't really give me much information were polite and willing to put up with my random requests, especially given that I'm not even a real journalist requesting info, merely a student doing a class assignment (even if it the assignment is still an article).
But I finally got my crime trend story and the spokesperson I've been dealing with this whole week was more than happy to talk to me about it. It was so funny, I called him yesterday to see if he had any information for me, and he said no but that he might tomorrow. I asked him if it was okay if I called him back, and he was like, "Of course it is! If you want to be successful in this field you've got to be a pest. We don't ever discourage callers, it's our job to talk to you." It was absolutely great. And then today I thanked him for being so helpful and he said I'd make a great journalist and to call back anytime if I ever needed anything.
Then, moving on the the local cop I called to get a comment. He too was happy to talk to me and it turns out he graduated from my university. We started talking about football and were reminiscing about how my high school football team pretty much owned back when I was there. He asked about this journalism class and told me to call him if I ever needed anything and he'd "take care of me" I told him next week I had to do a court story and he was like, well I'm going to court for a vandalism case, you should come. And I was like SCORE! Not only have I finally completed this week's assignment but I've got a major head start on next week's too. And these two are supposed to be the hardest stories of the year.
Yeah, after I hung up with him I was pretty much on cloud nine. Earlier today I interviewed a professor for a story I'm writing and she and I bonded over our shared Indian heritage. It was great. So what have I learned this week? Well, a) Cops are nice. b) Calling people on the phone isn't scary and c) I can do real interviews. And, the best part of all - it's almost the weekend!
Seriously, my mood today is a 180 degree change from earlier this week. I remember the dread that washed over me when professor assigned the police story, and now I can truthfully say I love the cops! As I wrote earlier, all the police officers I've talked to, while they didn't really give me much information were polite and willing to put up with my random requests, especially given that I'm not even a real journalist requesting info, merely a student doing a class assignment (even if it the assignment is still an article).
But I finally got my crime trend story and the spokesperson I've been dealing with this whole week was more than happy to talk to me about it. It was so funny, I called him yesterday to see if he had any information for me, and he said no but that he might tomorrow. I asked him if it was okay if I called him back, and he was like, "Of course it is! If you want to be successful in this field you've got to be a pest. We don't ever discourage callers, it's our job to talk to you." It was absolutely great. And then today I thanked him for being so helpful and he said I'd make a great journalist and to call back anytime if I ever needed anything.
Then, moving on the the local cop I called to get a comment. He too was happy to talk to me and it turns out he graduated from my university. We started talking about football and were reminiscing about how my high school football team pretty much owned back when I was there. He asked about this journalism class and told me to call him if I ever needed anything and he'd "take care of me" I told him next week I had to do a court story and he was like, well I'm going to court for a vandalism case, you should come. And I was like SCORE! Not only have I finally completed this week's assignment but I've got a major head start on next week's too. And these two are supposed to be the hardest stories of the year.
Yeah, after I hung up with him I was pretty much on cloud nine. Earlier today I interviewed a professor for a story I'm writing and she and I bonded over our shared Indian heritage. It was great. So what have I learned this week? Well, a) Cops are nice. b) Calling people on the phone isn't scary and c) I can do real interviews. And, the best part of all - it's almost the weekend!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The 90-day band-aid
Seeing your article up on the internet sure does a lot to make you feel better, even if the editors inserted a factual error that you did not have when you submitted the article. The editor-in-chief said she'd correct it, but it still kinda sucks. But at least, now I really know that I can survive this class.
I was talking to Nancy today about (what else) 320, and she said something brilliant. She said that 320 is like a band aid: you worry and worry about removing it, but the quicker you rip it off, the less it hurts.
Which is exactly what I was telling Mom on my hour long complain-fest last night. The quicker I can get this police story done, the quicker I can regain my sanity again. My professor said this week's assignment is one of the hardest, since the police hardly ever release info to us. But we've got to try, and I've spent the past two days on the phone trying my ass off. And you know what. Everyone I've talked to has been nice, friendly and polite, even if none of them has given me the information I need. But still, it really is not that bad to interview people and I'm not really that terrible at writing down quotes.
It's like my mind is divided in two sections: the rational one knows that this class will teach me how to overcome things I never would without it. I know that I need this class, but then the emotional side of my brain weighs in to completely freak me out. I lay in bed and wonder if I'll be able to get my 10 clips, and if I'll be able to talk to people I need to, and if I'll get an A in this class. The eight or so hours are the only ones I spend without feeling all the work sitting on my head. But even then, the past couple of nights I've had such vivid dreams, the ones that leave you feeling like you didn't get a chance to rest because your mind was working overtime.
But after finally finishing the article on Sunday's falafel event, I realized that I can write a proper article based only on 20 or so minutes of interviewing people. I don't know what I would have done without Supraja there, forcing me to go up to those people and talk to them. I half believe I would have turned around and walked away instead of doing my job and reporting the story.
But seeing as that little time spent interviewing got me enough information to write a 600 word article, imagine how simple it will be to write a 6 paragraph police story for my class. I think my professor is more focused on getting us to go out there and report rather than having us really get the full story. He knows we aren't veteran reporters, we're just students.
