Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
The new job
So, I'm sure my beloved readers have been waiting with bated breath to hear about my new job. Yes, yes, I know you have! At least you were before the waiting got to be too much and you couldn't take the fruitless checking any more. So I've decided to end the unbearable suspense and enlighten you!
For the first few days, I was drowning in new information. Lots to learn, lots to remember and memorize, a seemingly infinite number of little details to tuck away and as many minute tasks to remember to do. But as the days have passed, I have been learning--by watching, stumbling through the assignments. . . and making mistakes. Fortunately, in my eight days at The Wire so far, we've only had to put out a correction once for something I wrote. I know if that pattern keeps up, I'll rack up quite a number. But I prefer to see the glass as half full! My heart did jump into my mouth today when I got a new kind of assignment that I hadn't done before but fortunately, it ended up being too important for a rookie like me to do, so I ended up in the spectator role instead. Which suited me just fine--until the next time.
And I'm becoming quite the new junkie, what with the news on all day and the hundreds of stories flashing across my screen. So, whether it's the Boston "suspicious package" scare or Tyra Banks' weight woes, or the Fed's latest move (or lack thereof, as it turns out), I'm your woman!
The corporate culture at The Wire does take some getting used to. Because, while The Mag was also technically part of a big company, it had a distinct journalistic feel, and felt like a separate entity from the rest of the organization. The Wire, on the other hand, is much more integrated into the rest of the corporation--which might take a while to get accustomed to.
So overall, as we used to say in college: It's All Geeewwwd!
For the first few days, I was drowning in new information. Lots to learn, lots to remember and memorize, a seemingly infinite number of little details to tuck away and as many minute tasks to remember to do. But as the days have passed, I have been learning--by watching, stumbling through the assignments. . . and making mistakes. Fortunately, in my eight days at The Wire so far, we've only had to put out a correction once for something I wrote. I know if that pattern keeps up, I'll rack up quite a number. But I prefer to see the glass as half full! My heart did jump into my mouth today when I got a new kind of assignment that I hadn't done before but fortunately, it ended up being too important for a rookie like me to do, so I ended up in the spectator role instead. Which suited me just fine--until the next time.
And I'm becoming quite the new junkie, what with the news on all day and the hundreds of stories flashing across my screen. So, whether it's the Boston "suspicious package" scare or Tyra Banks' weight woes, or the Fed's latest move (or lack thereof, as it turns out), I'm your woman!
The corporate culture at The Wire does take some getting used to. Because, while The Mag was also technically part of a big company, it had a distinct journalistic feel, and felt like a separate entity from the rest of the organization. The Wire, on the other hand, is much more integrated into the rest of the corporation--which might take a while to get accustomed to.
So overall, as we used to say in college: It's All Geeewwwd!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Changes. . .
Today was my last day at The Mag. I take next week off to work on some freelance projects, finish up a couple of stories I've been working on for The Mag, gather my wits and my emotions together, and prepare myself for starting my new job at The Wire the following Monday.
The past couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride. The Mag has been a haven for me, and leaving that security is daunting. I fear I will never work with such caring, accomodating souls again (although The Rock did present me with two scenarios: a. that I would be hired by The Mag in the future, or b. that I would come back and take his job--we'll see).
During the week before my departure from London, as I made my way down to my goodbye party with two colleagues, I told them that the beginnings and ends of the chapters of my life have always been clearly delineated. One closes unequivocally before another opens. I am now nearing the conclusion of chapter six. And I am worried and confused.
A job at The Wire means a lot more than just another new job(more on that later). And this time, an additional, personal, variable has made things even more confusing, and I hesitate. For, with this job comes a turn that is difficult to retrace my steps from. And while everyone else exclaims at the opportunities that lie ahead of me, all I can muster is a sigh and a "Yeah, I guess it'll be ok." Because I fear I may be giving up one opportunity for another--and in so doing, making a choice that will define the rest of my life.
Confusion begets worry and fear and frustration, and one result of all this is that I may have caused irreparable damage to a valuable friendship. Amid all the confusion, I felt wronged and hurt by this friend, and I told them so, not very pleasantly, without really considering their position. The conversation I'd imagined in my head went so much better than the actual one. The moment I'd uttered the words, I cursed myself for having said them. I learned the power of words--both good and bad--a long time ago, but forgot those lessons. And I also learned many years ago that, while work-wise, I may be thick-skinned, I am not so when it comes to those who mean much to me--and that what gets to me more than anything else is having something come between me and someone I care about, regardless of which side the fault lies with. I will joyfully take all the blame if it will bring reconciliation. And reconciliation I need now--as all my efforts to contact this friend have been fruitless.
So the close of this week finds me minus one internship, plus one job, possibly minus one friend, plus many doubts. But contradictory as this may seem, I also have an absolute, concrete-block kind of sense that this job, and the direction it will take me in, is part of God's plan for me. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that I'm losing something. . .
The past couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride. The Mag has been a haven for me, and leaving that security is daunting. I fear I will never work with such caring, accomodating souls again (although The Rock did present me with two scenarios: a. that I would be hired by The Mag in the future, or b. that I would come back and take his job--we'll see).
During the week before my departure from London, as I made my way down to my goodbye party with two colleagues, I told them that the beginnings and ends of the chapters of my life have always been clearly delineated. One closes unequivocally before another opens. I am now nearing the conclusion of chapter six. And I am worried and confused.
A job at The Wire means a lot more than just another new job(more on that later). And this time, an additional, personal, variable has made things even more confusing, and I hesitate. For, with this job comes a turn that is difficult to retrace my steps from. And while everyone else exclaims at the opportunities that lie ahead of me, all I can muster is a sigh and a "Yeah, I guess it'll be ok." Because I fear I may be giving up one opportunity for another--and in so doing, making a choice that will define the rest of my life.
Confusion begets worry and fear and frustration, and one result of all this is that I may have caused irreparable damage to a valuable friendship. Amid all the confusion, I felt wronged and hurt by this friend, and I told them so, not very pleasantly, without really considering their position. The conversation I'd imagined in my head went so much better than the actual one. The moment I'd uttered the words, I cursed myself for having said them. I learned the power of words--both good and bad--a long time ago, but forgot those lessons. And I also learned many years ago that, while work-wise, I may be thick-skinned, I am not so when it comes to those who mean much to me--and that what gets to me more than anything else is having something come between me and someone I care about, regardless of which side the fault lies with. I will joyfully take all the blame if it will bring reconciliation. And reconciliation I need now--as all my efforts to contact this friend have been fruitless.
So the close of this week finds me minus one internship, plus one job, possibly minus one friend, plus many doubts. But contradictory as this may seem, I also have an absolute, concrete-block kind of sense that this job, and the direction it will take me in, is part of God's plan for me. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that I'm losing something. . .
Friday, December 29, 2006
Long lost twin?
This photo ran in The Mag this week, in a story that was held from the week after Thanksgiving. I've been waiting for it to show up ever since then, because of this conversation on my return from Atlanta.The Rock to Crislin: So apparently they've decided to hold the story.
Crislin: Oh ok.
The Rock to spacey Me: So that means your picture won't run this week.
