Letting my hair down. . . or not

After promising Ficali for weeks that I would go to Keats to see what this Irish bar to beat all Irish bars was all about, I finally decided to make good on that promise last night.

So I joined her, Ilajna and Doobie at Keats, smack bang in the middle of the drunken revelry of St. Patrick's Day - and Karaoke Night. By the time I got there, the three of them, and a few friends of theirs, had already been there for several hours, belted out at least three songs and imbibed a signicant amount of alcohol. So, when I, a "karaoke virgin," as one of the staff of Keats christened me, arrived on the scene, stone sober and not inclined to making a fool of myself, Ficali seriously informed me: "You know we've been here since 5:00. So, you'd better gulp down your beer quickly so you can catch up with us."

"Oh ok," I said.

But, as the evening progressed, I could not get down more than a couple of beers in my efforts to "catch up." And, I could not bring myself to get up on stage even once, or loosen up more than to move a little bit to the music, and let out the occasional "whoo!" I'm not particularly conscious about my voice - I've sung in school productions, choirs and have even taken private singing lessons. But I just couldn't bring myself to even open my mouth, even from the floor - even to Ficali's plea of "One line, please, just one line."

I still had fun - I laughed a lot, which I hadn't done for a while, I was tickled pink by some of the performers (not excluding Ficali, Ilajna and Y, who certainly didn't share my trepidation) and I had an interesting coversation in the loo line with a blind drunk Indian social work student from NYU.

But I couldn't let go.

On my way back home, I reflected on this, and I came to the conclusion that I'm an observer. Whether by choice or otherwise, I am unable to lose myself in situations, no matter how intense or engrossing. On almost every occasion when others around me let go and throw all caution to the winds, I find myself an onlooker - part of the proceedings, but still somehow detached from what is going on around me, almost giving myself a running commentary on what is happening. I still enjoy myself, but much like one would enjoy a movie: looking on, enjoying what is happening on screen, but not participating.

I can only remember one instance - which, I must admit, involved a significant amount of alcohol - when I came anywhere near forgetting myself, and letting go completely. One time! And I've lived a quarter of a century!

I am very disturbed by this knowledge. Why am I so unable to let go? Why do I always feel the need to step back and be an observer, rather than participate? Why am I so unable to lose myself, to completely let go, and be willing to get totally into a situation? Is it because I'm boring? Uptight? Self-conscious? Old? Or do I just plain not drink enough? Any budding shrinks want to take a stab?

Links to some stories

Moving online: The trend in trendspotting

Senior movements

Ageing boomers hit gym

Spirituality in strange places

How can you not love him?!?!?!

My Columbia News Service (CNS) prof has officially become my favourite. This is the email he sent out to editors of newspapers who use our stories. . .(the first line is to the students)

Dear CNS Crew--Wouldn't you be moved? bp

Begin forwarded message:


TO: FEATURE EDITORS

FROM: COLUMBIA NEWS SERVICE

SUBJECT: PLEASE REMEMBER TO SEND BACK CLIPS

SOME OF YOU HAVE EARNED PERMANENT PLACES IN THE HEARTS OF COLUMBIA STUDENTS FOR RESPONDING TO OUR PLEAS TO SEND BACK TEAR SHEETS OF CNS STORIES THAT RUN IN YOUR PAPER.

FOR THE OTHERS, WE ARE RESERVING A PLACE FOR YOU IN THEIR HEARTS, BUT WE HAVE YET TO RECEIVE ANY CLIPS!!

DON'T YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST BY-LINE? THE THRILL OF SEEING YOUR NAME IN PRINT? HOW LARGE IT LOOMED IN YOUR LIFE?

SO, PLEASE, REMEMBER THOSE WITHOUT CLIPS AT THIS JOB-HUNTING TIME OF THE YEAR. AND TEAR OUT THE CNS STORY AND PICTURE WHEN THEY RUN IN YOUR PAPER, SLAP A STAMP ON THE ENVELOPE AND RETURN IT TO ME.

OUR STUDENTS WILL REMAIN ETERNALLY GRATEFUL.

And some people are as enamoured of the class. . . clearly



>>>>

I'm not cut out for this kind of work. . .

This semester is proving to be a real trial. Frankly, I'm enjoying the classes a lot more, and it's so much less work than last semester, when I had to go down to my extremely fun and happening beat in Jamaica, Queens - or the ends of the earth as I prefer to call it - constantly. Add to that classes during the day, and work, all of which took up huge chunks of time, allowing me very little time to actually go down to Jamaica. So, I was constantly running around like crazy, staying up till 2 or 3, and then waking up at about 7 again the next morning, trying to catch up, and always feeling like I was behind. My source of stress last semester was that I had more work than I could keep up with.

This semester is a completely different story. I have three classes, all of which are in the evenings, and one of which requires minimal work outside of class. The other two do have a significant amount of work, but most of it is done on the phone or by email. Which means that, aside from the about 15 hours I spend at my job, I'm sitting at home in front of the computer. I don't dare move more than a six foot radius away from my computer, for fear that I might get abducted by aliens and never return and thus not meet my deadlines. I am afraid to step outside even to do some reading for class, for fear that I'll lose my precious "reporting time". The problem is that there are a lot of down times when I'm waiting for someone to call me back, or when I literally don't have much to do. But, neurotic as i am, I'm afraid that if I use this time to do other things, then I'm wasting my "reporting time" on things that can be done outside of the 9-5 slot when my sources will be at work, and thus accessible. My stress this semester, therefore, comes from the fact that I feel like I am not busy enough - surely I should be tearing my hair out, since that was what I was doing at this time last semester (remember, Emio?!?!)

This is not fun. I am an introvert and I like my "me" time, but there is also only so much of "me" that I can take - and frankly "me" is starting to get on me nerves. And all this is resulting in posts like the one about Google chat, which I felt so stupid about that I felt compelled to take down.

Save me from myself!!

Am I an ESL student?

The other day, as I left my Computer-Assister Reporting class, I found myself marching down the stairs in step with the professor who teaches that class. It was an awkward moment - I've never spoken to him outside of class, and was not sure whether to try to make conversation or continue on silently. I decided on the former, especially since he kept glancing my way, as if expecting me to say something.

"I think I'm starting to get it," I said, referring to what we were learning in the class. Now, this might seem like a strange thing to say out of the blue, but I've been a little confused in that class, and he knew it, so it didn't startle him too much.

"Well. . ." he ventured. "That's good."

I decided to plunge ahead. "Yeah, I know. I think I just needed some practice. Sometimes, the problem was that I'd look away from what you were doing, and then I wouldn't know what to do and then not be able to keep up after that. But now, I get it more, so I can figure it out."

"Hmmmm," he said. Then, perhaps sensing that that wasn't enough, and he needed to express more sympathy for a struggling student, he plowed on. "Well, if I had to learn all this in a second language, I would have a hard time too."

It took a second for that comment to sink in. When it did, it took another one for me to react, to decide whether to be angry or amused. It's been a while since I have received comments on my "surprisingly good English", and while I used to laugh and shrug it off before, I was shocked to find that the comment bothered me more than it ever had.

Not knowing how to respond, I continued walking down quietly. Sensing the awkward silence, he seemed to realize that what had been intended as a sort of compliment had somehow gone awry. "Or is it your third or fourth language?" he stumbled on.

Now I felt a little sorry for him. "Well," I said, "I speak a couple of other languages, not very well. But English is more like my first language. I've been speaking it almost all my life and know it better than my own language."

"Oh," he said. "But still. . ." He gave up and changed tactics. "I know a little Russian," he went on. "But only the bad words."

I laughed politely.

Mercifully, we'd reached the outside of the building by now, and we both beat hasty retreats in opposite directions after hurried goodbyes.

As I walked home, I played that conversation, and my reaction to it, over in my mind. I generally laugh off incidents like this, but I was shocked at the anger I had felt at his assumption that I had difficulty understanding English because my accent is not American. Is it because I have become more insecure about my own identity? Or because I expected better from a professor at Columbia University - and a New York Times reporter, no less? Or was it simply because I have become more sensitive - and less forgiving - in the time that has elapsed since my college days? Or perhaps a mix of all three?

