Live from Chicago!

Five more days stand between me and my first class as a bona fide journalism grad student, but these days my mind is stuck on trivial, mundane tasks like finding bedding that's softer than a hardwood floor.

I already did the hard part and found an apartment within two days of touching down in Chicago and I even baked a tasty loaf of banana bread for my friend as a thank you for letting me crash on his futon while I hunt for said bedding.

But actually furnishing my room is turning out to be my most difficult task, which is really saying something considering how I burned and possibly gassed myself while making the banana bread.

My old college roommate saved my butt big time when he let me stay at his place. His apartment is north of downtown Chicago and south of the Northwestern campus so I've had the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the joys of public transportation during my frequent bargain-hunting and sightseeing trips.

My best bargain so far is my new room, which is about three blocks from campus. It's big enough to fit one and a half Hummers and it's got four windows and a closet and all for the low, low price of 500 bucks a month, including utilities. My fellow apartment-mates are a Chinese marketing grad student and some dude whose name may or may not be "Car" – the Chinese marketing grad student is a little difficult to understand over the phone sometimes.

The city itself rushes around like New York but the short walking distances and waterfront parks give Chicago the small-city charm of San Francisco. Attractions like Millenium Park are extremely well cared for and the dining is excellent. I highly recommend a Kobe burger if you ever temporarily lose your mind and want to toss twenty dollars on a cheeseburger.

My to-do list over the next five days includes buying textbooks, hauling my stuff uptown to my new place, getting internet access installed (already ordered it), and last but not least, finding a damn bed.

The Perfect Storm: When Polarizing Politics meets the Blogosphere

As of Tuesday morning it looks like New Orleans avoided the worst of Hurricane Gustav although the city did not escape unscathed, with several deaths attributed to traffic accidents and falling trees. Meanwhile, a different kind of storm has been gusting its way across the political landscape.

Perhaps you've heard of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin?

It's pretty hard to avoid news of Sen. McCain's new running mate. Flip through ABC, NBC, FOX, or CNN and you'll get nearly equal coverage of Hurricane Gustav and the latest on Sarah Palin and her family.

Click on any news website and the focus on Sarah Palin is even more intense.

Now I'm as guilty as the next guy of hunting down info on Mrs. Palin's involvement in "troopergate," her support for the Alaska Independent Party, and her switching stances on the "bridge to nowhere," but the judgmental frenzy about Mrs. Palin's pregnant teenaged daughter highlights everything that is wrong about twenty-four hour news coverage dominated by highly partisan politics. 

I think, deep down, most people wish health and happiness for young Bristol Palin. But both sides can't help holding her up as a symbol to further their own causes. For conservatives, Bristol's decision to carry her child to term validates her mother's pro-life beliefs. For liberals, that same decision represents a right that the girls' mother wishes to rob from everyone else.

The situation is really much more complex than that because Bristol Palin's actions are also being interpreted through the lens of family values, sexual education policies, religious beliefs, and countless others.

Bristol Palin doesn't deserve this scrutiny, but she stands right in the center of a fierce political debate that has been stirred to extraordinary fervor thanks to the blogosphere. Presidential races can turn best friends into snapping dogs, and blogs and other online news outlets now spread more information (both rumor and fact) and amplify opinionated voices in a way that wasn't possible even four years ago.

In a fairer world, Senators McCain and Obama would clearly state their views on abortion, foreign policy, education, the economy, and every other major issue and the media would demand explanations when their words or actions were inconsistent with their promises. Unfortunately, we've been settling for the play-by-play which, while exciting, merely tells us what to think or gives new excuses for everyone to bang their heads against each other like crotchety goats.

As disturbing as this situation is, at the very least it's helping me understand what happens when a pervasive media (and I'm including blogs in that term because the distinction between amateur blogs and mainstream media outlets is getting harder and harder to see) loses sight of the facts for the compelling but false and/or inappropriate narrative. 

Getting Back to Nature

Last weekend I hiked with my dad up a muddy, windy trail to a peak on the Ko'o'lau Range, one of the highest points on Oahu. A downpour drenched us within minutes of entering the trail and we chuckled to ourselves when hikers around us slipped into swan dives and back slides on the slick path. Then I got to enjoy a laugh all to myself when my dad tripped onto his belly and did his best mud angel impression. At the summit we could see miles of beaches and bright turquoise waters and the dark purple ocean beyond the reefs. We were up high enough that the clouds raced by above our heads like giant tumbleweeds made of grey, bushy pubic hair.