Me to The Rock: blank stare
Crislin: Oh yeah, that's true. Well, next week.
Me to Crislin: blank stare
The Rock and Crislin: Hahaha.
Me to both: blank stare
Finally The Rock deigned to explain: We chose a photo with a woman who we all think looks like you to run with the story.
Me: Ohhhh. Ok. (trying to act nonchalant, but secretly dying to see this photo, convinced it's not going to be a flattering resemblance--or worse, someone that I think I look nothing like, but everyone else thinks is a carbon copy.)
The Rock: Of course, everytime someone says you (generic you) look like someone, you always think they look nothing like you.
Me: Yeah, I know. (now nervously) Hehe.
Since then, as soon as the weekly email plopped into my inbox saying that latest issue was in, I'd run to the library to page through the mag to see if the story was there, not even entirely sure what I was looking for--just a photo of someone who might look kinda, sorta like me. But no. Last week, an email came from The Rock with the PDF of the story (it took me a while to figure out which story the photo was running with, but I did, finally). PDF=photo! I immediately opened it, and there it was finally--the photo of my supposed twin, albeit a profile. And to be honest, although I've examined it from every angle, I can't even tell if she looks like me or not. Although, truth be told, I'm not entirely disappointed.
So? Does she? Doesn't she? Shocked at the uncanny resemblance? Or going "what?!?!? How could they even think that?" Or as confused as me?
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Kiddie party
Today, we had the kiddie version of our work Christmas party. As I am kiddie-less, I didn't go. But it is impossible to not notice some 20-odd bundles of energy darting about the hallways. I happened upon one of these--stationary this time--near the library. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, about two feet high, her tiny face in a half-frown, half-smile, palms up in a questioning gesture, demanding of the world-at-large: "Where's daddy? Where'd daddy go?" "Hmmm! Where DID daddy go?" I wondered. And, as I watched, the half-frown disappeared, to be replaced by a full grin, as daddy appeared. "There's daddy!"
I went into the kitchen, and stumbled upon another little guy, only slightly older, sitting at the dining table, picking at a piece of pizza, long gone cold, somberly absorbed in the news on TV. Someone came in and asked him where his parents were. He mumbled something shyly, and went back to playing with his food and watching the news. "Hah!" I thought. "A journo in the making!"
And as I walked back to my cubicle, one of The Rock's two daughters, and a boy of unknown parentage, shot past me shouting, "Hide! Hide!" (At first, I thought she was yelling "Hi! Hi!" and I was almost moved to tears that she remembered me.) They rushed into the empty office next to mine, and I tuned out. A few minutes later, my attention was drawn to them again as The Rock and Pendio, a senior reporter, approached the office.
"You know, Pendio here is the BEAR of the whole of The Mag," The Rock informed the kids. Pendio duly growled to show that he was indeed the bear of the office. "Yes, he's the BRAIN of this WHOLE place." Pendio puffed out his chest, and pointed to his head. "So you guys need to be quiet, so he can THINK!"
The kids were clearly unimpressed by Pendio's greatness. "Well, we're leaving now anyway," one of them informed The Rock, duly putting him and all of Pendio's bearness and braininess in place. And, after a little more high-pitched excitement, they did.
Ah, for peace and quiet. Although, I must say, it is fun to have little people around--for a little bit at least-- in such a very grown-up place.
I went into the kitchen, and stumbled upon another little guy, only slightly older, sitting at the dining table, picking at a piece of pizza, long gone cold, somberly absorbed in the news on TV. Someone came in and asked him where his parents were. He mumbled something shyly, and went back to playing with his food and watching the news. "Hah!" I thought. "A journo in the making!"
And as I walked back to my cubicle, one of The Rock's two daughters, and a boy of unknown parentage, shot past me shouting, "Hide! Hide!" (At first, I thought she was yelling "Hi! Hi!" and I was almost moved to tears that she remembered me.) They rushed into the empty office next to mine, and I tuned out. A few minutes later, my attention was drawn to them again as The Rock and Pendio, a senior reporter, approached the office.
"You know, Pendio here is the BEAR of the whole of The Mag," The Rock informed the kids. Pendio duly growled to show that he was indeed the bear of the office. "Yes, he's the BRAIN of this WHOLE place." Pendio puffed out his chest, and pointed to his head. "So you guys need to be quiet, so he can THINK!"
The kids were clearly unimpressed by Pendio's greatness. "Well, we're leaving now anyway," one of them informed The Rock, duly putting him and all of Pendio's bearness and braininess in place. And, after a little more high-pitched excitement, they did.
Ah, for peace and quiet. Although, I must say, it is fun to have little people around--for a little bit at least-- in such a very grown-up place.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Six months at The Mag
As of this past Tuesday, I've been at The Mag for six months. SIX MONTHS! These same six months last year seemed to drag on forever. Time indeed passes quickly when you're having fun. And fun it has been. When I've worked at huge companies and publications in the past, I've often felt lost and confused, more superfluous than anything else, like an unwanted pet that has to be taken care of, and that care given grudgingly.
When I started at The Mag, that was what I feared--no, was sure--would happen. The tight deadlines, the layoffs which had happened a few months earlier, and the fact that it's part of a huge corporation, all made me sure that I would be no more than a pain amidst the hustle and bustle of life here, and that busy editors would see me as more of a hindrance than help. And I fretted and worried.
But I've been proved so wrong. I've been taken seriously, given daily responsibilities, stories to work on, and encouraged to develop my own ideas, even outside of my assigned section. I've pitched stories to editors, who have painstakingly worked with me to develop and shape them into comprehensive stories. When my job offers were being rescinded, editors joined together to ensure that I had enough work to keep me on while I figured out my next move. When I've helped reporters on stories outside of my section, I've had more than one editor say, "If they don't give you a byline for that story, let me know, and I'll deal with it." I've felt depended on, useful, and anything but unwanted.
These have been a strange six months. But this job has been a haven, and I believe, in God's own way, the withdrawal of the other job offers was a good thing after all.
NOTE: I try to stay away from work-related entries, but since I am at my six-month point, thought I would be justified in making an exception.
When I started at The Mag, that was what I feared--no, was sure--would happen. The tight deadlines, the layoffs which had happened a few months earlier, and the fact that it's part of a huge corporation, all made me sure that I would be no more than a pain amidst the hustle and bustle of life here, and that busy editors would see me as more of a hindrance than help. And I fretted and worried.
But I've been proved so wrong. I've been taken seriously, given daily responsibilities, stories to work on, and encouraged to develop my own ideas, even outside of my assigned section. I've pitched stories to editors, who have painstakingly worked with me to develop and shape them into comprehensive stories. When my job offers were being rescinded, editors joined together to ensure that I had enough work to keep me on while I figured out my next move. When I've helped reporters on stories outside of my section, I've had more than one editor say, "If they don't give you a byline for that story, let me know, and I'll deal with it." I've felt depended on, useful, and anything but unwanted.
These have been a strange six months. But this job has been a haven, and I believe, in God's own way, the withdrawal of the other job offers was a good thing after all.
NOTE: I try to stay away from work-related entries, but since I am at my six-month point, thought I would be justified in making an exception.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I am thankful. . .