I feel like I did overreact, but I also think that, especially in today's increasingly globalized world, people like me are more entitled to become angry at assumptions like this. And people like him, especially reporters (that part probably annoys me more than anything else) need to stop putting people in boxes and labeling them based on the way they look or speak.

I had the same class again yesterday, and perhaps because I'm finally getting what we're learning, or perhaps because of a determination to show him that I am not lacking in English skills, I found myself speaking up a lot more - both answering and asking questions more boldly than I have done so far. So I guess some good came out of that:-)

But it will be a while before I forget this incident, and my own surprising reaction to it.

Thinking in emoticons. . .

You know you’ve been spending too much time online when you make a face in your head in reaction to something, and you find yourself picturing one of those little IM smileys -- like the :-S or :-D or the :-( or even the :-/. Or you hear or think something funny or silly, and the first thing that pops into your head is “LOL”.

Of course I don’t think like this. I’m just saying. . .

The last sign of Christmas. . .

I was walking down Columbia's College Walk today, from Broadway, where I live, to Amsterdam Avenue, where I work, and noticed a couple of workers taking down the Christmas lights that have been up on the trees (the tree trunks to be precise, since there are no leaves), since a couple of weeks before Christmas. I felt a twinge - of sadness, nostalgia, I'm not sure, as I saw the last holdout from the holidays disappearing. It's silly really, considering that Christmas was over two months ago, but in some way seeing those lights as I walk through school gave me some comfort, representing as they did the last reminders of the Christmas spirit and cheer.

As I watched them come down, I thought back to my past Christmases. I know March is a little late to be reminiscing about Christmas, but for most of us, the hustle and bustle of the holidays don't allow for much thinking at the time itself.

When I was living in India, I used to watch American and British shows, and always feel that our Christmas celebrations weren't adequate, weren't real. There was no snow, no Christmas lights in shops and gaily wrapped presents in store windows, no need for wandering around in coats, hats, boots and scarves. We had our different celebrations: setting up a tree - albeit a pretty scraggly one most of the time (one time Nev and I dubbed it "our Christmas branch"), getting out the little creche my father had built himself when I was about six or seven years old, and the tiny statues of baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and the Wise Men and the animals, many with limbs and other body parts broken off and glued back together.

But when I moved to the U.S., I realized how wrong I'd been to translate the outer signs of Christmas as representative of Christmas itself. I had all that - the snow (too much of it, in fact - it was Minnesota, after all), the Christmas lights and presents, the coat, hat, boots, scarf. But my family wasn't here, and in most of the celebrations, I realized that the real reason for Christmas was absent as well - was, in fact, taboo.

I was never alone at Christmas. Especially from my second year onwards, I had my host family, who went completely out of their way to wrap me in love, and include me in all their family traditions, so I would experience both the real American Christian Christmas and deal with being away from home at the time when it bites the most. And in London, there were always my cousins and aunt to spend Christmas with.

But as grateful as I am for their openness and generosity, and happy as I was to finally have what I'd always considered the ideal Christmas, I always felt a little like the outsider, that I was looking in at someone else's family Christmas. I had a picture in my head - I think it came from reading The Little Match Girl when I was little - standing outside in the cold looking into other people's warm homes, and their happy Christmas celebrations. I'm being completely melodramatic here, because my life was perfect compared to hers, but I felt a little bit like her, like this was all fascinating, but that I wasn't supposed to be a part of it. . .

Despite what seemed to be lacking, however, that time of year still holds a special place - particularly because I've realized how precious the Christmases at home were, and how much people went out of their way for me here and in London. So, as I watched the lights come down, and the little bit of the security I'd felt - that even after the Christmas presents and Christmas trees were long gone, there was still this one reminder - evaporated, I realized that it really is time to get on. After all, it is Lent now, and I suppose it is a little inappropriate to have Christmas lights up at this time. And I also realized that, for the lights to go up again, they have to come down first. . .

An update on the UN Human Rights Commission

This was a story put out by UPI today on progress on the HR Commission. Nayma, sorry it took me so long to follow up on my previous post.

Analysis: U.N. reforms will move forward
By WILLIAM M. REILLY
UPI U.N. Correspondent

UNITED NATIONS, Feb. 21 (UPI) -- U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan and General Assembly President Jan Eliasson say that even though there are deep differences among member states they expect real progress in reform of the world organization.

A formal proposal for a Human Rights Council to replace the disgraced Human Rights Commission was expected to be presented later in the week, U.N. officials said Tuesday.

The main differences stem from members of the 191-member assembly fearing a power grab by the 15-member council, particularly by its five permanent, veto-wielding members: Britain, China, France, Russia and the United States.

Annan and Eliasson met to discuss "the need to move forward with the whole reform agenda."

"We live in a world of turmoil, and we must keep in mind that we have work to do in so many areas," the assembly president said Monday, reminding reporters at U.N. World Headquarters in New York of pending issues such as the Economic and Social Council, new development initiatives, management and the proposed Human Rights Council.

"This is the year of reform, and we are pressing ahead," Annan said. "Between the two of us we are in touch with many of the member states, individually and in groups and I am really hopeful that we will see real progress on human rights this week."

He is also expected to press ahead with management reform, the review of mandates, discussions on fighting terrorism and the terrorism convention.

"Of course the development issue, which is of great concern to many of our members is very much on the table, and we have made good progress, and I hope we can put that to bed, as well as the strengthening of ECOSOC," the secretary-general added, referring to the Economic and Social Council.

When asked about members of the Non-Aligned Movement, states which consider themselves not formally aligned with or against any major power bloc, which have grown fearful of becoming marginalized by the Security Council, Annan said, "Yes, there is some suspicion that some organs are reaching out for a power grab," the secretary-general said. "There is unhappiness with the Security Council, particularly.

"There is some mistrust among the membership on the whole issue of reform, and the reasons behind the reform, but I think from my discussions with member states almost all of them realize that reform is necessary, and would want to see the (United Nations) reformed and strengthened," Annan said.

The secretary-general continued that when the general membership sees issues they believe should be discussed in the General Assembly being discussed in the Security Council, "again it leads to tensions."

He said the two bodies should be able to "find a mechanism for discussing an issue of great interest" to all the members.

"Peacekeeping, procurement, sexual abuse, are issues that should be of concern to all of them, and we should find a way of discussing them openly and publicly, and not fight over which forum should have it," Annan said, referring to scandals under investigation by the Office for the Internal Oversight Services.

Eliasson agreed, saying: "I share the concern that, if there is an encroachment of the functions and power of the General Assembly that are on the agenda of the General Assembly, we need to deal with that, and I have discussed this matter with the president of the Security Council," a post filled this month by Ambassador John Bolton of the United States.

"I think it is important that we respect each other's functions and powers, and we will of course prove this point that the secretary-general has just made... that the General Assembly is accepting this responsibility to take very important reform decisions," Eliasson added. "I would hope also that we would increase that sense of respect and that importance of dialogue, so that we bring down these tensions."

To publish or not to publish?

The Prophet Mohammed cartoon issue has been on my mind lately, as it has on several others, I'm sure. And I've been debating how I feel about this issue. On the one hand, there is the press' right to freedom of expression, which I strongly believe in, for obvious reasons. This is also why Jyllands-Posten published the cartoons, media reports say - to show that they will not be cowed by religious dogma and fundamentalism. As such, I think that they should stand by their right to express themselves freely. For, if they give in now, they will only help spread the belief that, if sufficient pressure is exerted, the press can be controlled and moulded the way the powers-that-be want.

However, I do think this newspaper, and the others that reprinted the cartoons, acted rashly and without thought to the consequences of their actions. Because, Islam across the world is in a volatile state today. With fundamentalism reaching heights above what it has been for a long time, and with the West's tenuous standing in several Muslim countries, any action that appears, even remotely, to be spurred by anti-Islamic views can stoke the smouldering embers and start a flame that could very quickly spread out of control.

And that is what is happening now. As rioting and violence spreads across the world, the question, from a practical point of view, is "Is it really worth it?" All this to prove a hazy point about freedom of expression? That too in Denmark, where the press' freedom hasn't really come under any real test in the first place.