My family used to be quite familiar with nature. I've seen photographs of me and my brother enjoying the Yosemite camping grounds from inside our strollers while my mother hulked over our little bodies like a 4'11" mama bear. I remember going on regular hikes with my brother, my dad, and our uncles and cousins. My brother frequently displayed a divining rod-like ability to locate any body of water on a trail, be it a puddle or a lake, and then fall into it. I can also recall at least two occasions I thought I poisoned myself when I tried to sample a plant and instead tasted a flavor that belongs on a spice rack under the label "Nature's Ass."

I have a lot of fond memories of the Great Outdoors, but, like a friend who drifted apart after high school, we haven't seen too much of each other lately. It's been years, actually. When my family left California, we felt like we'd left all the best hiking trails behind. Then we hooked up our internet connection and later came our plasma screen television, and by then nature had become one more channel amongst hundreds of others featuring better car chases and more gratuitous head explosions.

My dad rediscovered his love for photography a few years ago and -- who'd of thought? -- Hawaii has been a great place to find breathtaking vistas. He began taking trips to outer islands like Maui, Kauai, and the Big Island. Then I started joining him to see what he'd been seeing.

A couple months ago I hiked with the family up into a bamboo forest on Maui. The trail is dry and dusty for a couple of miles before a bridge delivers you smack dab into a peaceful green forest that belongs in one of those inspiration posters. A path takes people deep inside the bamboo until the sun is almost blocked out overhead, even at noon on a clear, bright day. The wind is constant up there and everything sways back and forth with a soft "whooshing" sound. It's very peaceful and hearing and feeling that place is worth a couple of days without my computer.

My Modeling Days are Over

Several weeks ago I banged the ring finger on my right hand playing basketball and it swelled until it felt like a cold baby carrot jammed into my finger socket. I didn't let that stop me from grabbing, touching, and rubbing things willy-nilly but when I examined my still-throbbing finger yesterday, I noticed that it was still red and swollen and now also crooked enough to perform the "Smooth Criminal" dance in Michael Jackson's Moonwalker video.

When I was in college, a friend claimed that his mom hand modeled part-time and that he was an over-sized cuticle away from being a hand model himself. I put my mitts in his and asked for his honest evaluation. (Keep in mind this was before America's Got Talent when fewer opportunities existed to simultaneously display and humiliate oneself). My friend gave me the once over, nodding. He pronounced my paws well-proportioned and suitably delicate with the caveat that they were likely too small to get work in the industry.

I didn't pursue any hand-modeling work, but I always kept the possibility in the back of my mind in case things didn't work out relying on my brain for a living. But that opportunity may have galloped into the sunset now that I'm damaged goods.

I chalk this experience up to one more sign that age and decrepit-ness are catching up to me. I recently turned twenty-five -- thank you, thank you -- and signs of my advancing years are becoming harder to ignore. The lone white hair on my body, curiously placed on the second toe of my right foot, is growing at an alarming rate. My thighs and buttocks become inflamed after a few hours throwing bowling balls on the Wii (not to mention the Wii Fitness regiment says my athletic age is forty-four).

Perhaps the most dramatic sign that I'm getting older is my recent attempt to watch what I eat. My months in New York helped me slim down thanks to my soup-and-crackers diet, and I've tried to limit my meal portions to keep those few extra pounds off. The process reeks of the long-term thinking which I've long avoided, but my speedos have never hugged me so gently in all the right places. (kidding)

I may have subjected my finger to irreversible damage by avoiding a doctor for the last few weeks and the constant rubbing and grabbing probably hasn't helped either. I suppose it's time to admit that I'm getting older and my hand-modeling days are behind me, if they ever existed in the first place. Heaven help me, I may have to rely on my brain after all.

The Write Stuff

It's said that you don't fully understand something until you can teach it to another person. If that's true, then I'm about to learn if all my years of reading guides and pounding keyboards have imbued me with a deeper understanding of the writing craft when I begin tutoring my cousin in preparation for his SATs and college application essays.