. . .for the long Thanksgiving weekend. SO thankful. Because it means a respite from the mountains of paper spread out all over my desk and the numbers and graphs floating in front of my feverish, head-achy eyes. Because, if, after today, I have to look at another company's SEC filings, I will poke my eyes out and run around the building screaming. You just wait and see!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
How much longer?
Yesterday, my ed, the Rock, asked me to show the reporter who just came back from maternity leave (for whom I was supposedly subbing, thus extending my internship) how to do a weekly newsletter that has been my domain for the past 4.5 months (OMG, I've been here 4.5 months--there should be a law stating that if you've been at a workplace for over three months, and no one's asked you to leave, you become a permanent employee, with all the honors, rights, privileges and responsibilities appertaining thereto).
But I digress. I believe I'm being phased out. Yes, indeed I am. And the Rock, who is too nice to kick me out on my butt when I have no other prospects, may be hoping that I will be magnanimous enough to spare him the awkwardness and offer to leave of my own volition. I, on the other hand, have planted my flag and am still here--with my books in the overhead cabinets, my lunchboxes littering my desk, and my notebooks and papers scattered all over my cubicle--hoping that the powers that be won't notice my lingering presence. Then again, maybe they've just chosen to remain "unaware" of the fact that I'm still here--after all, if they kick me out, they'll have to evict my mess first. And who dares do that?!?!?
Update: We just had a wine and cheese tasting extravaganza. SEE?!?! THIS why they just might have to drag me out kicking and screaming.
But I digress. I believe I'm being phased out. Yes, indeed I am. And the Rock, who is too nice to kick me out on my butt when I have no other prospects, may be hoping that I will be magnanimous enough to spare him the awkwardness and offer to leave of my own volition. I, on the other hand, have planted my flag and am still here--with my books in the overhead cabinets, my lunchboxes littering my desk, and my notebooks and papers scattered all over my cubicle--hoping that the powers that be won't notice my lingering presence. Then again, maybe they've just chosen to remain "unaware" of the fact that I'm still here--after all, if they kick me out, they'll have to evict my mess first. And who dares do that?!?!?
Update: We just had a wine and cheese tasting extravaganza. SEE?!?! THIS why they just might have to drag me out kicking and screaming.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A bed. . . and a job offer!
So, after weeks of sleeping on a mattress and on the futon in the living room when the bedroom got too messy, I finally assembled my bed over the weekend.
It shouldn't have taken me 6 weeks to do it. But the person I bought it from had unassembled it, and in doing so, had made the holes the screws went into much larger. And when I tried to put them back, they just wouldn't stay in. So, I had to redrill the holes -- and my drill died about five times in the middle, and the drill bits were too small for the screws. AND, although I had about 20 different Philips and straight screw driver bits, the screws had square heads -- as in, the hole on the screw that the screwdriver head fits into was square. Who does that?!?!? So trying to put square headed screws into holes that were too small with Philips-head screw drivers turned out to be much more difficult that I'd anticipated.
But in the end, I did it! And I managed to lift the extremely heavy flat pieces of wood that the mattress rests on and put them on the frame without doing any permanent damage -- I think anyway. So, I'm just the teensiest, weensiest bit proud of myself. And I'm convinced that I'll be fine if I end up single. Geez, who needs a man when you can build your own furniture!
And, yes, the second part of that title. I got a job offer, but it's a trade magazine, and I'm about to turn it down. Coz I'm a snob, and I don't want to work at a trade magazine -- because that's what I was doing pre-Columbia, and what's the point of this past year if I just go back to doing what I was doing before? So, still no job. And still waiting for a decision from that wire I really wanted. So, everyone who's promised to cross anything, continue to keep 'em crossed!
It shouldn't have taken me 6 weeks to do it. But the person I bought it from had unassembled it, and in doing so, had made the holes the screws went into much larger. And when I tried to put them back, they just wouldn't stay in. So, I had to redrill the holes -- and my drill died about five times in the middle, and the drill bits were too small for the screws. AND, although I had about 20 different Philips and straight screw driver bits, the screws had square heads -- as in, the hole on the screw that the screwdriver head fits into was square. Who does that?!?!? So trying to put square headed screws into holes that were too small with Philips-head screw drivers turned out to be much more difficult that I'd anticipated.
But in the end, I did it! And I managed to lift the extremely heavy flat pieces of wood that the mattress rests on and put them on the frame without doing any permanent damage -- I think anyway. So, I'm just the teensiest, weensiest bit proud of myself. And I'm convinced that I'll be fine if I end up single. Geez, who needs a man when you can build your own furniture!
And, yes, the second part of that title. I got a job offer, but it's a trade magazine, and I'm about to turn it down. Coz I'm a snob, and I don't want to work at a trade magazine -- because that's what I was doing pre-Columbia, and what's the point of this past year if I just go back to doing what I was doing before? So, still no job. And still waiting for a decision from that wire I really wanted. So, everyone who's promised to cross anything, continue to keep 'em crossed!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Eerily quiet day
I am working in ghost town today - for a week, starting today, in fact. It is the first day of "dead week," the second week after a double issue, when there's no magazine to put out for the following week. Everybody -- including my boss, my boss' boss, my psuedo-bosses (when you're at the bottom of the food chain, EVERYBODY's your boss or pseudo-boss) have all left.
Or are trying to, at any rate. This morning's bomb threats have turned the long-awaited holidays of many here into airport nightmares. My editor, always attached to the office by an invisible umbilical cord, called me this morning from the airport, to make sure everything was ok. Everything's fine, I reassured him. He wasn't so fine. He was stuck at the airport, trying to get to the south.
It's something between a lazy and a productive day. It's been pretty quiet, and, with no deadlines, I haven't been too motivated to work. But I have actually been somewhat productive - even if it's not a work-related productive. I've updated my serious blog which I'm learning is a lot of work. And I've been reading, and actually concentrating, without the usual jumble of voices around me.
Plus it's the official good bye cocktail day for the interns -- only it looks like the interns will be the only ones around. I am not leaving, so the good byes don't apply to me. But I plan to go anyway. To have some human company for the first time today. Of course, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the free drinks!
Or are trying to, at any rate. This morning's bomb threats have turned the long-awaited holidays of many here into airport nightmares. My editor, always attached to the office by an invisible umbilical cord, called me this morning from the airport, to make sure everything was ok. Everything's fine, I reassured him. He wasn't so fine. He was stuck at the airport, trying to get to the south.
It's something between a lazy and a productive day. It's been pretty quiet, and, with no deadlines, I haven't been too motivated to work. But I have actually been somewhat productive - even if it's not a work-related productive. I've updated my serious blog which I'm learning is a lot of work. And I've been reading, and actually concentrating, without the usual jumble of voices around me.
Plus it's the official good bye cocktail day for the interns -- only it looks like the interns will be the only ones around. I am not leaving, so the good byes don't apply to me. But I plan to go anyway. To have some human company for the first time today. Of course, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the free drinks!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Job news jitters
If it’s not the aftermath of a mediocre date, it’s the aftermath of a mediocre job interview. The staring-at-the-phone-willing-it-to-ring scenario takes on many forms these days. The date says, “I’ll call you,” and you sit and wait, biting your fingernails, wondering if your phone has developed an aversion to ringing for some unfathomable reason. The job interviewer says “I’ll call you,” and it’s the post-mediocre-date scenario all over again.