Or perhaps this whole reaction has proven a point. That maybe freedom of expression is not completely unequivocal, and the press can't get away with saying anything under this protection. Perhaps there are some things that are more important than freedom of expression.

I have also been thinking about how I would react if the depictions had been of Jesus. I would have been furious as well. Journalist or not, I am a Christian first, and my loyalty to Christ comes before my loyalty to my career and even my rights. So, I can see very clearly where the anger is coming from. I would definitely have written some angry letters, maybe even protested, and exercised my own right to freedom of expression. But I would not go so far as to riot and use violence, simply because that would be hypocritical and dilute the very point I'm trying to make. And this is what the rioters themselves are doing. By resorting to violence, they are going against their own religion, the very religion that they claim they are trying to protect - they are being hypocrites.

And there are others trying to fan the flames -- such as those who have publicized cartoons that weren't even in the original publication, including one of Mohammed with the face of a pig. Others are printing cartoons desecrating experiences that, while not always religious, still hold strong, poignant significance for other groups -- such as that of Anne Frank in bed with Hitler, published by the Arab European League. And in Iran, newspapers have announced a contest for cartoons mocking the Holocaust. In the latter two cases, those responsible are exercising their own right to freedom of expression. But again, at what cost? What are they really proving? That they can be as irresponsible and offensive as the European newspapers?

So, when I said that I strongly believe in freedom of expression, I do. But, I also think that it is up to the media to be responsible about how far they take this right, and to decide that, in cases like this one, where the publication of the cartoons was gratuitous, they should relinquish this right for the greater good. But, now that the deed is done, giving in will only give the impression that, under sufficient pressure, the press can be manipulated, which will have strong implications for the future of free expression.

Any thoughts, my phantom readers?!?!?

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.

Laa dee dah. . .

We think life is profoundly unfair. Because, when the last thing we want to do is blog, ideas simply flood into our head, and knock us over. But at times like this, when we know we need to blog, and even want to blog, our brain refuses to co-operate and come up with something truly blog-worthy.

We could blog about the story we're working on now, but what if some enterprising reporter goes and steals our idea and writes the story before we finish it? We could blog about our extremely eventful and happening life (?!?!), but that would just cause you, oh reader, to go green with envy, and we don't want that. Or we could blog about something profound and inspirational, but that would require profundity (??) and inspiration, and we lack both.

So, then, what shall we blog about? Any ideas would be most welcome, otherwise this blog will fade into non-existence, and that would indeed be tragic.

Some cool pics!!

These pictures were emailed to me and I thought they were quite cool!

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? :-(

Is J-school - and journalism itself - worth it?

A disillusioning view of journalism and a disparaging commentary on my beloved school (sniff sniff!) by Hugh Hewitt in the Weekly Standard. Should I be thinking, "What was I thinking?"?!?!? Or should I brush this off, and say (or hope that), "This too shall pass" ?

The Media's Ancien Régime
Columbia Journalism School tries to save the old order
by Hugh Hewitt
01/30/2006, Volume 011, Issue 19



New York
To enter Columbia University's graduate school of journalism is to enter the highest temple of a religion in decline. A statue of Thomas Jefferson guards the plaza outside the doors, and the entry room is suitably grand. Two raised platforms proclaim the missions in bold gold letters: "To Uphold Standards of Excellence in Journalism" and "To Educate the Next Generation of Journalists." The marble floor tells you that the school was endowed by Joseph Pulitzer and erected in 1912 in memory of his daughter Lucille. A bronze quotation from Pulitzer's 1904 cri de coeur in the North American Review is on the wall:


Our republic and its press will rise or fall together. An able, disinterested, public-spirited press, with trained intelligence to know the right and courage to do it, can preserve the public virtue without which popular government is a sham and a mockery. A cynical, mercenary, demagogic press will produce in time a people as base as itself. . . .
There is a new high priest in the dean's office on the seventh floor--Nicholas Lemann, veteran writer for the New Yorker, and before that the national correspondent for the Atlantic Monthly, where he spent 15 years after stints at the Texas Monthly, the Washington Post, and the Washington Monthly. Lemann began his scribbling for a New Orleans alternative weekly, the Vieux Carré Courier, while still a high school student, covering everything from boxing to city hall to the private school network of the region. Upon entering Harvard in 1972, he immediately "comped" for the Crimson, only to be rejected in his application to join the editorial board of the greatest brand in undergraduate newspapers. "Harvard is filled with this sort of humiliation," Lemann told me in a conversation last fall that capped a two-day visit to the school. He reapplied for a position as a reporter, and the second time was successful, rising through the ranks to become the paper's president in the 1975-76 academic year. Now 51 and two years into a new career, Lemann will need the same persistence if his legacy as dean is to be something other than a footnote in the history of the decline of American media power.

On my first day at Columbia's graduate school of journalism (CSJ), the poster boy for all that has come to plague elite American media--former CBS anchor Dan Rather--took to the podium at Fordham Law School to denounce the "new journalism order." On day two, the New York Times Company announced a cut of 500 employees from its already pared down workforce of 12,300. (The company employed 13,750 as recently as 2001.) On that same day Knight-Ridder slashed its Philadelphia papers' editorial staff by 75 positions at the Inquirer and 25 at the Daily News. "I get 50 calls a day about the crisis in journalism," Lemann deadpanned when I posed the "crisis" question. "Only 50?" I thought.

The story of what is going on at CSJ cannot be separated from the collapse of credibility of the mainstream media, also known as "elite media" and "old media" among its detractors. The fortunes of the big five papers--the Washington Post, the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Boston Globe, and the Wall Street Journal, as well as the old TV networks and big weekly newsmagazines--are visibly in decline. The upstart blogosphere is ever at the ready to "deconstruct" the work product of the old media's old guard. The very best investigative reporting is being done not by big names at the big papers, but by people like the Foundation for the Defense of Democracies' journalist in residence Claudia Rosett, who almost singlehandedly unraveled the U.N.-Saddam Oil-for-Food scandal, with much of her work published online. Dan Rather's CBS, eager to impugn George W. Bush's service in the Texas National Guard, got duped by fraudulent documents it took months to obtain and only hours for bloggers and readers to shred.

This story in its small way partakes of the seismic shift underway. Its origin is an email request from Lemann last spring: Would I be willing to be the subject of a New Yorker profile? I agreed, on the condition that I could have reciprocal access to Lemann and the Columbia Journalism School for this piece. Hedged with some qualifiers--he could not commit any of his faculty to talk to me or guarantee access to classrooms, though everyone proved to be very welcoming--Lemann agreed. Reactions to his profile of me varied among family and friends, but I thought it complete and fair. Before I sat down with Lemann I had read everything he'd written for the New Yorker and was impressed with his profiles of Dick Cheney and Karl Rove. (The Cheney profile earned Lemann some animosity among colleagues, who thought him too gentle with the only man the left fears as much as Rove.) The scorn on the center-right for the "objectivity" and "professionalism" of the mainstream media is deep and sincere. I went to Columbia to see if Lemann was the exception that proves the rule, and to test the rule itself.

What's the rule? That the elite media are hopelessly biased to the left and so blind to their own deficiencies, or so in denial, that they cannot save themselves from irrelevance. They're like the cheater in the clubhouse, whose every mention of a great round of golf is met with rolling eyes and knowing nods.

PULITZER'S ACOLYTES at Columbia undoubtedly believe that they are members of an "able, disinterested, public-spirited press," and not a "cynical, mercenary, demagogic" one. But the widespread perception in the country is that the prestige newsrooms are filled with the latter pretending to be the former. "Public attitudes toward the press, which have been on a downward track for years, have become more negative in several key areas," the Pew Research Center for the People and the Press reports. It is beyond argument that Pulitzer's dream of the press preserving public virtue has been abandoned, but Lemann is on a mission to help restore credibility to a "profession" without licensing or standards or governing bodies of any sort.

