lessons

"What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?"

Business newspaper intern reporting is such that I get assigned a lot of the more cut-and-dry business or people profile stories that require a few interviews and no investigation. I prefer some spice in my life, successfully investigating the more shaky, "watchdog"-type stories without making anyone mad... but I don't get gifts for doing those. Businesses, especially new businesses, really like when newspapers write advocacy articles about them. And today I recieved my first gift for doing one of those. A paperweight with that quotation. I guess there's something to be said for making someone's day with an article, rather than ruining it.

if I were a psych/soc major...

I've been reading Craig's List personals lately, mostly because everyone in the office seems to find them so interesting, and partly because a friend suggested I do. Today I decided to do a men and women comparison. The men seeking women seem to either include a long list about the man and a short list about what he's looking for (beautiful, confident, young, smart, funny...), or something defiant and different that seeks to introduce the guy without actually saying anything about him. The women seeking men are the opposite, as most are ridiculously long lists of characteristics of the "perfect man" created by women who have dated before and want a long-term relationship or a marriage now.

In that respect, it would seem that it's up to the woman to look and pick because the men seem fairly non-picky in just describing themselves. There are also far less personals written by woman than by men, meaning the men expect the women to pick but they're not doing a good job at it. It's a wonder, really, that anyone gets together.

Paso Monica

In my six years of writing articles and editing newspapers, I do not recall having made a glaring factual mistake. I'm sure i've made plenty that I wasn't called on, a couple I was called on that i'm not remembering, and some that were caught before the story went to print; neither reporters nor editors are perfect. My sophomore year in high school I recieved a letter after my very first article was published in the baby beginning journalism paper, a letter that the teacher pretended was bad but was actually good, thanking me for a good job my article.

This morning when I walked into work I was told that I shouldn't go to Santa Maria because i'll be lynched... apparently in my recent article I wrote Santa Monica instead of Santa Maria and Robles instead of Paso Robles. A stupid mistake that no one in the newsroom, including me, caught. Obviously not an oversight in my questioning, but a blaring typo that, in hindsight, seems absolutely impossible. However it got there, whether it was a brain freeze or prompted by alien influence, that's what it read. Granted, in six years I probably won't remember this mistake either, because the involved parties didn't storm the office or wake me up in the middle of the night screaming in my ear, but nevertheless. It's something to think about while I write and edit.

not-so-miserable monday

It's really amazing what an extra half-hour of sleep can do on a hopeless Monday morning. I couldn't sleep last night, tossing and turning and reading for hours, worrying my current or future job would impossibly turn into The Devil Wears Prada and all my dreams would become nightmares. Instead of dragging myself out of bed this morning after the third push of the snooze, I felt I deserved to sleep for another half-hour and went into work 25 minutes later than normal. I found three long and informative voice mails on my machine, several long and informative e-mails in my inbox, and enough writing to keep me occupied the whole day. Now, high afternoon nap time again, i'm wide awake and engaged.

tea break

It's about time that I felt awake and alive this morning, considering it's already 11:30 and i've been awake for four hours and alive for 20 years, 18 months, 11 days. I'm drinking Pomegranate White Tea and the quiet caffeine is entering my body through my stomach and going first for my droopy eyes. Then it's heading down to conquer my flaccid cheeks and my relaxed mouth, my noodle fingers and my lazy brain. It doesn't take much brain or typing power to come up with intern busy work briefs, but it does take a little to keep myself interested and sounding intelligent.

The addicts I talk to (mostly cigarette after my six months in nicotine-infested Europe) say they're more addicted to the routine and the atmosphere that creates the desire to smoke than the actual chemicals. Like sitting around after dinner and having a smoke and a good conversation, like sipping coffee, reading a newspaper, and dragging off a cigarette. For me, I like my caffeinated tea around this time when i'm sitting at my computer at the intern desk in 72-degree air-conditioned air, freezing my butt off and wondering when i'll be hungry enough to take my lunch break.