In the past few weeks – the past many weeks actually – I’ve been waiting for my phone to ring – from a prospective employer, not a prospective love of my life – though the former might morph into the latter, given the way things are going with me. It is a financial news wire, and I want the job for several reasons – because I want to work for a wire, because I want to work on daily, or even hourly, deadlines, to better understand financial news, to work for an international news organization and one that sponsors foreign employees.
Things haven’t gone as smoothly as I expected. I had a trial and a second interview exactly a month ago tomorrow. As I thanked the interviewer after a very intense three days, I was told that they would contact me in a week. Remembering that it took them longer than that to get back to me after my first interview, I took this information with a pinch of salt.
So when the first week came and went with no news, I didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. As the second week inched to its close, though, I started to worry. The earnings season was starting, and they had warned me that it would be a busy time. I knew there would be no news for a long time after. So I called. I called the editor, her assistant, left messages and emailed both. I heard not a peep.
And then the first earnings week arrived and my faith started to ebb. I waited till the end of the week, and called again. This time I got the editor. Had they made a decision yet? Sort of. Apparently, my test had been “on the fence,” not good enough to make me a shoo-in, but not bad enough to send me off into the newswire netherworld either. “Call back in a week,” she said.
And so I did. This morning. “I’ll call you back this afternoon,” she said.
So, here I am, back to the staring-at-the-phone-willing-it-to-ring scenario all over again.
In the past few weeks – the past many weeks actually – I’ve been waiting for my phone to ring – from a prospective employer, not a prospective love of my life – though the former might morph into the latter, given the way things are going with me. It is a financial news wire, and I want the job for several reasons – because I want to work for a wire, because I want to work on daily, or even hourly, deadlines, to better understand financial news, to work for an international news organization and one that sponsors foreign employees.
Things haven’t gone as smoothly as I expected. I had a trial and a second interview exactly a month ago tomorrow. As I thanked the interviewer after a very intense three days, I was told that they would contact me in a week. Remembering that it took them longer than that to get back to me after my first interview, I took this information with a pinch of salt.
So when the first week came and went with no news, I didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. As the second week inched to its close, though, I started to worry. The earnings season was starting, and they had warned me that it would be a busy time. I knew there would be no news for a long time after. So I called. I called the editor, her assistant, left messages and emailed both. I heard not a peep.
And then the first earnings week arrived and my faith started to ebb. I waited till the end of the week, and called again. This time I got the editor. Had they made a decision yet? Sort of. Apparently, my test had been “on the fence,” not good enough to make me a shoo-in, but not bad enough to send me off into the newswire netherworld either. “Call back in a week,” she said.
And so I did. This morning. “I’ll call you back this afternoon,” she said.
So, here I am, back to the staring-at-the-phone-willing-it-to-ring scenario all over again.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
First press briefing!
I went to my first press briefing today as a bonafide member of the New York press corps. It was a relatively laidback event, and not even something we would do a story on. I knew what it was about, but I took it pretty lightly, and sauntered over to the place which was just a few blocks from where I work.
I reached there and made it up to the room where the briefing was. Standing in the elevator, I realized there was another reporter in the elevator with me. As we introduced ourselves and said which magazines we were from, a wave of panic hit me. "OMG," I thought. "That magazine has sent a real reporter, and my magazine sent ME? The Rock should have come! What was he thinking!?!?!?"
I calmed down somewhat, but as each real reporter walked in, I sank just a little more in my chair. Then another wave of panic. "OMG, I have to ask questions at the end. I have to establish that I'm a serious journalist. The whole reputation of my magazine is at stake here. If I don't ask questions, they'll all think of my magazine as the one that sent that stupid intern who didn't know anything and didn't ask any questions."
I was convinced that I wouldn't even be able to follow the presentation, and in an attempt to avert such tragedy, I kept my eyes glued to the presenter, taking them off only to jot down notes, as if by boring my eyes into her, I could absorb what she was thinking and saying by sheer osmosis, if by nothing else. She finished her presentation, and I realized that I had understood most of what she'd been talking about -- maybe not to confidently write a story about it, if I had to, but in my mind her message was clear. I didn't ask questions, but neither did some of the other reporters there, so I felt a load lift -- if I wasn't the only one that didn't ask questions, then they wouldn't remember just me, I convinced myself.
Then came the dreaded socializing. I was tempted to just leave under the pretext of moving apartments in a couple of days and needed to pack, but forced myself to stay, telling myself sternly that I needed to make contacts. And I was hungry. So I helped myself to some food and drink and moved out onto the rooftop.
And I was pleasantly surprised to find the whole small talk thing much easier than I did about two years ago when I endured multiple excruciating social events, sometimes for days when I was covering conferences, feeling like a complete wallflower and wishing almost without exception that I could disappear. I am still not very good in group situations, but I realized that I wasn't questioning myself a dozen times before making a simple comment or contributing to the general flow of the conversation. I even stayed longer than I'd intended to!
So, my first press briefing went pretty well. And I realized that, while in moments of panic, I might question my decision to leave a mediocre job in London, where I was, nevertheless, happy and move to New York, doing so did give me opportunities I'd never have had -- because now, I am a very tiny fish in a huge pond, nay, in an ocean, but better that than to be a big fish, even the ONLY fish, in a tiny pond. Because a big fish in a tiny pond isn't going anywhere unless it leaves the pond, but a tiny fish in an ocean has plenty of room to grow.
I reached there and made it up to the room where the briefing was. Standing in the elevator, I realized there was another reporter in the elevator with me. As we introduced ourselves and said which magazines we were from, a wave of panic hit me. "OMG," I thought. "That magazine has sent a real reporter, and my magazine sent ME? The Rock should have come! What was he thinking!?!?!?"
I calmed down somewhat, but as each real reporter walked in, I sank just a little more in my chair. Then another wave of panic. "OMG, I have to ask questions at the end. I have to establish that I'm a serious journalist. The whole reputation of my magazine is at stake here. If I don't ask questions, they'll all think of my magazine as the one that sent that stupid intern who didn't know anything and didn't ask any questions."
I was convinced that I wouldn't even be able to follow the presentation, and in an attempt to avert such tragedy, I kept my eyes glued to the presenter, taking them off only to jot down notes, as if by boring my eyes into her, I could absorb what she was thinking and saying by sheer osmosis, if by nothing else. She finished her presentation, and I realized that I had understood most of what she'd been talking about -- maybe not to confidently write a story about it, if I had to, but in my mind her message was clear. I didn't ask questions, but neither did some of the other reporters there, so I felt a load lift -- if I wasn't the only one that didn't ask questions, then they wouldn't remember just me, I convinced myself.
Then came the dreaded socializing. I was tempted to just leave under the pretext of moving apartments in a couple of days and needed to pack, but forced myself to stay, telling myself sternly that I needed to make contacts. And I was hungry. So I helped myself to some food and drink and moved out onto the rooftop.