I've read plenty of books on writing and the two most commonly stated prerequisites for strong prose are 1) reading everything you can get your hands on and 2) writing frequently and in large quantities. Apparently there are no shortcuts.

My cousin is a smart enough guy but he doesn't like to read and he certainly doesn't like to write. He's planning to become an engineer; a profession, which, until recently, he didn't think required any writing skills. Fortunately, my cousin realized that everybody benefits from an improved ability to communicate, especially when that ability grants access to an institution of higher learning.

My plan is to attack my cousin's reluctance with a two-pronged campaign by forcing him to read and write every day. The initial goal is to make writing approachable, so I'll be assigning him free-writing exercises. Later on, we'll work on improving the clarity, brevity, and energy of his pieces but he must become comfortable putting pencil to paper (or finger to keyboard) first.

The second prong of my tutoring offensive will focus on reading critically. I'll be assigning On Writing Well by William Zinsser and I'll also require my cousin to read his choice of material with the idea that he examine the author's organization and stylistic choices.

I'm looking forward to working with my cousin and in the process I expect to learn a thing or two myself.

Photography One-Doh-One

Jeff Jarvis once told a crowd of prospective CUNY Journalism students (including me) that the best preparation for graduate studies in journalism is to read actively, write frequently, and develop the technological skills that all reporters are expected to know. Since I'm currently unencumbered with employment, I decided to follow his advice and learn how to take pictures.

My dad is an avid photographer so it wasn't long before I was armed and outfitted with thousands of dollars worth of equipment that I was hopeless unqualified to use. Still, I shambled my way through some beaches and awkwardly pushed some buttons and it soon dawned on me that golfing and photograph-ing have a lot in common.

I didn't take this picture, but I do tie it together (that's me in the center)

Both activities make me very uncomfortable; in golf, trailing teams like to enjoy the spectacle of me hacking at my ball like a butcher cutting up a slab of meat. When I pretend to be a photographer, I can feel passer-bys's eyes measuring my dad's huge camera clutched in my hands, then judging my pained expression, and finally concluding that I am waiting in the bushes because I'm trying to snap a primo shot of twelve-year-old flanking.

The biggest similarity, however, lies in the aching promise of semi-adequacy. Whacking your way through a golf course and snapping a photo that doesn't incorporate your thumb requires suffering through a hundred bad shots before a hint of mediocrity will excite you beyond rational thought and convince you that your next photo of a perfectly composed sparkling landscape, or primo twelve-year-old flanking, is one more button click away.

The one photo without my thumb

Fortunately, my dad has enough toys to make even the most amateur photographer (me) look like I know what I'm doing, so roughly one photo turned out okay. Here it is. And before you ask, Hawaii does not normally look like Mars except when viewed through an infrared lens.

Job Hunting in Hawaii

Now that I'm back in Hawaii and free of the drudgery that is paying rent and wearing pants around the house, I can instead focus on preparing myself for a journalism career by reading a lot, writing a lot, and (failing at) job hunting a lot.

I nabbed my New York job and apartment through Craigslist, but so far locating a decent paying job that's tangentially related to writing has been more painful than that time in elementary school when some guy parked his 20 lbs. backpack atop my gonads. At least I've unearthed a few chuckles from the steamy crapshoot of Craigslist job listings.

Here are some of my favorites:

• Get in Now or Slap Yourself Later! $1000 Daily - As far as I know, slapping myself shouldn't cost me a thousand bucks.
  
  
• Don't not try this unless you need money! - I need money... so I shouldn't try this?
  
  
• My 8 year old daughter makes more money than you! - The sad thing about this ad is that it's probably true.
  
  
• Lazy guy makes $1500 a day. He'll show you how - I found this listing tempting, but I couldn't muster the energy to investigate further. I'm holding out for $2000 daily.
  
  
• It's literally raining money at my house! Want some? - This actually sounds legitimate. Literally.

So which listing do you think I should look into?

Things I Learned in New York

I lived in New York for nearly seven months. Here are a few things I learned during that time.

• New Yorkers follow the Yankees and Knicks no matter their respective levels of douchebaggery
  
  
• People dress much better on the East Coast than the West Coast
  
  
• I still can't dance
  
  
• Alcohol does not make me a better dancer

• Plenty of jobs exist in NY if you're not afraid to be creative and/or freaky
  
  
• Finding a good apartment and reasonable roommates is a lifetime goal
  
  
• Subways are awesome
  
  
• Always have a plan for yourself. Don't just live for the weekends
  
  
• Nobody can support you like family

Good lessons all.