The first person I met on campus, Bruce Wallace, is a student enrolled in the school's traditional program, intended to result in a Master of Science degree after an intensive year of studies. Lemann has also instituted an ambitious new Master of Arts course of study, which has provoked deep suspicion in many of the school's alums and among the faculty. But with 205 students in the M.S. program and 27 in the M.A. division, there is no doubt that the training of front-line reporters is still the core mission. "How to cover a fire in Brooklyn on deadline" is one catchphrase I hear repeated. It is difficult to picture Pat Buchanan, Newsweek's Rick Smith, CBS's Susan Spencer, or writers Mitch Albom and James McBride--CSJ grads, all--covering fires in Brooklyn on or off deadline. But the M.S. program is in essence a 10-month education in the details and practice of that craft.

Wallace is a native of Baltimore who left his job as the manager of the classifieds at the San Francisco Guardian, an alternative weekly, to hone the skills that he hopes will take him to a daily to do local political reporting. The 1999 graduate of Kenyon College had done a little campus radio before heading off to tend bar in Alaska. In San Francisco he got hooked on city hall gossip, and though he was no fan of Mayor Willie Brown, or of "corporate power allied with politicians" generally, he's certain he'll be able to bring fairness to his future job as a political reporter. When I trot out my list of "parameter" questions I use to test for basic ideological disposition--Wallace doesn't own a gun; he favors same-sex marriage--there are no surprises.

Soon Mike Hoyt, executive editor of the Columbia Journalism Review, arrives. With Michael Shapiro, Hoyt team-teaches the class "Advanced Reporting," into which Wallace and 15 other students are headed, and introduces me to Shapiro, who quickly welcomes me to observe the hour. Shapiro is a gifted teacher who, three weeks into the term, already knows all of his students' names and engages them with ease and good humor. The first half of this hour is given over to outlining a large assignment--a profile of some recently deceased person or the reconstruction of a crime. Shapiro is clearly hoping the students will go for the profile, and spends considerable time instructing his charges on how they might go about selecting their subject. He fences his instructions with cautions about engaging the bereaved ("You need to know, but you can't be a vampire") and tips on tracing the details of the life to be profiled. Hoyt contributes key bits of experience, and the students are curious and attentive to these practical lessons. "You need to make your first phone call today," Shapiro insists. "Tomorrow becomes the next day, which becomes next week. Good reporters make the first call on the first day."

The 16 students are not evenly split--there are 14 women and just two men. Two-thirds of the M.S. class this year are women, a reflection of what Lemann calls the "feminization" of journalism programs across the country. Robert Mac Donald, the assistant dean for admissions and financial aid, ran down the demographics for me: The average age of an M.S. student is just shy of 28, the mean is 26, the youngest is 20, and the oldest is 63. Whites make up 69 percent of the new class; 11 percent are African American, 7 percent Hispanic, 6 percent Asian, 3 percent Middle Eastern, and 4 percent South Asian. The school doesn't yet keep stats on religious background, though Mac Donald believes there has been a significant increase in Muslim students post 9/11. A fifth of the students are from the New York area, and between 37 to 40 percent are from "the corridor"--from Boston to Washington. Another fifth are from the west coast, and 10 percent are foreign. It is a pretty "blue" student body, and willing to pay handsomely for the privilege of their credentials. A year at CSJ--tuition, living expenses, incidentals--comes to $59,404 according to Mac Donald, though 85 percent of the students receive some financial aid, with packages ranging from $1,000 to $50,000. The average scholarship is $5,200, which means that these students are putting a lot of money into the program.

The "blue" nature of the student body is further confirmed by my polling of the class I attended, done with the permission of Shapiro. Six of the 16 were English majors, two studied history, and the balance spread across the humanities. No one had a background in the physical sciences. No one owned a gun. All supported same-sex marriage. Three had been in a house of worship the previous week. Six read blogs. None of them recognized the phrase "Christmas Eve in Cambodia"--though Shapiro not only got the allusion but knew the date of the John Kerry Senate speech in which he made the false claim about his Vietnam war experience. Three quarters of them hope to make more than $100,000 as a journalist, 11 had voted for John Kerry, and one for George Bush (three are from abroad and not eligible, and one didn't vote for either candidate). I concluded by asking them if they "think George Bush is something of a dolt." There was unanimous agreement with this proposition, one of the widely shared views within elite media and elsewhere on the left. The president's Harvard MBA and four consecutive victories over Democrats judged "smarter" than him haven't made even a dent in that prejudice.

The intake valve at the elite media's equivalent of the Army's war college isn't pulling in many conservatives. In fact, it isn't pulling in many moderates. After the class, a few students linger. Their backgrounds are interesting. Rachel Templeton is from Alaska, graduated from the University of Washington, and has spent a few years at the Henry Jackson Foundation. She's moving to Israel after this year, where she hopes to pick up freelance work. Bree Nordenson is from Freeport, Maine, a graduate of Minnesota's Carleton College, and is transitioning from her work as a psychiatric counselor in Boston. Andreea Plesea is from Rumania and her Facebook entry announces her goal is to "become a top notch investigative reporter" and to "pursue a degree in law." Stina Lunden is from Sweden, and spent her last year as a Washington Post intern in France working for Keith B. Richburg. Lanie Shapiro was in PR for Simon & Schuster and Random House. Sophia Chang, originally from Texas, has been a reporter for the past four years.

These six want to pursue the idea of "objectivity," and most had read Lemann's profile of me, which included my very skeptical assessment of the objectivity of the mainstream media. Lunden is particularly animated. "You can't draw conclusions that our opinions will influence our reporting," she says, launching into a familiar defense of the ability of journalists to put aside their points of view. Shapiro stresses that all of her professors have been teaching "the value of objectivity," but Nordenson isn't buying it. "It is dangerous to think you are objective." Plesea is cynical: "You don't get truth in political reporting," an opinion she didn't confine to the countries of the former Soviet Union, with which she is familiar.

I am not here to debate the proposition, but find it interesting that the three-week wonders are already committed to the defense of their new profession's reputation for objectivity. With a faculty that does not appear to count among its number even one prominent name from the center-right, but does include respected voices of the left such as Todd Gitlin and Victor Navasky, it is difficult to see where they will acquire any useful skepticism about their own craft's motives and abilities.

THE WORST MOMENTS in recent history for the mainstream media--Rathergate, Jayson Blair's fabrications at the New York Times, the slander by CNN executive Eason Jordan that the U.S. military in Iraq was targeting journalists for assassination--were all still in the future when Columbia president Lee Bollinger was presented with an opening in the deanship by the retirement of Lemann's predecessor, Tom Goldstein. Bollinger, a First Amendment expert, former president of the University of Michigan, and former dean of its law school (I took media law from him in the spring of 1983, and the quiet, brooding, and even moody Bollinger hasn't changed much in 22 years, according to reports) seized the moment. He launched a controversial top-to-bottom look at the journalism school, empaneling a committee that met a dozen or so times to debate the future of the school. Lemann was among the panel's members, and delivered a paper to the group in the spring of 2003 that urged the one-year M.S. degree be replaced by a two-year Master of Arts program. Bollinger obviously warmed to some part of the Lemann pitch, and offered him the deanship.

Lemann quickly realized that alumni and faculty would unite to kill any idea of a uniform two-year degree at CSJ. "Of 24 or 25 faculty," he told me, "I'd have had maybe two votes." But there are other ways to pursue change and reform. After another year of meetings with industry types, he launched a second degree track: a year-long Masters of Arts program open only to practicing journalists, aiming to enhance and deepen their skills. Lemann is clearly hoping that the best and brightest of the M.S. grads will be willing to stay a second year and also go for the M.A. This year a pool of 70 applicants yielded a class of 27. The goal is a class of 60 drawn from 250 applicants.

My second classroom experience is in an M.A. class, "Evidence and Inference," which includes all 27 students. It is the meta-class for the new track, and is co-taught by Lemann and associate dean Evan Cornog, as well as a series of academic and media guest-lecturers. Today marks the third in three lectures by the former director of the U.S. Census Bureau, Columbia's Carnegie Professor of Public Affairs Kenneth Prewitt, on the use of race as a classifying device. Prewitt's lecture is a fascinating look at the introduction of racial categories into the census and the evolution of those categories, as well as the limits of the utility of that data. An interesting and provocative 90 minutes later, though, I am left wondering how much the Prewitt lecture will do for these students unless they are fortuitously assigned some future story on the census or a related topic having to do with, say, racial classifications in university admissions.