Enough talk about 320, now on to a happier note, I got admitted to the university in Spain! Meaning I a) have to go abroad because they now have a 200 euro deposit from me, b) have to put together a cover letter, resume, and clip package for the summer internship I hope to get over there, and c) have to begin the banal bureaucratic procedure of getting a sheaf of papers signed by 5 different departments on campus so I actually can go abroad.
But on an even happier note, I don't think I mentioned this earlier, but there is a light at the end of this very long and arduous tunnel and it comes in the form of NO FINAL EXAMS for me!!!!!! Yup, you read that right - none at all. Zero, zilch, nada. I roll out of here a whole week and a half before everyone else. See, there really is a God somewhere.
I was talking to Nancy today about (what else) 320, and she said something brilliant. She said that 320 is like a band aid: you worry and worry about removing it, but the quicker you rip it off, the less it hurts.
Which is exactly what I was telling Mom on my hour long complain-fest last night. The quicker I can get this police story done, the quicker I can regain my sanity again. My professor said this week's assignment is one of the hardest, since the police hardly ever release info to us. But we've got to try, and I've spent the past two days on the phone trying my ass off. And you know what. Everyone I've talked to has been nice, friendly and polite, even if none of them has given me the information I need. But still, it really is not that bad to interview people and I'm not really that terrible at writing down quotes.
It's like my mind is divided in two sections: the rational one knows that this class will teach me how to overcome things I never would without it. I know that I need this class, but then the emotional side of my brain weighs in to completely freak me out. I lay in bed and wonder if I'll be able to get my 10 clips, and if I'll be able to talk to people I need to, and if I'll get an A in this class. The eight or so hours are the only ones I spend without feeling all the work sitting on my head. But even then, the past couple of nights I've had such vivid dreams, the ones that leave you feeling like you didn't get a chance to rest because your mind was working overtime.
But after finally finishing the article on Sunday's falafel event, I realized that I can write a proper article based only on 20 or so minutes of interviewing people. I don't know what I would have done without Supraja there, forcing me to go up to those people and talk to them. I half believe I would have turned around and walked away instead of doing my job and reporting the story.
But seeing as that little time spent interviewing got me enough information to write a 600 word article, imagine how simple it will be to write a 6 paragraph police story for my class. I think my professor is more focused on getting us to go out there and report rather than having us really get the full story. He knows we aren't veteran reporters, we're just students.
Enough talk about 320, now on to a happier note, I got admitted to the university in Spain! Meaning I a) have to go abroad because they now have a 200 euro deposit from me, b) have to put together a cover letter, resume, and clip package for the summer internship I hope to get over there, and c) have to begin the banal bureaucratic procedure of getting a sheaf of papers signed by 5 different departments on campus so I actually can go abroad.
But on an even happier note, I don't think I mentioned this earlier, but there is a light at the end of this very long and arduous tunnel and it comes in the form of NO FINAL EXAMS for me!!!!!! Yup, you read that right - none at all. Zero, zilch, nada. I roll out of here a whole week and a half before everyone else. See, there really is a God somewhere.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Scare Tactics Not Appreciated
As usual, Mom was right and I have recovered from last night's meltdown and have come to realize that I can handle this semester just as I handled all the rest.
I got my journalism beat today and I'm covering my hometown, which is good because I have contacts from my high school internship with the local councilman. I'm about to email his office to let them know that I'm back, only this time on the other side of the fence. It'll be so nice to go back to the office and see them and I know if I ever need to figure out who to talk to for a story, they'll have just the person for me to contact (which means I'm already a step ahead of everyone else :)
After we got our beats my professor continued to tell us how difficult the class was going to be and advised us to think long and hard about if we will have the time to dedicate to it. I tried not to let anything he was saying register since I don't actually have a choice in taking this class (unless I want to graduate sans journalism degree.)
I don't understand why teachers are so hell-bent on scaring us poor students. In 5th grade it was all about how grown-up we would have to be in middle school. (I mean we were losing recess - if that's not shutting the door on childhood, I don't know what is.) Three years later, it was how independent we'd have to be in high school. Halfway through high school, our AP classes were supposed to take us to the edge intellectually. I eventually learned not to let any of that talk scare me, since everything had proven to be much better than the teachers made it out to be.
I did, however, take heed my senior year of high school when we'd complain and our teachers would tell us that this work was nothing compared to what was waiting to greet us in college. But although they were right in that our grades comprise of only three or four assignments and the only homework we get is reading, I've once again prevailed and have made better grades than I did even in high school. So why is it that I'm so worried that this class will be any different?
I tend to do this type of thing irrationally freak out at certain things. Mom keeps telling me not to underestimate myself, and I really wish I could stop. This whole getting scared easily thing will do nothing to help me in the future.
