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.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
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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