Lemann's hope for this course is to cultivate in his students a capacity to discover and analyze data. He repeatedly uses the term "power skills," and he has in mind a deeper appreciation, and use, of more sophisticated research and analytical skills than most journalists bring to the table. "Regression analysis is the best example," he tells me. "Every social science study in the United States depends upon regression analysis, but almost no reporters understand it. You can't read and understand these studies if you don't know how regression analysis works. I taught myself how to do it, and we are going to teach the M.A. students, equipping them to go beyond their ordinary reliance on dueling experts interpreting studies."

That, in a nutshell, is Lemann's grand plan for salvaging the profession: Teaching reporters new skills that will make them more competent amateurs in the worlds of other professionals. The school's newsletter, 116th & Broadway, carried a letter from Lemann on its front cover for the summer '05 issue. Lemann noted that the spring of 2006 would see the school of journalism confer its first new professional degree in 70 years. He was eager that alums understand what the M.A. program was all about. Among other points, he wanted to emphasize:


* The M.A. program will accept not only holders of the Journalism School's M.S. degree, but also journalists who can demonstrate to us that they are already working at a level of skill commensurate with that of M.S. holders.
* For the first couple of years, the program will be tuition-free to students for whom paying tuition imposes a financial difficulty. . . .
* The program involves greatly deepening the ties between the Journalism School and the rest of the university, mainly by bringing academic faculty people here to teach in partnership with the journalists on our faculty, so as to marry deep substantive knowledge to journalistic practice.
If ever a class is given on the elegant insertion of the thin edge of a wedge, this would make a fine piece of assigned reading. The M.S. holders are assured of the status of their credential; the applicant pool sees a hint of tuition deals; Columbia faculty are given their props; and the industry gets a promise of "deep substantive knowledge" on the way. In that last phrase is the figure in the carpet, the grand design for saving journalism. And also an admission of great significance about all that ails the craft today.

LEMANN'S PROJECT is either a masterful flanking of the dominant critique of the mainstream media--thoroughgoing left-wing bias among its practitioners--or an irrelevant and doomed exercise in beside-the-pointism. The big battle in American journalism is over the very idea of objectivity. Lemann assumes that objectivity is possible, but that the skills of reporters need burnishing if their reputation for disinterestedness is to be recovered.

The genuine enthusiasm for a new program's launch is always difficult to gauge, but one measurement that simply does not lie in the world of academia is donor support. CSJ's associate dean of university development and alumni relations, Jeffrey H. Richard, briefed me on Lemann's work as change agent and chief fundraiser. Three $5 million gifts do not a conclusion render, but are more than a good start. David and Katherine Moore have given a $5 million gift to endow a faculty position to cover government and public affairs in both the M.S. and M.A. programs. David is the grandson of Joseph Pulitzer, so that sounds to an outsider like a crucial endorsement of the innovations underway. Another $5 million is arriving from Leo Hindery, formerly of the YES Entertainment Network, and the father of a CSJ grad--another category of endorsement crucial to the school's constituencies. This gift is available for scholarships, an underfunded and pressing need for new and old programs alike. The third of the big three came to found a Center for Investigative Journalism, and came via a big name in that business, Toni Stabile, whose reporting on the cosmetics industry in the '60s and '70s set a high bar for future practitioners of the craft.

"Fundraising," says Richard, "is about relationships, about earning people's trust. They sense the excitement about what we are doing here." Lemann "has a vision," he adds, and "there's a general consensus that having journalists who better understand what they are doing is needed." Richard expects that corporate America will welcome--and fund--the emphasis on more sophisticated skills, but is careful to underscore that no gift from industry can be accompanied by any hint of compromise or strings attached.

"Authority is a construct," Lemann tells me on my second day at the school. And the "authority" of journalism with the American public is clearly at a modern low point. Lemann intends to reconstruct journalism's shaky reputation via an infusion of specific and measurable skills--either you can or you can't do regression analysis; either you can or you can't follow a case citation sequence or decode an annual audit report--and thus ignite a demand among editors not for the bright young reporters from campus newspapers, but for really smart alums of graduate schools of all sorts who can be tempted into the field despite its pay and present status somewhere near the carnival barker's.

This objective is both large and novel. Joseph Pulitzer wasn't a skills man, though his detour from reporting to law school suggests at least a hint of Lemann's recognition that reporters are often overmatched by the complexities of the stories they are assigned. Pulitzer was very much a crusader, though, and his 1904 North American Review article "The College of Journalism," which Lemann points me to, is almost hilariously optimistic in its aims for the profession:

There are many political reformers among the clergy, but the pulpit as an institution is concerned with the Kingdom of Heaven, not with the Republic of America. There are many public-spirited lawyers, but the bar as a profession works for its retainers, and no law-defying trust ever came to grief from a dearth of legal talent to serve it. Physicians work for their patients and architects for their patrons. The press alone makes the public interests its own.

"What is everybody's business is nobody's business"--except the journalist's; it is his by adoption. But for his care almost every reform would fall stillborn. He holds officials to their duty. He exposes secret schemes of plunder. . . . He brings all classes, all professions together, and teaches them to act in concert on the basis of their common citizenship.

The Greeks thought that no republic could be successfully governed if it were too large for all the citizens to come together in one place. The Athenian democracy could all meet in the popular assembly. There public opinion was made, and accordingly as the people listened to a Pericles or to a Cleon the state flourished or declined. The orator that reaches the American democracy is the newspaper. It alone makes it possible to keep the political blood in healthful circulation in the veins of a continental republic. . . . Virtue, said Montesquieu, is the principle of a republic, and therefore a republic . . . is the hardest of all to preserve. For there is nothing more subject to decay than virtue.

This vision, from which the quotations in the school's entrance lobby are excerpted, can hardly be read with a straight face these days. And it has very little in common with Lemann's project. Pulitzer wanted reporters to push for virtue. Lemann endorses, first and emphatically, "truth-seeking." They are very different projects, proceeding from very different ideologies. Virtue, as Pulitzer understood it, was not so difficult to figure out. Truth is elusive.

Lemann also recommends to me the 1920 Walter Lippmann essay "Liberty and the News," but curiously not Lippmann's better known 1922 opus, Public Opinion, which opens this way:

There is an island in the ocean where in 1914 a few Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Germans lived. No cable reaches that island, and the British mail steamer comes but once in sixty days. In September it had not yet come, and the islanders were still talking about the latest newspaper which told about the approaching trial of Madame Caillaux for the shooting of Gaston Calmette. It was, therefore, with more than usual eagerness that the whole colony assembled at the quay on a day in mid-September to hear from the captain what the verdict had been. They learned that for over six weeks now those of them who were English and those of them who were French had been fighting in behalf of the sanctity of treaties against those of them who were Germans. For six strange weeks they had acted as if they were friends, when in fact they were enemies.

You can put Lippmann's book down after page one, his 1920 essay, and Pulitzer's vision statement for his school as well. Lippmann's world, Pulitzer's world, even Nicholas Lemann's world of the Harvard Crimson from 1972 to 1976--they are all gone. Every conversation with one of the old guard citing the old proof texts comes down to this point: There is too much expertise, all of it almost instantly available now, for the traditional idea of journalism to last much longer. In the past, almost every bit of information was difficult and expensive to acquire and was therefore mediated by journalists whom readers and viewers were usually in no position to second-guess. Authority has drained from journalism for a reason. Too many of its practitioners have been easily exposed as poseurs.

Lemann understands completely what has happened. I think he regrets it. He is certainly trying to salvage the situation. And there is simply no way he can succeed.

What if. . .

As I lay in bed the other night, engaged in my pre-slumber musings, a strange thought occured to me. It has actually come to my mind many times before, but I've never completed the thought. And it was: what if everything over the past four years or so has been a dream, and I wake up and I'm back to a day four years ago? I chose the four-year mark, because that was a pretty big turning point in my life.