The Journey Continues

In the last two weeks, I've mailed my $500 check to Medill to reserve my enrollment, turned down the other programs I was considering, and, oh yeah, quit my job and moved back to Hawaii.

It's been a busy two weeks.

I debated for a long, long time between staying in New York and studying at CUNY versus moving to Chicago and attending Medill at Northwestern. I've seen CUNY up close and their program would have given me the training, connections, and support to get into a journalism career but, despite not having visited Medill, my research convinced me their program would give me a better edge in the long run thanks to their established network and first-rate faculty.

Both programs offered me full tuition scholarships, so even though I didn't have to weigh costs when comparing the programs, financial considerations still played a major role in my return to Hawaii.

Staying in New York was a no-brainer if I planned to attend CUNY, but when I decided to attend Medill I realized I had a new option. When I first moved out to New York I purchased a round trip ticket that included an April 29th return flight that made me look damn near prescient.

I don't recommend quitting your job and moving across the country in less than two weeks but I'm living proof that it's possible.

I gave my bosses a five-day notice and spent my last week in NY packing and giving away my belongings. Fortunately, my brother, my landlord, and a very generous friend in Chicago were on-board with my efforts and played huge roles in my not breaking down into a whimpering ball of tears.

Yesterday I went to the beach and found myself more than little surprised at my sudden change in surroundings. I'm here in Hawaii to save money and half of that plan is getting rent-free accommodations from my folks and the other half involves actually making more money. I haven't quite figured out how to do that yet.

However, I will be writing and updating this site more frequently, which is ironic since the next few months will most likely be less interesting than the previous seven. Classes don't start until the end of September but I'm planning to use the intervening months to hone my writing and practice this thing called "reporting."

I think this summer will be fun and busy. Just not as busy as the last two weeks.

My Trip to USC: Part Deux

Recently I wrote flippantly about my trip to USC. In many ways (the missed flights, complete lack of sleep, etc.) I was amused by my excursion to the west coast but I also gained invaluable insight into how I chose the journalism program I will ultimately attend (which isn't USC, as I'll explain why).

Among the program's major selling points was the faculty and their demonstrated commitment to use force if necessary in beating writing fundamentals into students. I admit that I write by ear -- grammar and syntax be damned -- so having logical rules and structure to prop up my pieces would be eminently desirable. Even my roommate, a USC undergrad in the same department, spoke highly (if with a margin of frustration) about the program's emphasis on writing fundamentals.

The classes I attended also proved the instructors' credentials. One instructor explained an editorial decision he made that directly led to the current brouhaha about a presidential candidate's "bitter" comments. You may have heard of this controversy. That instructor's class centered entirely around the ethical and managerial decisions borne out of this real-life example.

Current students spoke often of the plum interning jobs available through USC's journalism department and their foreign country intern program also intrigued me despite it's unpaid status. You can't argue that USC has impressive connections in the industry and one student told me she suppressed her Bruin loyalties to join the department for exactly that reason.

I know very little about cameras, microphones, and other tools of the journalism trade but U of Southern California's technological offerings nonetheless impressed me. Every student gets their own mic and camera pack at the beginning of the year to use or abuse as they see fit. I don't think any other program gives out equipment that freely.

Sounds great right? USC stresses strong writing, detailed reporting, and offers the technology and connections to make a near-seamless transition into the journalism racket.

However, two major considerations convinced me to choose a different program.

The lesser of the two considerations was L.A itself. As much as my roots are in the west coast, Los Angeles does not appeal to me in the same way as New York City or Chicago. L.A. sprawls like a husky woman relaxing at the beach while NYC and Chicago swirl in compact eddies of activity.

I really dislike driving and NYC's subway system is hands down my favorite mode of transportation. Chicago's transit system might not be as extensive nor reliable as NY's but it still offers the convenience to traverse, study, and learn the city better than I could ever hope to do with L.A.

But even greater than my dislike of driving is my dislike for being in debt and attending USC's Journalism department would send me heavily into debt.