And I was pleasantly surprised to find the whole small talk thing much easier than I did about two years ago when I endured multiple excruciating social events, sometimes for days when I was covering conferences, feeling like a complete wallflower and wishing almost without exception that I could disappear. I am still not very good in group situations, but I realized that I wasn't questioning myself a dozen times before making a simple comment or contributing to the general flow of the conversation. I even stayed longer than I'd intended to!
So, my first press briefing went pretty well. And I realized that, while in moments of panic, I might question my decision to leave a mediocre job in London, where I was, nevertheless, happy and move to New York, doing so did give me opportunities I'd never have had -- because now, I am a very tiny fish in a huge pond, nay, in an ocean, but better that than to be a big fish, even the ONLY fish, in a tiny pond. Because a big fish in a tiny pond isn't going anywhere unless it leaves the pond, but a tiny fish in an ocean has plenty of room to grow.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Anonymity. . .
It's absolutely shocking what a little anonymity can do to people. It brings out the little devils inside them full force and unleashes them in all their fury. And the result. . . people turn nasty and horrible and racist and nationalist, just because they cannot be held to account for what they say.
Part of the scut work of my otherwise fabulous internship -- actually, I don't mind it so much, since it gives me some insight into humanity and also allows me to get an idea of what our stories are without reading each one everyday -- is to go through the magazine's web site and approve (or not, as the case may be) readers' comments in response to the stories we publish online. And boy can people be nasty. Because we don't ask them to give us their real identities or email addresses before they can appear on the site, people are absolutely horrible. Some swear, some call each other names, some call the people of certain countries incompetent, lazy, and worse names.
When I see these venomous comments, I just sigh and shake my head and think, "This could very well be some corporate executive sitting in a plush corner office somewhere, spouting poison, just because it can't come back to him." And how awful is that? If you have a point of view, fine. Say it. But why hide behind the anonymity of the internet to let loose all your pent up anger and hatred? Why do you have so much hatred in the first place?
It reminds me of another incident. I had a friend, an Uzbek journalist, who was in my master's program. She was covering the Andijan massacre last May before coming here, and was shot at. She survived because she had a book in her pocket that stopped the bullet from hitting her (I know, sounds like a movie, but absolutely true). She has been banned from entering Uzbekistan, because of her courageous reporting of the massacre, and she wrote an article criticizing the government and the massacre that was posted on a site. The article was, in turn, picked up by a pro-government forum -- and she was critisized and abused by many on the forum for her views. They are absolutely entitled to their views. But these are people who would probably not have been able to even have an intelligent discussion about the massacre with her. But, they had no problem spewing filth on her, safely hiding beyond the anonymity afforded by the internet. Anyone who supported her were also subjected to the same verbal abuse.
I sit in front of my computer, at work reporting a story, and wonder many times how we survived before the Internet came about. But sometimes, I wonder how the world manages to survive and function with it.
Part of the scut work of my otherwise fabulous internship -- actually, I don't mind it so much, since it gives me some insight into humanity and also allows me to get an idea of what our stories are without reading each one everyday -- is to go through the magazine's web site and approve (or not, as the case may be) readers' comments in response to the stories we publish online. And boy can people be nasty. Because we don't ask them to give us their real identities or email addresses before they can appear on the site, people are absolutely horrible. Some swear, some call each other names, some call the people of certain countries incompetent, lazy, and worse names.
When I see these venomous comments, I just sigh and shake my head and think, "This could very well be some corporate executive sitting in a plush corner office somewhere, spouting poison, just because it can't come back to him." And how awful is that? If you have a point of view, fine. Say it. But why hide behind the anonymity of the internet to let loose all your pent up anger and hatred? Why do you have so much hatred in the first place?
It reminds me of another incident. I had a friend, an Uzbek journalist, who was in my master's program. She was covering the Andijan massacre last May before coming here, and was shot at. She survived because she had a book in her pocket that stopped the bullet from hitting her (I know, sounds like a movie, but absolutely true). She has been banned from entering Uzbekistan, because of her courageous reporting of the massacre, and she wrote an article criticizing the government and the massacre that was posted on a site. The article was, in turn, picked up by a pro-government forum -- and she was critisized and abused by many on the forum for her views. They are absolutely entitled to their views. But these are people who would probably not have been able to even have an intelligent discussion about the massacre with her. But, they had no problem spewing filth on her, safely hiding beyond the anonymity afforded by the internet. Anyone who supported her were also subjected to the same verbal abuse.
I sit in front of my computer, at work reporting a story, and wonder many times how we survived before the Internet came about. But sometimes, I wonder how the world manages to survive and function with it.
Friday, June 02, 2006
On the job. . .
We have all established by now that if I handle any life-changing event the way most normal people would -- with careful preparation -- then something is not right. So it is not at all surprising -- in fact, expected -- that I showed up to my first day at my much cherised and hard-won internship without my work authorization document.
Well, the truth is that it hadn't arrived, although the government agency's web site stated very positively that my application had been approved. In any case, I was starting on June 5, so off I went to my first day, armed with the print out stating that I had been approved and my passport -- but no authorization document, none the less. I needn't have worried. Because everyhing was fine. They didn't even ask me for it until the second day. When they did ask, I managed to convince them that I would get it any day now and avert any uncomfortable escortage to the door.
But anyway, I have been at my internship for three days now. And in that time, I have gone to meetings galore -- meetings about the front of the magazine, the back of the magazine, the middle of the magazine, the international section, art meetings, photo meetings. I have two wonderful editors, who bend over backwards to include me in everything -- even unexpectedly introducing me to the editor-in-chief, which left me a tad speechless -- I'm sure I made a great first impression with that.
When I am not accompanying my editors to meetings, I've been editing some columns and readers' comments and looking at stories in various stages of production to see how they change throughout the process.
Of course, every intern feverishly wants to be writing at least for the magazine's web site, if not for the print version, and I am no different. So, when I received an invite to an event that seemed like it might be of interest to the magazine, I suggested to my editor that I might write it up. He kindly declined, informing me that it was too small to cover, even on the web site, but encouraged me to pitch my own story ideas. So now, I'm going to be racking my brains, and engaging in fits of panic as I try to come up with suitable ideas that will earn me more than an incredulous laugh when I pitch them. Any ideas are most welcome!
But in the meantime, I'll keep going to more meetings and doing more editing and immersing myself in the mag -- and sucking up to the boss man!
Well, the truth is that it hadn't arrived, although the government agency's web site stated very positively that my application had been approved. In any case, I was starting on June 5, so off I went to my first day, armed with the print out stating that I had been approved and my passport -- but no authorization document, none the less. I needn't have worried. Because everyhing was fine. They didn't even ask me for it until the second day. When they did ask, I managed to convince them that I would get it any day now and avert any uncomfortable escortage to the door.
But anyway, I have been at my internship for three days now. And in that time, I have gone to meetings galore -- meetings about the front of the magazine, the back of the magazine, the middle of the magazine, the international section, art meetings, photo meetings. I have two wonderful editors, who bend over backwards to include me in everything -- even unexpectedly introducing me to the editor-in-chief, which left me a tad speechless -- I'm sure I made a great first impression with that.
When I am not accompanying my editors to meetings, I've been editing some columns and readers' comments and looking at stories in various stages of production to see how they change throughout the process.