But, little did I know that something as mundane as opening my email would put me in a much better mood. This afternoon, I got unbelievably excited when I opened up my inbox, and right there was a reply from that individual I've been trying to get a comment for the article from for the past few days. He responded just in time for me to add his comments into my article and submit it on deadline. Seriously, when I opened that email I was insanely overjoyed. (I'll admit there was a little celebratory jumping up and down involved.) Finally, my article was complete! And I know that despite all the fear and dread that came with writing this article, it'll all be worth it when I open up the newspaper and see my byline and my words printed on the page.
P.S. Forgot to mention this earlier, but we had the assignment meeting for the monthly newspaper I'm co-editor-in-chief of, and it went really well. We had a good size group show up and they all took articles. Ok, so now I can stop worrying about whether we'll actually have a newspaper to put out in October.
I got my journalism beat today and I'm covering my hometown, which is good because I have contacts from my high school internship with the local councilman. I'm about to email his office to let them know that I'm back, only this time on the other side of the fence. It'll be so nice to go back to the office and see them and I know if I ever need to figure out who to talk to for a story, they'll have just the person for me to contact (which means I'm already a step ahead of everyone else :)
After we got our beats my professor continued to tell us how difficult the class was going to be and advised us to think long and hard about if we will have the time to dedicate to it. I tried not to let anything he was saying register since I don't actually have a choice in taking this class (unless I want to graduate sans journalism degree.)
I don't understand why teachers are so hell-bent on scaring us poor students. In 5th grade it was all about how grown-up we would have to be in middle school. (I mean we were losing recess - if that's not shutting the door on childhood, I don't know what is.) Three years later, it was how independent we'd have to be in high school. Halfway through high school, our AP classes were supposed to take us to the edge intellectually. I eventually learned not to let any of that talk scare me, since everything had proven to be much better than the teachers made it out to be.
I did, however, take heed my senior year of high school when we'd complain and our teachers would tell us that this work was nothing compared to what was waiting to greet us in college. But although they were right in that our grades comprise of only three or four assignments and the only homework we get is reading, I've once again prevailed and have made better grades than I did even in high school. So why is it that I'm so worried that this class will be any different?
I tend to do this type of thing irrationally freak out at certain things. Mom keeps telling me not to underestimate myself, and I really wish I could stop. This whole getting scared easily thing will do nothing to help me in the future.
But, little did I know that something as mundane as opening my email would put me in a much better mood. This afternoon, I got unbelievably excited when I opened up my inbox, and right there was a reply from that individual I've been trying to get a comment for the article from for the past few days. He responded just in time for me to add his comments into my article and submit it on deadline. Seriously, when I opened that email I was insanely overjoyed. (I'll admit there was a little celebratory jumping up and down involved.) Finally, my article was complete! And I know that despite all the fear and dread that came with writing this article, it'll all be worth it when I open up the newspaper and see my byline and my words printed on the page.
P.S. Forgot to mention this earlier, but we had the assignment meeting for the monthly newspaper I'm co-editor-in-chief of, and it went really well. We had a good size group show up and they all took articles. Ok, so now I can stop worrying about whether we'll actually have a newspaper to put out in October.
So this is what a meltdown feels like
Everything was going just fine until it hit crunch time for the article. I was finally feeling okay about the semester, I'd spent the long weekend productively getting ahead on all my work, my article was coming along nicely and then wham, my source doesn't call back. By the time I got back to the apartment it was almost 9 p.m. and still no email response from him. I frantically called Megan to see if it was okay if I didn't find that one tidbit of information, and she assured me that that piece of information wasn't as important as I thought it was, and that my article was going to be okay.
But the anxiety persisted, swelling like a thundercloud inside my chest. It took an hour and 20 minute long phone call with Mom to help calm me down and realize that much of this anxiety is probably due to the fact that I haven't really dived into the semester yet. I've got no assignments or grades to base anything off of, so therefore I'm still deathly afraid of everything. It's weird, I've never felt so much anxiety over school before. Sure, I've always been slightly apprehensive looking at the workload in front of me at the beginning of each semester, but it never really seemed like more than I could handle. But this semester, well, let me put it this way. In the middle of ranting to my mom I got so anxious I swear to God I really felt like my heart was going to give out. I felt like my insides were going to explode and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the empty space under my bed and not come out until December.
Seriously though, I need to go to bed, especially seeing as I need to be up bright and early at 6:20 in the morning and prepare to select my beat...aka the bane of my existence for the next four months.
But the anxiety persisted, swelling like a thundercloud inside my chest. It took an hour and 20 minute long phone call with Mom to help calm me down and realize that much of this anxiety is probably due to the fact that I haven't really dived into the semester yet. I've got no assignments or grades to base anything off of, so therefore I'm still deathly afraid of everything. It's weird, I've never felt so much anxiety over school before. Sure, I've always been slightly apprehensive looking at the workload in front of me at the beginning of each semester, but it never really seemed like more than I could handle. But this semester, well, let me put it this way. In the middle of ranting to my mom I got so anxious I swear to God I really felt like my heart was going to give out. I felt like my insides were going to explode and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the empty space under my bed and not come out until December.
Seriously though, I need to go to bed, especially seeing as I need to be up bright and early at 6:20 in the morning and prepare to select my beat...aka the bane of my existence for the next four months.
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