I don't care about being rich. I'll be attending journalism grad school so that may go without saying, but I can't justify taking on greater financial burdens in the midst of uncertain financial times. Hypothetically, I could land a lucrative job in the near future and afford to summit a mountain of debt, but I don't want to bet the house on it.

Ergo, therefore, in sum total, I won't be attending USC. They impressed me and they wowed me but the entire package wasn't exactly what I was looking for.

USC = Uggh, Soy Consado

I'm getting closer and closer towards choosing which journalism school to attend but before I reveal my choice I'll first recap my entire trip to USC.

Monday:

3am - Stagger home from another night of intensive television watching and internet surfing.

4am - 6am - Calculate how much sleep I'll get before having to wake up and prepare for flight.

6:30am-9am - Sleep. Frequently scratch myself.

9:15am-10:30am - Shower and undergo beauty routine consisting mostly of vigorous toweling and generous deodorizing.

10:45am-10:47am - Pack.

10:47am-12:45pm - Run errands and stuff face with food.

12:46pm-4:10pm - Step on wrong subway train and promptly fall asleep. Wake up in time to realize that I'm screwed.

4:15pm - Get rejected from flight. Pay $75 for a later flight and scramble to change all appointments. Nap

9:15pm - midnight (local time) - Think about how much I hate flying. Do it anyway.

Tuesday:

8:00am-6:30pm - Meet faculty and see department. Become simultaneously impressed with program and convinced I shouldn't go there.

7pm-11pm - Try to reroute flight to stop by Northwestern's campus. Fail then nap.

11pm-3:30am - Eat huge Carl's Jr. burger and not sleep because my stomach is tired of my abuse.

4:30am-7am - Wait at airport. Eat more fast food and silently add contribution to green house effect.

7am-4pm (local time) - Realize that I still hate flying. Do it anyway, again.

5pm-midnight - Sleep and completely screw up anything resembling a normal circadian rhythm.

Analysis of trip to come.

Whirlwind Romance

I'm typing this literally with one buttock on the chair as I prepare for my hot date with USC. The admissions staff arranged for all my transportation and accomodations so all I have to do is show up to their Journalism Department preview and not say anything incredibly stupid.

Enjoy your week in the meantime!

I Got In - Now What?

My head was initially filled with warm fuzzies after I was accepted into nearly every journalism program I applied to (Columbia apparently wanted to buck the trend), but that early elation has slowly ebbed away over the last few days to be replaced by an almost physical need to really think about my choices.

My physical needs have been further exacerbated due to some important missing information -- namely financial aid offers -- from several programs. I finished my taxes in record time to speed up the process but another couple of weeks may pass before I have a clearer idea of where I can realistically expect to attend.

However, I do know that CUNY has awarded me a scholarship for full tuition. This means that I would still have to pay for my own books and living expenses but I wouldn't have to spend a penny for any class. This will be key because it's unlikely I'll be able to handle my course load and a job on the side.

I may have a similar arrangement at Northwestern if I'm fortunate enough to win a scholarship for which I've been nominated. The scholarship is based on potential leadership ability so I'm not getting my hopes up. It's nice to think about a potential free ride at Northwestern but the accompanying uncertainty over my chances drives home exactly how precarious my financial situation is.

In the meantime, I'm left to consider all the other ways I can parse my options.

In no particular order, I have the University of Southern California (USC), the City University of New York (CUNY), Medill at Northwestern, and New York University (NYU) to consider as possible destinations.

Based on reputation alone, Northwestern and NYU would probably top the list followed by USC and then CUNY. Judging a program by its reputation may seem shallow but journalism programs are supposed to act as a direct pipeline towards a staff position on a newspaper or magazine and a department's reputation is largely based on its ability to do just that.

Breaking the programs down by curriculum has proved to be more complicated. I applied to schools with a demonstrated emphasis on training professional newsroom skills; attending each program should not only prepare me for a journalism career but each department also offers programs in multimedia and feature-length article writing that would help me find a place within the converging worlds of (multi)media.

Like in other fields, the key to finding a full-time gig after graduating will probably run through an internship. Each department offers assistance in finding internships but only CUNY requires its students to complete one. CUNY has made an internship a required component of its summer session but also guarantees a stipend if the internship doesn't already provide one. The other departments highly recommend internship experience but none offer anything matching CUNY's level of support.