I wondered if, having seen everything unfold in my life in the past four years, (in my supposed dream) I would make the same decisions I have made so far, or if, knowing the consequences, I would choose to go a different route. And it occured to me, that, despite hind sight being 20-20 and all, I would probably have made the exact same decisions. Not really because things couldn't have been better than the way they've turned out - quite the contrary, in fact. But because I think I would dismiss my "dream" as being just that - a dream, and hence of little consequence. And because I would convince myself that, in real life, things could not possibly work out the way they did in my "dream".

I would overestimate my strength, and my ability to deal with problems, and think that, in places in my "dream" where I fell apart, I would be able to cope just fine. I would overestimate my wisdom and the ability to do "the right thing", and believe that I would act with caution, and know when to get out of a sticky situation. And I would overestimate my levelheadedness (which, dream or no dream, would have been a far-fetched assumption!), and think that I would always remain rational and think with my head.

But I think most people would do the same, no? I don't believe in destiny and all that, but I do believe that we are all somehow wired to make certain kinds of choices, and that these choices are what lead us to the situations we get into, and ultimately to the kind of life we lead. So, when it comes to making decisions, we will almost always choose to go a certain direction.

Which is why, no matter what happens, and how many "dreams" I have, I will always remain an impulsive character that, when faced with a choice to think with my head or my heart, will throw caution to the winds (pardon the cliche) and choose that wretched heart, and inevitably land up in trouble.

Today's woes

Today has been an infuriating day. I woke up late, and after hooing and and haaing away three hours, finally decided to sit down and prepare for my Arabic class tonight. After writing down about three words, it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps I should look into paying my tuition and fees for this semester. So, I looked at the due date, and realised it was January 5. Oh well, I thought, I might as well go pick up my loan check, and try to pay it off as soon as possible. Now, since I was on a roll of productivity, I decided to look into replacing my drivers license as well (which I lost about two years ago, when someone kindly swiped my bag at a work Christmas party in London).

So I tried to call the MN Driver's License people (my driver's license is from Minnesota, since that was where I was living when I got it), and, in true government office fashion, I got an engaged tone. I tried several more times, and got the same result. So gave up on that, and went off to the financial services office at the uni, only to find that my loan check hadn't arrived. So called Ye Olde Access Groupe and was told by the kind machine lady that the check had only been disbursed today.

So, having solved that mystery, I thought I'd try my luck with the Minnesota folks again to see if I could get any response. This time, when I dialed the number, I got through! Yaay! Only problem was, this machine lady told me that to move things along faster, I would need my drivers license number. Hmmm, I thought, I'll walk home while I'm on hold, and find it.

Now I keep my old documents in an antique green folder that has travelled around with me everywhere I've gone. But, while I could picture the folder I had no idea where it was. So I went home, and phone in one hand and ice cream cone in another (I gave in to a craving on the way home while on hold), I began hunting for my green folder. And, as is always the case, I couldn't find it.

I rummaged through my boxes which I'd shipped from London (yes, I still haven't unpacked them, but I figured I'm moving again in a few months, so why bother), and, while in the process of rummaging, dropped my phone, which promptly disconnected itself. Oh well, I thought. I'll just sit down and enjoy my icecream and continue looking and call again when I've found the documents with my drivers license number. So I finished my ice cream, and in the process determined that I had, at one time, put the green folder in my green bag. Now the question: where is the green bag? Finally, after considerable head-scratching, followed by some truly admirable acrobatics, which sent little Weds fleeing to safety under my bed, I managed to locate the green bag INSIDE my brown suitcase on the top shelf of my closet.

And, you guessed it. . . no green folder. So I gave up my search, and resigned myself to the fact that the green folder had probably gone the way of my long-lost portfolio. And decided to call the MN folks again and confess that I could not locate my drivers license number, and could they please please please give me another license without making me taking the test (my aversion to taking the driving test again stems from my fear that I've forgotten how to drive, and don't want to disgrace myself - of course I'm aware that this presents a slight problem when I actually have to drive, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there).

So I sat down, dialed the number, and. . . beep, beep, beep. I've been trying and trying and the same result. . . so I decided to sit down and lay my woes down in my blog, as I continue my fruitless attempts at replacing my license.

To settle or not to settle. . .

I've been pondering the idea of settling lately. As in, settling for someone or something, not settling in a place. The mere word is so negative - that you are giving in, giving up, not aspiring towards something higher, something greater, that could be yours. But I've been thinking: wouldn't it be easier to settle for something, for someone, within reach, than to always be thinking that there's something better, something greater, and never being content?

If you're always aspiring towards something better, you are never happy with what you have now. Sure, what you are aspiring to will, if achieved, make you happy, but what if you never get there? What if you are deluding yourself that you will attain it at some point, and spend your life chasing something that might never become yours? Or perhaps not even chasing, but just in the conquest of some vague idea that there's something better out there, and what you have now is not good enough.

After all, where people are concerned, aren't we told that it's better to settle, to be with someone who loves us than with someone who we love? We are told that we should, in essence, settle for someone whom we might consider mediocre, because they love us, rather than look for someone who might seem to be a better option, be better looking, have a better job, a better income, and more importantly, be someone we love? (assuming that all of these don't come in one package for many). Should we follow this piece of advice, or throw it to the winds and wait for that person who will make us love them as we've never loved before? And if we never do find that person, well, at least we refused to settle, right?

Which is the better option?

I don't know where I'm going with this. I've just been thinking about this, as I've been a little disturbed about where my life is headed, and because I always seem to be wanting something better, always feeling as if there's something better just within reach, and if only this one thing would happen - or, in my case, if I can keep myself from doing that one thing that always seems to mess everything up - I could be that much happier.

As a Christian, what I should be doing is to trust that God knows what He's doing, and leave it up to Him. But, while my heart wants to do that, my head wants to be its own boss, and continues to wonder and worry and fret and fear. Or perhaps it's the other way round?

Anyway, looks like where I'm headed at the moment is a post about the meaning of life. So dear readers, be ready!

What is true tolerance?

I've been thinking, over the past few days about tolerance, after reading an article in the Opinion Journal about how the West is heading towards extinction. Although the writer, Mark Steyn, discusses a lot of issues, one sentence in particular, stuck with me. He mentions a statement made by British barrister and Queen's counsel Helena Kennedy, that "our tolerance of our own tolerance is making us intolerant of other people's intolerance, which is intolerable."

And it got me thinking. Having attended an ultra-feminist, liberal women's Catholic college (where, in my, and several others opinions, the Catholic part was mere decoration), I've often found Kennedy's statement to be true. I found a great deal of tolerance and acceptance - and claims that all are welcome - there. . . as long as it was towards those with a similar mindset. As soon as the tolerant encountered any form of intolerance, the tolerance went out the window.

I looked up the definition of tolerance, and the definition that would fit our purpose was this: Willingness to recognize and respect the beliefs or practices of others. It does not say "willingness to recognise . . ." as long as they fit with the beliefs of the person claiming to be tolerant. Tolerance does not allow for exceptions. Tolerance is not tolerance if it does not tolerate intolerance.

The brand of tolerance practiced by those who claim to be extremely tolerant is this: as long as you agree with us, we will be tolerant; but the moment we encounter any sort of intolerance - towards homosexuality, towards abortion, towards certain religious practices, - away with our tolerance. Then we will just be right, and you wrong.

But, if they were truly tolerant, they would be tolerant even of views with which they don't agree, wouldn't they? Even of extreme views, which most people would find difficult to tolerate. Are they not being as hypocritical as they are claiming that their opponents are, by claiming to be universally tolerant and accepting, and then picking and choosing what they are tolerant towards?

New Year!!

First order of business: Happy New Year to all my readers!! (Unlike Caveboy, I remain optimistic that I have more than one reader:-))

Second: I know I haven't blogged for ages, partly because I haven't had anything earth-shattering to say. And I've been lazy, because I was in Atlanta, visiting (and fighting) with Nev for a week. And I've realised that when I have a lot to do, I want to do more, but when I have nothing to do, I don't want to do even the little that I do need to do. I even wrote up an entry, but realised that my mind was too numb to reach any sort of coherent conclusion, so I decided to not post it. Though I might post it if I do figure out how I feel about it when my mind thaws a bit.