Of course, every intern feverishly wants to be writing at least for the magazine's web site, if not for the print version, and I am no different. So, when I received an invite to an event that seemed like it might be of interest to the magazine, I suggested to my editor that I might write it up. He kindly declined, informing me that it was too small to cover, even on the web site, but encouraged me to pitch my own story ideas. So now, I'm going to be racking my brains, and engaging in fits of panic as I try to come up with suitable ideas that will earn me more than an incredulous laugh when I pitch them. Any ideas are most welcome!
But in the meantime, I'll keep going to more meetings and doing more editing and immersing myself in the mag -- and sucking up to the boss man!
Monday, February 06, 2006
My weekend's adventures
So, being the enterprising reporter that I am, I decided to go down to Washington D.C. to report on the story I'm working on for my wire service class. And being the fiscally responsible wonderwoman that I am, I decided that I would take . . . the Chinatown bus!!
I confidently booked my ticket to leave on Saturday, and to return Sunday, without bothering to book anywhere to stay and having no idea where I would spend the night. Thankfully, I managed to talk to my old Kodai friend Meri the night before I was due to leave, who graciously extended an invitation to stay with them. Otherwise it would have been an all-nighter at Union Station, which might have led to another very interesting story.
My bus was at 3:00 on Saturday afternoon, which, of course meant that I would only arrive at the bus' departure location at 3:15 p.m. and find that it had already left. If you, oh reader, are shaking your head and thinking, "Tsk, tsk, Ini, late as usual," I hasten to put you right -- it was all part of the plan. Of course I wanted to wait for an hour in the pouring rain for the next bus.
I finally got on the bus, and after waiting another long hour, in delirious anticipation of my first long distance bus ride ever in the U.S. -- which included a frightening moment, when the bus driver and one of the several women selling tickets got into a heated argument in Chinese, which resulted in the driver stalking off, and my own conviction that we would all have to get off the bus and enjoy the rain and the -- ahem -- scenery, for another hour -- we finally took off (whew, that was a long sentence).
We arrived four and a half hours later in this great nation's capital. Meri and hubby arrived to pick me up and we proceeded to Big Bowl restaurant, where I ate a lot more than I should have, as usual, and then off to Blockbuster to pick up "The Fantastic Four" and then on home. Watched "The Fantastic Four" -- well, I did, M and hubby fell asleep, and then off to bed.
Woke up today, a little too leisurely, and after dilly dallying over breakfast and telly, proceeded to Union Station, to the theater church, and said goodbye to M and hubby, and set off to do my reporter thing. Managed to disrupt most of the entire service by first walking in late (again all part of my plan for making a dramatic entrance) and then proceeding to walk up and down the aisle taking pictures).
By God's grace, the sermon was absolutely perfect for my story, and I got several quotes just from listening to the pastor who wasn't there -- he was projected on the screen, but the sermon was recorded earlier, which all adds spice to my story.
At the end of the service, a couple of people, who had seen me at work taking pictures, approached me -- which saved me the trouble of being a real reporter, and approaching them -- to invite me to a photography group that meets every week. I explained what I was doing there, and they agreed to talk to me and tell me their stories.
When I finished talking to them, it was about 1:00 and I walked back to Chinatown, only to discover that the next bus was at 5:00. I almost sat down on the pavement and started crying. My shoulders ached from my heavy backpack, thanks to my laptop and I stood there for half an hour trying to figure out what to do. I did entertain the thought of being a trooper and joining the Chinese New Year parade, but my aching shoulders dissuaded me. I decided to trek back to the station and see if there was a train I could take back. Walked all the way back, and found that, yes there was a train, but no, it was way too expensive for my poor student budget.
I had one more option left -- the Greyhound. So I trekked another three long blocks to the Greyhound station, by which time my shoulders were ready to dislocate themselves from the rest of my body. But there was a bus leaving right as I got there, so I promptly hopped on it, and 4.5 hours and a splitting headache later, I was home. Home sweet home. It never felt more welcoming.
And now, I'm contemplating a career change. Something along the lines of a lady who lunches.
I confidently booked my ticket to leave on Saturday, and to return Sunday, without bothering to book anywhere to stay and having no idea where I would spend the night. Thankfully, I managed to talk to my old Kodai friend Meri the night before I was due to leave, who graciously extended an invitation to stay with them. Otherwise it would have been an all-nighter at Union Station, which might have led to another very interesting story.
My bus was at 3:00 on Saturday afternoon, which, of course meant that I would only arrive at the bus' departure location at 3:15 p.m. and find that it had already left. If you, oh reader, are shaking your head and thinking, "Tsk, tsk, Ini, late as usual," I hasten to put you right -- it was all part of the plan. Of course I wanted to wait for an hour in the pouring rain for the next bus.
I finally got on the bus, and after waiting another long hour, in delirious anticipation of my first long distance bus ride ever in the U.S. -- which included a frightening moment, when the bus driver and one of the several women selling tickets got into a heated argument in Chinese, which resulted in the driver stalking off, and my own conviction that we would all have to get off the bus and enjoy the rain and the -- ahem -- scenery, for another hour -- we finally took off (whew, that was a long sentence).
We arrived four and a half hours later in this great nation's capital. Meri and hubby arrived to pick me up and we proceeded to Big Bowl restaurant, where I ate a lot more than I should have, as usual, and then off to Blockbuster to pick up "The Fantastic Four" and then on home. Watched "The Fantastic Four" -- well, I did, M and hubby fell asleep, and then off to bed.
Woke up today, a little too leisurely, and after dilly dallying over breakfast and telly, proceeded to Union Station, to the theater church, and said goodbye to M and hubby, and set off to do my reporter thing. Managed to disrupt most of the entire service by first walking in late (again all part of my plan for making a dramatic entrance) and then proceeding to walk up and down the aisle taking pictures).
By God's grace, the sermon was absolutely perfect for my story, and I got several quotes just from listening to the pastor who wasn't there -- he was projected on the screen, but the sermon was recorded earlier, which all adds spice to my story.
At the end of the service, a couple of people, who had seen me at work taking pictures, approached me -- which saved me the trouble of being a real reporter, and approaching them -- to invite me to a photography group that meets every week. I explained what I was doing there, and they agreed to talk to me and tell me their stories.
When I finished talking to them, it was about 1:00 and I walked back to Chinatown, only to discover that the next bus was at 5:00. I almost sat down on the pavement and started crying. My shoulders ached from my heavy backpack, thanks to my laptop and I stood there for half an hour trying to figure out what to do. I did entertain the thought of being a trooper and joining the Chinese New Year parade, but my aching shoulders dissuaded me. I decided to trek back to the station and see if there was a train I could take back. Walked all the way back, and found that, yes there was a train, but no, it was way too expensive for my poor student budget.
I had one more option left -- the Greyhound. So I trekked another three long blocks to the Greyhound station, by which time my shoulders were ready to dislocate themselves from the rest of my body. But there was a bus leaving right as I got there, so I promptly hopped on it, and 4.5 hours and a splitting headache later, I was home. Home sweet home. It never felt more welcoming.
And now, I'm contemplating a career change. Something along the lines of a lady who lunches.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Sigh!
