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| Oct 28 2007, 7:24 PM EDT (current) | laurelangrist | 1 photo deleted |
| Oct 28 2007, 7:21 PM EDT | laurelangrist | 68 words deleted |
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Fourteen sad and desperate journalism graduate students share their wisdom about covering life from the bottom rung.
Content:
Adventures in Journalism
"Burlesque Dancers and Sideshow Freaks" by Brian Childs
It’s the first night of the Brooklyn Burlesque Blitz in Park Slope and I’m neck deep in filthy/filthy-rich hipsters, I’m drinking one too many Circus Boy Beers by Magic Hat because it just feels right.
Onstage, the World Famous Bob (a woman) is wearing nothing but pasties and a smile.
"Adopting Lovely Lilly" by Lizette van Hecke
My bike’s name is Lilly. It’s a white beach cruiser with pink rims and cute brown leather handlebars with pink Hawaiian style flowers.
When I couldn’t handle the loud and dirty dungeons of New York’s subway anymore, I knew I needed a bicycle
"Telecommuting Love" by Herman Wong
The legions of people who transplant their lives from elsewhere to make it in New York City invariably leave people behind. Often this person is a girlfriend or boyfriend, forcing couples to either break up or try their hand at the dreaded long-distance relationship. While fighting to stay together in absence can be difficult enough, throw in a time difference and the displacement reaches a new level of chaos.
Lessons Learned
"D.C. Confidential" By Christopher Romig
Last March, as the cherry blossoms bloomed and Congress crammed before their spring recess, I took a bus to Washington, D.C., for my first journalistic expedition outside of New York. I was writing a story about a big, loud group of lobbyists, and they invited me along to watch them work the halls of Capitol Hill for two days. When it was all over, I went back home with a bag full of notes, writer’s cramp, and a little more journalistic wisdom than I had headed south with.
"Film Fatigue" by Ariel Vered
I sat in the darkened theater, waiting for the program to begin. My eyes wandered to the bright red Exit sign above the door; I contemplated my escape. I was nearing my limit. I was experiencing film fatigue. I didn’t want to watch any more student films; I didn’t want to watch any more films, period. I was determined to watch as many as possible, for
the good of my story. But how fun can it be when you aren’t even allowed popcorn in a movie theater?
"Good Journalist are not Nice People" by Jackie Barba
Last August at our journalism department’s orientation for incoming students, a certain unnamed faculty member spouted a cliché which I hated, and which would unfortunately prove true.
“Good journalists are not nice people,” he said (or something along those lines — I’m taking liberties because I wasn’t taking notes). Journalists are pushy, bossy, and aggressive, he said. You all look like nice people. In a few months you
won’t recognize yourselves.
"Last Tango in Journalism" by Sarah J Hart
I discovered tango in Ann Arbor, Michigan and I loved the dance instantly, perhaps because I found it easy. One time, I overheard someone say that I had natural grace. I clung to that distinction like it was a winning lottery ticket. Latent in me, I was sure, was a magnificent dancer impatient to unfold her glorious wings.
"Plan of Attack" By Jennifer Bergin
I remember very little from my frantic and dizzying first week of graduate school – and that’s probably a good thing.
I recall nothing of what was said on orientation day - except this, “Don’t plan on sleeping. You’re only here for three semesters. You can sleep after that.”
"Wait, Journalists Report?" by Aimee Rawlins
It was a crisp Sunday afternoon in September, and I walked through the East Village, my heart beating faster with every block. Past Tompkins Square Park, down 9th Street, Avenue C, practically to the projects – scanning faces, street signs, store fronts –anything that might provide a story.
The assignment was to find a story – any story – in the neighborhood that we were covering, and I told myself that I couldn’t go back into my apartment until I had done it. That was two hours ago.
"Worlds Apart" By Anuradha Kher
Before I came to New York in the spring of 2006, I worked as a reporter for The Times of India in Pune, a city in the western part of India. It was easy to get stories published in Pune, partly because the journalism standards are not as high as in the United States and partly because I knew exactly what my editor wanted to publish. It was also easy to
get people to talk to me because I was affiliated to a publication.
Living On the Cheap
"Excellent Dumpling House" by Bill Kerr
We had about six angry Chinese immigrants screaming at each other and us in Cantonese. The Second our plates arrived, the check slid across the table with a flick of the wrist from our brow-furrowed waitress. I had ordered beef with broccoli over rice for $4.30, which came with hot and sour soup and a fried dumpling on the side, and was out the door in 15 minutes
"Grand Sample Station" By Rachel Winters
I arrived in Manhattan to begin graduate school with the insane illusion that I was superwoman. The terribly delusional part was that I made my financial plans accordingly. I believed I was capable of juggling life as a full-time student along with a serious long-distance relationship with a surgical medical resident and a lucrative job bar tending at an exclusive Chelsea martini lounge.
"Non-Deluxe Bus" By Cynthia Allen
I knew my life as a graduate student would involve penny pinching. Like my fellow students, it is a rite of passage to search for the cheapest rent, food, books and anything else I need to navigate through the NYU journalism program. Unlike most of my peers, however, I don’t live full-time in New York City. I make the trek almost
weekly to my home—and my husband—in Alexandria, Virginia, about five miles outside of Washington, DC.