So, it's been a good few days. It's actually been reunions galore. First in Altanta, visiting Nev. Then coming back and finding out that Majda my friend from London, was in town, and wandering around Times Square in the craziness of New Years Eve with her; then hanging out with Nayms and Okia for New Years Eve; and hanging out with Caveboy and Ficali on New Years Day. So, overall, it's been a good few days.

And now, after a nice relaxing few weeks, I am petrified at the thought of going back to school. I'm stressing about everything - my master's project, how I'm going to get through 2 six-credit classes and intense Arabic classes three times a week. Plus job hunting and applications galore:-(

So that's my life for now. And if you find this post mind-numbingly boring, then read Ficali's New Year's blog entry. It will more than make up for it.

A health and wealth gospel

I had an interesting conversation with the pastor of an Evangelical Covenant Church the other day, and one thing in particular that he said set me thinking. He said that his main point of contention with Evangelical churches is that they preach a "health and wealth" gospel, i.e. that well-being on earth is a blessing from God, which assumes that the poor are poor because they are out of favour with God. While my first reaction to that was "Oh, come on. That's not true," when I thought about it, I realised that a part of what he said might be true. (I don't live in a vacuum, so I realise that most people, at least in the West, equate this belief with evangelicals,[I think mistakenly] but what surprised me was that this was coming from a clergyman, a self-proclaimed evangelical himself, but one with a different world view).

The focus of most evangelicals is on what comes after this life. They see God as a God who bestows favour on those whom He loves, so they are not afraid to ask Him for health and wealth (with the caveat that they will not be consumed by their material possessions, but still give Him first place). I don't see this as necessarily translating into a belief that the poor have less of God's favour than the rich.

But, because of their focus on the world after this one, they see their mission here primarily as meeting people's spiritual needs, rather than physical ones. This is what people who are more inclined towards social justice have a problem with, as they see evangelicals seriously lacking in efforts to meet the needs of the poor and reaching out to those less fortunate.

As a Christian, I believe that my primary duty is to share Christ with those around me. But, having grown up in a developing country, I am also aware that, when people are working 16 hours a day or more for a pittance, sharing a tiny one-room hut with their wife, eight kids, parents and a brother or sister, they are not in a position to listen and accept that the most important thing they need to do is turn to Christ. Therefore, I am also aware that there are different ways to share Christ with others. For some, talking is the way. For others, reaching out in the name of Christ to fulfill their needs, and practically showing them His love, is the answer. This is even in the Bible: 1 John 3:17 says, "If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?"

Those who approach people living in such abject poverty with nothing but the Gospel, powerful as it is, will only succeed in alientating them. To borrow from Maslow's hierarchy of needs, people cannot move to the psychological, emotional and spiritual fulfillment, unless their basic needs are met. People cannot be made to think about their spiritual well-being if their mere physical existence is a fight from one day to the next. There are people who turn to God because they have no other hope, and their live on earth is so bad that all they have to look forward to is their life after this one. But there are not very many of these people, and the way to reach most others who are in the depths of poverty is to help get them out of it first.

I don't think evangelicals don't care. I think that many of them, lacking exposure to the terrible conditions in poorer parts of the world, are unaware of how crippling, physically, emotionally and spiritually, poverty can be. But I also think that some are stepping out as leaders to tell the others that they need to look at their mission as showing bringing Christ to others in any way possible, even if that means not even mentioning him for the first six months.

Rick Warren, one of the most well-known American evangelicals, and author of best-seller The Purpose-Driven Life, is one of these. He wrote: "I deeply believe that if we as evangelicals remain silent and do not speak up in defense of the poor, we lose our credibility and our right to witness about God's love for the world," Warren wrote, adding that, "We all grieved when 250,000 lives were lost in the tsunami in Southeast Asia. But there is a health tsunami of that proportion in Africa every 12 days!"

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. . .

When I call on Jesus. . .

There are some days when molehills truly seem like mountains, and even the smallest of troubles seems completely insurmountable. I was having one of those days today, and no amount of stern talking to myself helped to make things any better. But in the midst of the tears, I realised that I had brought the situation on myself, if by nothing else, then by acting like I could do things on my own, without my Maker. And now, things had gotten to a point where I couldn't handle it, emotionally speaking, and I needed some serious rescuing. And I remembered a song by Christian singer Nicole C. Mullen, that I used to listen to in college, when I was feeling down and low, and how it used to put things in perspective, and help me realise how helpless I was without Him. And for the first time in a long time, I got down on my knees, and cried my eyes out to the only person who could really help.

And I sang along to the song, and a sort of peace descended on me, and I felt, after a very long time, that I was being cared for and loved in a way that I haven't bothered to acknowledge, and that, while I was searching for approval and fulfillment elsewhere, Christ has been patiently waiting for me to discover that His grace alone is sufficient for me.

Here are the inspired words that put things in perspective for me:

I'm so very ordinary
Nothing special on my own
I have never walked on water
I have never calmed a storm
Sometimes I'm hiding away from the madness around me
Like a child who's afraid of the dark

But when I call on Jesus
All things are possible
I can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When I call on Jesus
Mountains are gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come rescue me when I call

Weary brother
Broken daughter
Widowed, widowed lover
You're not alone
If you're tired and scared of the madness around you
If you can't find the strength to carry on

When you call on Jesus
All things are possible
You can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When you call on Jesus
Mountains are 'gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come and rescue you when you call

Call him in the mornin'
In the afternoon time
Late in the evenin'
He'll be there
When your heart is broken
And you feel discouraged
You can just remember that He said
He'll be there

When I call on Jesus
All things are possible
I can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When I call on Jesus
Mountains are gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come rescue me when I call

U.N. Human Rights Commission by December

Jan Eliasson, the president of the U.N. general assembly announced on Nov. 23 that the new Human Rights Commission will be formed by the end of the year, and will be ready to be functioning by the next Summit in September. Eliasson and the team that is working on hashing out the details of the new Human Rights Council expect to start meeting next week to negotiate the details of the new body, and expect these to be finalized by the end of the year.

But herein lies the problem. The U.N. General Assembly, when it had its Summit in September, was unable to agree on the council’s size and on the criteria for membership. These critical negotiations were left to a later date, and still have not been resolved. What’s more, even Mark Malloch Brown, chief of staff to U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan has warned that the design of a new council needs to be finalized by December if it is to be ready by Eliasson’s time line.

Despite Eliasson’s affirmations that this is possible, drawing up the details and achieving consensus are near impossible by the deadline he has set. Expectations for the new Human Rights Council are so different, based on whom they are coming from, that lengthy negotiations must be undertaken before the terms are agreed upon. John Bolton, the U.S. ambassador to the U.N. wants to replace the 53-member commission with a council with no more than 30 members. The members of the new Council should also have a solid human rights record, he has said.

Such a council faces opposition from several countries, particularly the human rights violators Bolton and Eliasson have made clear will not be welcome on the new Human Rights Council.

Yet Eliasson and his team believe that by December, they can draw up the details of the Human Rights Council and bring about consensus within U.N. members on these points. Whether it happens or not remains to be seen.

Random stuff!

Nothing much has been happening lately and I haven't had any lightning flash experiences, hence the lack of posts.

It's Thanksgiving break, and, while I had huge ambitions about finishing up all the work I'm behind on, predictably enough, that hasn't happened. I still have two more days left - well, a day and a half now - so hopefully something will get itself done in. My biggest accomplishment to date over Thanksgiving break was joining the ranks of quarter-century olds on Thursday :-) And I managed to get through the day (and the day after) without too much going wrong and without any reports of food poisoning in any of the 12 or so friends I decided to feed that day.


Ji Yeon, Nayma, Shahyar, Adnan, Tim

Me, Ji Yeon

Danny and Weds

Paola, Aiko, Sri, Seda

So that's that. Now I need to get back to my scholarship applications, and internship applications and fellowship applications and graduate program (ship?) applications, and catch up on weeks worth of journalism law readings.

Fun shtuff!

The Plamegate saga continues. . .

The Judith Miller/Valerie Plame saga is really turning into a circus now. Bob Woddward, of Watergate and Deep Throat fame, has now stepped into the ring, proclaiming that another "senior Administration official" had informed him of Plame's identify before Miller knew about it, i.e. before Scooter Libby told Miller about it. This certainly comes at an opportune time for Libby.