I'm in that no man's land between being the holidays and getting back into serious work, and am having a hard time leaving it. Which means that the work is piling up, and while I'm aware of it, my brain is still in holiday mode, and doesn't want to start functioning yet. Which does not bode well for my grades, considering the fact that deadlines are fast approaching. I did stay home on Saturday night, instead of joining Ficali, Ilajna and Doobie for karaoke (which might have been a good thing in more ways than one) to work on a story that was due Monday and to catch up on some reading). So maybe that's a sign that I'm on my way out of this lethargy.
On the other hand, I'm taking a class in which we run a wire service, which means that my stories stand a remote chance of being picked up by other newspapers and actually published. Of course, knowing my luck (and my story ideas), I'll be the one person in the class whose stories never get picked up. But, according to my prof, the only person who never got any of her stories in any newspaper last year ended up with a job at Reuters, so maybe that's the way to go!
Sigh! I want a job! I wish someone at some fancy schmancy newspaper or wire would call me and say, "Inihtar! We think you are a fantastic reporter, and we would like nothing better than to have you come work for us and to get you a work visa! So hop on board!!" Wouldn't that be nice? But the fact that I sent in my resume with a glaring error on it to the only media company that is actually hiring wouldn't help now, would it? :-(
On the other hand, I'm taking a class in which we run a wire service, which means that my stories stand a remote chance of being picked up by other newspapers and actually published. Of course, knowing my luck (and my story ideas), I'll be the one person in the class whose stories never get picked up. But, according to my prof, the only person who never got any of her stories in any newspaper last year ended up with a job at Reuters, so maybe that's the way to go!
Sigh! I want a job! I wish someone at some fancy schmancy newspaper or wire would call me and say, "Inihtar! We think you are a fantastic reporter, and we would like nothing better than to have you come work for us and to get you a work visa! So hop on board!!" Wouldn't that be nice? But the fact that I sent in my resume with a glaring error on it to the only media company that is actually hiring wouldn't help now, would it? :-(
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Hats off to Caveboy and Gio!
I am, as I have been for the past few days, struggling through my journalism law exam, and thought I'd take a break by posting. It - the exam, I mean, not posting - has been, is and promises to continue to be, a painful experience.
I was one of the very few people here who could have actually not taken the class. International students are assigned to another class, titled "New York as a Foreign Country". But, after the first day in that class, I decided that it would just be a waste of two hours every Friday morning, and chose to take the law class instead. And the result of that. . . I'm sitting here slaving away on my law exam.
I think anyone who makes it through law school, and mountains of Opinions which sound more like Latin (to someone who doesn't know Latin, of course)deserves a medal, to say the least. So, hats off to Caveboy and Gio!
It's not that I really regret taking this class. It's actually quite interesting. But it's a lot to read, remember and regurgitate, and I've realised that my regurgitation skills went out the window when I was about 10 (for better or worse!). So, here I am, armed with my big book of Supreme Court opinions in most of the landmark journalism cases, the (very unclear) notes provided by the TA (whom a classmate of mine, a lawyer in a former life, dismissed as "only a second-year law student") and more thorough notes emailed by another classmate, who was also a lawyer in a former life (see a pattern here Caveboy Esq.?!?! :-P)
"It shouldn't take more than six hours," the same TA reassured us (or maybe it wasn't a reassurance?!?) It takes six hours to WRITE the thing. It takes another six hours to find the cases and the opinions and to connect them to the cases in the exam, and to come to sort sort of cohesive and coherent conclusion. It definitely does not take six hours - try 12.
It's due at midnight tonight - well, 11:59 p.m. to be precise - so adios amigos, as I return to Branzburg v. Hayes.
And in other news, I just got a grade in one of my classes that I still have to hand in a story for. Should I still turn it in? I'm tempted to just leave it and be done with it, but then, the grade can always mysteriously change, and we can't have that. . .
I was one of the very few people here who could have actually not taken the class. International students are assigned to another class, titled "New York as a Foreign Country". But, after the first day in that class, I decided that it would just be a waste of two hours every Friday morning, and chose to take the law class instead. And the result of that. . . I'm sitting here slaving away on my law exam.
I think anyone who makes it through law school, and mountains of Opinions which sound more like Latin (to someone who doesn't know Latin, of course)deserves a medal, to say the least. So, hats off to Caveboy and Gio!
It's not that I really regret taking this class. It's actually quite interesting. But it's a lot to read, remember and regurgitate, and I've realised that my regurgitation skills went out the window when I was about 10 (for better or worse!). So, here I am, armed with my big book of Supreme Court opinions in most of the landmark journalism cases, the (very unclear) notes provided by the TA (whom a classmate of mine, a lawyer in a former life, dismissed as "only a second-year law student") and more thorough notes emailed by another classmate, who was also a lawyer in a former life (see a pattern here Caveboy Esq.?!?! :-P)
"It shouldn't take more than six hours," the same TA reassured us (or maybe it wasn't a reassurance?!?) It takes six hours to WRITE the thing. It takes another six hours to find the cases and the opinions and to connect them to the cases in the exam, and to come to sort sort of cohesive and coherent conclusion. It definitely does not take six hours - try 12.
It's due at midnight tonight - well, 11:59 p.m. to be precise - so adios amigos, as I return to Branzburg v. Hayes.
And in other news, I just got a grade in one of my classes that I still have to hand in a story for. Should I still turn it in? I'm tempted to just leave it and be done with it, but then, the grade can always mysteriously change, and we can't have that. . .
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Enter Reuters reporter Inihtar!
I tend to get quite obsessive at times. I pick something that I decide I want, and draw up strategies about how I can achieve the object of my obsession, and get very upset and tense when something seems to come in the way of achieving said obsession.
Well, my latest obsession is getting an internship - well, a job would be ideal, but beggars can't be choosers - at the AP or Reuters. So yesterday, I went to a panel discussion about AIDS at the Reuters office here. I actually didn't even realise I'd signed up to go to it until I got the email letting me know that I was One of the Chosen Ones and was really not in the mood for it - but seeing as I was One of the Chosen Ones, I couldn't very well not go!
So, cribbing and complaining to myself, I went. The panel itself was interesting, and quite enlightening, but since the discussion had started late, and I had to get to class afterwards, I left as soon as the Q&A session started.
As I was walking towards the elevators, I noticed a guy standing a few feet outside the room, listening to what was happening. Somehow, in the middle of me hurrying to the elevators, and him straining to hear what was happening inside, we managed to strike up a conversation. He was a reporter at Reuters. As soon as he said that, I decided class or no class, I was talking to him. He looked at my name tag and asked me what I did at Columbia. I told him I was a journalism student.
"Really?" he said. "I've been wanting to do my master's degree at Columbia. Maybe I should come up there and sit in on a class."
"Yeah," I said. "You definitely should. It's great, and the professors are great, they're very experienced, and they have great reputations!"
We chatted for a bit, and exchanged cards. And then, out of the blue, he said, "You should do an internship at Reuters!"
"I KNOW!!" I said. (This guy can read minds!!)
"Well," he continued. "This is how you get into it. By making contacts with people like me."
"Ok," I said. "I'm keeping in touch with you for sure then!"