Content:
Adventures in Journalism
"Burlesque Dancers and Sideshow Freaks" by Brian Childs
It’s the first night of the Brooklyn Burlesque Blitz in Park Slope and I’m neck deep in filthy/filthy-rich hipsters, I’m drinking one too many Circus Boy Beers by Magic Hat because it just feels right.
Onstage, the World Famous Bob (a woman) is wearing nothing but pasties and a smile.
"Adopting Lovely Lilly" by Lizette van Hecke
My bike’s name is Lilly. It’s a white beach cruiser with pink rims and cute brown leather handlebars with pink Hawaiian style flowers.
When I couldn’t handle the loud and dirty dungeons of New York’s subway anymore, I knew I needed a bicycle
"Telecommuting Love" by Herman WongThe legions of people who transplant their lives from elsewhere to make it in New York City invariably leave people behind. Often this person is a girlfriend or boyfriend, forcing couples to either break up or try their hand at the dreaded long-distance relationship. While fighting to stay together in absence can be difficult enough, throw in a time difference and the displacement reaches a new level of chaos.
Lessons Learned
"D.C. Confidential" By Christopher Romig Last March, as the cherry blossoms bloomed and Congress crammed before their spring recess, I took a bus to Washington, D.C., for my first journalistic expedition outside of New York. I was writing a story about a big, loud group of lobbyists, and they invited me along to watch them work the halls of Capitol Hill for two days. When it was all over, I went back home with a bag full of notes, writer’s cramp, and a little more journalistic wisdom than I had headed south with.
"Film Fatigue" by Ariel Vered
I sat in the darkened theater, waiting for the program to begin. My eyes wandered to the bright red Exit sign above the door; I contemplated my escape. I was nearing my limit. I was experiencing film fatigue. I didn’t want to watch any more student films; I didn’t want to watch any more films, period. I was determined to watch as many as possible, for
the good of my story. But how fun can it be when you aren’t even allowed popcorn in a movie theater?
"Good Journalist are not Nice People" by Jackie BarbaLast August at our journalism department’s orientation for incoming students, a certain unnamed faculty member spouted a cliché which I hated, and which would unfortunately prove true.
“Good journalists are not nice people,” he said (or something along those lines — I’m taking liberties because I wasn’t taking notes). Journalists are pushy, bossy, and aggressive, he said. You all look like nice people. In a few months you
won’t recognize yourselves.
"Last Tango in Journalism" by Sarah J HartI discovered tango in Ann Arbor, Michigan and I loved the dance instantly, perhaps because I found it easy. One time, I overheard someone say that I had natural grace. I clung to that distinction like it was a winning lottery ticket. Latent in me, I was sure, was a magnificent dancer impatient to unfold her glorious wings.
"Plan of Attack" By Jennifer BerginI remember very little from my frantic and dizzying first week of graduate school – and that’s probably a good thing.
I recall nothing of what was said on orientation day - except this, “Don’t plan on sleeping. You’re only here for three semesters. You can sleep after that.”
"Wait, Journalists Report?" by Aimee Rawlins
It was a crisp Sunday afternoon in September, and I walked through the East Village, my heart beating faster with every block. Past Tompkins Square Park, down 9th Street, Avenue C, practically to the projects – scanning faces, street signs, store fronts –anything that might provide a story.
The assignment was to find a story – any story – in the neighborhood that we were covering, and I told myself that I couldn’t go back into my apartment until I had done it. That was two hours ago.
"Worlds Apart" By Anuradha Kher
Before I came to New York in the spring of 2006, I worked as a reporter for The Times of India in Pune, a city in the western part of India. It was easy to get stories published in Pune, partly because the journalism standards are not as high as in the United States and partly because I knew exactly what my editor wanted to publish. It was also easy to
get people to talk to me because I was affiliated to a publication.
Living On the Cheap
"Excellent Dumpling House" by Bill KerrWe had about six angry Chinese immigrants screaming at each other and us in Cantonese. The Second our plates arrived, the check slid across the table with a flick of the wrist from our brow-furrowed waitress. I had ordered beef with broccoli over rice for $4.30, which came with hot and sour soup and a fried dumpling on the side, and was out the door in 15 minutes
"Grand Sample Station" By Rachel WintersI arrived in Manhattan to begin graduate school with the insane illusion that I was superwoman. The terribly delusional part was that I made my financial plans accordingly. I believed I was capable of juggling life as a full-time student along with a serious long-distance relationship with a surgical medical resident and a lucrative job bar tending at an exclusive Chelsea martini lounge.
"Non-Deluxe Bus" By Cynthia Allen
I knew my life as a graduate student would involve penny pinching. Like my fellow students, it is a rite of passage to search for the cheapest rent, food, books and anything else I need to navigate through the NYU journalism program. Unlike most of my peers, however, I don’t live full-time in New York City. I make the trek almost
weekly to my home—and my husband—in Alexandria, Virginia, about five miles outside of Washington, DC.