I am all for protecting anonymous sources, when necessary, but I think Judith Miller went a little too far - she was protecting someone who was extremely media savvy, who knew how to use and abuse the media, and who revealed to her information about someone out of a desire for revenge. Being an experienced reporter, Miller, in the first place, should not have promised anonymity to Libby, knowing full well his intentions for revealing Plame's identity to her. And even after having promised him anonymity, she should have made a much greater effort to convince him to release her from her promise to him. Instead, what does she do? She goes to jail, to make herself look like a martyr.

At first, when Woodward stepped into the picture, I was afraid that Miller's decision to remain mum about her source will look even more legitimate. But then, reading a bit more, it seems as if he's going to go down the same route as Miller. For one, it was his source, and not him, who went to Fitzgerald to tell him that the source had told Woodward about Plame even before Miller knew about it through Libby. I think it's pretty clear that, left to himself, Woodward would have continued his silence on this, and would have kept insisting that there was nothing significant about this entire episode.

Woodward is coming under increasing fire for remaining mum throughout all the hoopla about Miller's anonymous source. Despite his almost untouchability, thanks to his role in breaking Watergate, the fact that he kept quiet all this time about who leaked Plame's name, makes him, and by default, the Washington Post, look very bad. He has apologised for not coming forward earlier, but is it too late?

Miller has already left the New York Times, where she was becoming a liability, but with a hefty book deal under her belt, I'm sure. But things just seem to be getting worse. And Woodward, like Miller, certainly considered himself above it all. Miller found out that she wasn't - and possibly still came out the winner. Will Woodward go the same way?
More on this

Why do people boycott elections?

Sri Lanka held its presidential election yesterday, and only 0.014% of Tamils in Jaffna, the capital of northern Sri Lanka, voted, according to the BBC. This figure was typical of Tamil turnout in most other places in the north and east, which are dominated by Tamils. This is compared to 19% of voters who turned out in the 1999 elections, which, while appalling, seems to be a gold mine compared to the turn out this year.

Tamils are disillusioned by both current Prime Minister Mahinde Rajapakshe, and former Prime Minister Ranil Wickremasinghe, who was replaced by his rival. But there is some slight support for Ranil from Tamils, who seemed keen to work out a peace agreement between the government and the Tamil Tigers when he was Prime Minister. Apparently, though, this little support is not enough for them to come out and vote for him, which means that it is now likely that Rajapakshe, with the support of Singhalese nationalists and Buddhist monks - who are vehemently against the Government coming to any agreement with the Tigers - will probably win.

Why do these people do this? There was a similar situation in Iraq when Sunnis boycotted the elections, and then realised their mistake when they had such little voice in the creation of the Constitution. People need to realise that boycotting elections is not the way to make their voices heard. In fact, it accomplishes the opposite - it takes away what small voice they have and leaves them without even the little power they had before.

If Rajapakshe comes into power, the fact that he has the blessings of Sinhala nationalists speaks volumes about the kind of president he will be. With Wickramasinghe, even if he doesn't accomplish much, at least he won't be in the pockets of the monks and nationalists as much as Rajapakshe.

In this case, it is a matter of choosing the lesser of the two evils. But, by boycotting the election, the Tamil people have relinquished the power to put into power the person who will do the most for them - or at least, the person who will do them the least harm. They have sealed their fate, and by their inaction, will probably put into power the greater of the two evils.

In pursuit of a crime. . .

Nev pointed out to me that my last post might be somewhat premature. And I guess he's right, given that I only met the guy for three minutes as I was rushing out the door, and given that I might never hear from him. But, oh well.

On a different note, I finally managed to retrieve some of my clips (for those who don't know my portfolio saga, I lost my portfolio with all my clips in London - I think it was a ploy by my former employers to engage me in bonded labour for the rest of my life, because I left it at work, and it disappeared). But anyway, thanks to the wonders of technology, I have managed to download most of them again. So now, I can prove that I really did work for a daily newspaper, because I've got stories with my byline on them on Lexis Nexis to prove it.

And on a third note, sometimes I get really fed up with people in New York, especially the ones that answer the phones in most places I call for stories, because most of them are unbelievably rude and go out of their way to be unhelpful. But I've been shown that there are some good people in this city that I'm not too fond of.

I've been working, or trying to work, on a story on crime and its consequences. I even came up with a great story. A young guy was killed in a hit and run 20 years ago, and the guy who ran him over was just arrested last week. I saw this story in the New York Times and it quoted three people. I wanted to find these three people, and possibly others through them, to do extended interviews with them about how they were impacted by the crime, about the guy who did it not being arrested for 20 years, and how they feel now that he has been arrested. I looked high and low for them, called a bunch of people with the same names as them (none of which turned out to be the right people), called the DA's office, police precincts, the information department for the police and NYC, and came up with nothing.

In desperation, I emailed our dean of students, who is also a computer whiz to see if he knew how I could locate the right people. He put me in touch with another student here, who works at a newspaper, I think. And that guy, Dom, BLESS HIM, has managed to track down the numbers of all of them. He informed me that type of Lexis Nexis this oh-so-prestigious institution provides for us is not sufficient for finding people, and found the information for me from the version that his company uses. Which had me a little peeved, because the two entire days I spent trying to track these people down were a complete waste of time, since, if I were a real journalist, all I'd have had to do was perform a Lexis search. And I'm pretty sure Columbia has enough money to subscribe to the correct form of Lexis Nexis.

But anyway. At least, I've got their numbers,. Now, the problem is actually getting them to talk to me! Here we go!

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?

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.

More weds pics!

Nev told me that you can't tell from the pic of Weds that he's a baby, so here are a couple more pics. I need to stop this. I'm like one of those spinsters whose lives revolve around their cats! And he's not even my cat!!

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!

Farewell:-(

I hate goodbyes. Well, I guess there aren't many people who actually enjoy them. But, Emsten left today, to go back home to her sunny little island, and the apartment really feels empty. Today of all days, I had class all day, so I woke up early and made my specialty, aubergine (eggplant, brinjal, whatever!) curry, and had a last croissant and coffee with Emsten before rushing off to class.

Rushed back from class for lunch with Emsten, and Okia, who joined us, and little Wednesday, who, as usual, kept trying to eat us AND our food. I got Emsten her last black bubble tea from Cafe Swish where I took her about five or six times in her four weeks here, and we chatted about Emsten's little twin sisters, and this, that and the other. Rushed back to class after lunch, and rushed back home, with a few minutes to spare before the car came to pick her up and take her to the airport.

We chatted for a bit as Emsten, incredibly organised, had already finished packing (Me, I would have been stuffing things into my suitcase until the last minute, but she had everything perfectly folded and packed, and even a little rectangular space just the right size for her toiletries kit, which went in last). So we checked around for the last time, chatted a bit and took her stuff down. When the car came, we said goodbye, with promises to meet up again on her sunny island, and heartfelt wishes for her upcoming wedding(!!!) and she left. It seemed almost anti-climactic. Such a quick goodbye, to such a good friend.

When I came back to the apartment, it felt so empty. I'd gotten so used to it being the four of us in our apartment, and now it feels strange to have my room to myself again. We hardly even saw each other during the week, but just knowing that she was around, and a quick hi and bye as we dashed in and out of the apartment, still made it nice, more homey somehow. I wished I could have done more, hung out with her more, that we'd had more little chats, but both of us were busy and life has a habit of just taking over sometimes, and you end up doing what you have to do at that moment, not what's important in the larger scheme of things.

When I saw Okia later, she commented too that it felt strange not to have Emsten around. "I already miss her," she said. "Me too," I replied:-(

And Emsten gave me an early birthday gift that left me speechless - a nano!! I had been going on about how it would be so nice to have one for when I'm in the gym and just to listen to - but really, do you need an excuse to have an nano? - and the other day, we were downloading our favourite songs onto my comptuer and listening to them, and reminiscing. . . and the next thing I know, the woman goes and gets me a nano!!

But that's Emsten! Emsten, if you read this, I hope you had a safe flight, and are back safe and happy, and are blissfully planning your wedding. And tell your parents girl!