And I intend to! So much so that he's going to regret having told me to do so!
So, I've got a new best friend who's a business reporters at Reuters, who's going to get me an internship there!
PS: Is it me or are most of my blog entries somewhat anticlimactic?
Well, my latest obsession is getting an internship - well, a job would be ideal, but beggars can't be choosers - at the AP or Reuters. So yesterday, I went to a panel discussion about AIDS at the Reuters office here. I actually didn't even realise I'd signed up to go to it until I got the email letting me know that I was One of the Chosen Ones and was really not in the mood for it - but seeing as I was One of the Chosen Ones, I couldn't very well not go!
So, cribbing and complaining to myself, I went. The panel itself was interesting, and quite enlightening, but since the discussion had started late, and I had to get to class afterwards, I left as soon as the Q&A session started.
As I was walking towards the elevators, I noticed a guy standing a few feet outside the room, listening to what was happening. Somehow, in the middle of me hurrying to the elevators, and him straining to hear what was happening inside, we managed to strike up a conversation. He was a reporter at Reuters. As soon as he said that, I decided class or no class, I was talking to him. He looked at my name tag and asked me what I did at Columbia. I told him I was a journalism student.
"Really?" he said. "I've been wanting to do my master's degree at Columbia. Maybe I should come up there and sit in on a class."
"Yeah," I said. "You definitely should. It's great, and the professors are great, they're very experienced, and they have great reputations!"
We chatted for a bit, and exchanged cards. And then, out of the blue, he said, "You should do an internship at Reuters!"
"I KNOW!!" I said. (This guy can read minds!!)
"Well," he continued. "This is how you get into it. By making contacts with people like me."
"Ok," I said. "I'm keeping in touch with you for sure then!"
And I intend to! So much so that he's going to regret having told me to do so!
So, I've got a new best friend who's a business reporters at Reuters, who's going to get me an internship there!
PS: Is it me or are most of my blog entries somewhat anticlimactic?
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
V-day!
Today is Nov. 8, Election Day, and a very biz bizy one for us aspiring journos. Well, for normal ones as well. I got up at the unholy hour of 5:15 a.m., and betook myself to the Bronx to stand at polling stations and intrude on people's privacy by asking them whom they voted for. That and a few other questions, but essentially that.
Apparently, everyone in the Bronx is voting for "Freddy" Ferrer for mayor, because he's Hispanic, and for no reason other than that. This bothers me slightly, because, apparently, from what I've heard, the guy is a bit of a wet mop personality-wise. But then a few of the more informed individuals I spoke with told me that he did a lot for the Bronx when he was Borough president. So, maybe there is a bit more to him than that. But, he certainly doesn't have the commanding presence - or the money - that Bloomberg has, so despite all the votes he amasses in the Bronx, he's not likely to win. And even those who voted for him conceded as much.
But it was an interesting experience, and certainly tougher than the work on the primary storyI did in Jamaica, Queens, mostly because everyone in Jamaica speaks English, and not many in the Bronx do. The area in Jamaica I covered for the primary was also mostly Guyanese, and since South Asians and Guyanese look somewhat similar, people felt some sort of kinship with me (the same kind that makes people in the Bronx vote for Freddy, I guess).
It was cold and exhausting, and not particularly fulfilling, but I guess it's part of the donkey work that makes up the J-school experience. The most disappointing part was that no one had a passionate hatred for Bloomberg, which might have made life a bit more exciting. Oh well. . .
But this was one of those one-person-does-the-reporting-and-someone-else-does-the-writing assignments, so I didn't have to bother with writing up a story from my skimpy notes, so I was grateful for that.
And by the way, our student work web site is functional as of today, and I've added a link to the left (Columbia Journalist), so check it out! I don't know if anything of my work will make it, but one can hope. . . But there's some pretty decent stuff on there, local of course.
Apparently, everyone in the Bronx is voting for "Freddy" Ferrer for mayor, because he's Hispanic, and for no reason other than that. This bothers me slightly, because, apparently, from what I've heard, the guy is a bit of a wet mop personality-wise. But then a few of the more informed individuals I spoke with told me that he did a lot for the Bronx when he was Borough president. So, maybe there is a bit more to him than that. But, he certainly doesn't have the commanding presence - or the money - that Bloomberg has, so despite all the votes he amasses in the Bronx, he's not likely to win. And even those who voted for him conceded as much.
But it was an interesting experience, and certainly tougher than the work on the primary storyI did in Jamaica, Queens, mostly because everyone in Jamaica speaks English, and not many in the Bronx do. The area in Jamaica I covered for the primary was also mostly Guyanese, and since South Asians and Guyanese look somewhat similar, people felt some sort of kinship with me (the same kind that makes people in the Bronx vote for Freddy, I guess).
It was cold and exhausting, and not particularly fulfilling, but I guess it's part of the donkey work that makes up the J-school experience. The most disappointing part was that no one had a passionate hatred for Bloomberg, which might have made life a bit more exciting. Oh well. . .
But this was one of those one-person-does-the-reporting-and-someone-else-does-the-writing assignments, so I didn't have to bother with writing up a story from my skimpy notes, so I was grateful for that.
And by the way, our student work web site is functional as of today, and I've added a link to the left (Columbia Journalist), so check it out! I don't know if anything of my work will make it, but one can hope. . . But there's some pretty decent stuff on there, local of course.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Issues!
I just wanted to throw this out there - I have a 9:00 meeting with the executive director of an organisation that could potentially play a very key role in my master's project, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to ask him. And I'm going to bed now, so that situation is not going to be rectified.
And two, is it bad to quit a job that you were warned that you should perhaps not take on by the people offering it to you? Let me elaborate. I applied for a job on-campus, partly becuase it seemed like it would give me good contacts with working journos. During my second interview, my boss (boss-to-be at that time) told me that she had also gone to the J-school, and she knew the work pressures there and warned me that I might not be able to handle school and a job. I assured her that I would, and that I was keen to take on the job.
Now, the job is basically writing random press releases,and drafting memos, and I'm bored and tired of it and pretty much hate it. So I want to quit. My dilemna is that, if I quit, will I be in their bad books, because they warned me against taking it, and I still took it? But I'm not quitting because I can't handle it. I'm quitting because it's so mind-numbingly boring! What should I do? Maybe someone should just send them a link to this blog anonymously, and then I won't have to worry about quitting!
And two, is it bad to quit a job that you were warned that you should perhaps not take on by the people offering it to you? Let me elaborate. I applied for a job on-campus, partly becuase it seemed like it would give me good contacts with working journos. During my second interview, my boss (boss-to-be at that time) told me that she had also gone to the J-school, and she knew the work pressures there and warned me that I might not be able to handle school and a job. I assured her that I would, and that I was keen to take on the job.
Now, the job is basically writing random press releases,and drafting memos, and I'm bored and tired of it and pretty much hate it. So I want to quit. My dilemna is that, if I quit, will I be in their bad books, because they warned me against taking it, and I still took it? But I'm not quitting because I can't handle it. I'm quitting because it's so mind-numbingly boring! What should I do? Maybe someone should just send them a link to this blog anonymously, and then I won't have to worry about quitting!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