If it sounds like I'm favoring CUNY then we're probably on the same page since I have by far the most experience with the program. I've already sat down on one of their classes and not only felt comfortable doing so but I already feel a strong rapport with some of the teachers. Their program is very new (I would be joining its third class, I think) but it's well-funded, features state of the art equipment, has experienced professionals on staff with strong connections to the rest of the industry, and their department is brimming with the energy and enthusiasm of an entity that is still new and young enough to operate without the burden of excessive bureaucracy.

CUNY stands out in all the important areas but one: reputation. They're still so new that a degree from CUNY won't carry nearly the prestige (or potential hiring strength, which is by far more important) as a degree from another, more established program.

Which takes me back to Medill at Northwestern. Medill is recognized as either the top or number two program in journalism and its facilities are without a doubt comparable to CUNY's. Its staff is probably amongst the most respected in the field, but there is more of an academic bent to the program that isn't as in line with my own interests. I wouldn't be going wrong by receiving my graduate education at Northwestern and they're the only department I'm considering that offers opportunities to travel and work abroad -- something I'm definitely interested in.

On the negative side, I'd have to pick up and relocate to Chicago to attend Medill. I did enjoy the week I spent in the Windy City a few years back and I even have an old friend in the neighborhood, but it's been incredibly helpful living a stone throw away from my dear little brother.

Rounding out my choices are NYU and USC. NYU offers similar advantages to CUNY with unparalleled access to top-flight magazines and newspapers here in New York. Its reputation is greater than CUNY's. Unfortunately, NYU uses the most difficult system for offering financial aid by matching outside offers. I'm not terribly excited about looking for more funding, but I may have to no matter which institution I end up attending.

I probably haven't given USC enough of my attention yet. It ended up on my list because my roommate recommended its program based on its strong connection to LA papers (apparently the LA Times is next door), his sister's referral for the graduate journalism department, and his attendance as an undergrad. I can also add that USC's emphasis on multimedia reporting is among the most innovative in the country and their staff is also well respected. I know I didn't receive any department scholarships but it's also possible that their financial aid offer could be very supportive. I've also been contacted by one of their professors who shares an alma mater with me.

Sometimes -- like right now -- thinking really hard can also be really tiring.

But at least one benefit from all this pondering is the crystallizing sense of what lies before me.

I expect I'll be working my butt off to master those writing techniques I've spent the last several years learning by trial and error. I'll almost certainly have to confront a number of apprehensions about sticking my nose in places it isn't wanted and then voicing questions I'll be terrified to speak.

Without a doubt I will spend at least one night (possibly more like fifty) fretting over an assignment that's due the next day. I know I'll fall in love with a piece I'll be working on only to have it ripped to shreds by an editor with nothing but good intentions. I somehow imagine that I'll finally find a nice pair of shoes I'll enjoy wearing that aren't sneakers.

I also fully expect the journey to be worth every minute and every penny, even if I can't really afford it.

Thank you, Graduate Admissions Gods

The Graduate Admissions Gods must have been pleased by my words last night because they've responded to my blog-offering with great tidings: admission to Northwestern and NYU.

I actually was admitted to Northwestern almost two weeks ago but I didn't learn of it until the NW admissions office called me today to find out why I've been such a slowpoke in checking my application status.

Barely minutes later I also received an email telling me that I've been nominated for a full-ride at NW. And when I went to pick up my NW acceptance packet in the mail, lo and behold but an NYU packet was riding piggy-back.

Excuse me while I go burn some incense and quiver with happiness.

Waiting...

I'm currently in the midst of that old admissions game known as "waiting for the mail." I've had the good fortune to hear back from USC with an acceptance letter. I'm also 90% certain that I'll be awarded acceptance into CUNY's program if the level of their wooing is any indication.

I have no idea what to expect from the other schools.

My focus lately has fallen on other topics, which is probably for the best. I've encountered a frustrating rash of computer problems the last couple of weeks which has all but stopped me from writing anything new. I've re-learned that taking a few days off from writing, whether it's a simple blog post like this or a lengthy article with actual value to society (obviously I'm not writing from experience on that second item), can make a blank page look awfully intimidating.

Every book or quote about writing I've ever read somehow makes the point that it is difficult. I tend to agree with those statements. If I were a wittier person I'd even say that the only people who can face a blank page without any fear are those making paper airplanes. Actually that's not half bad.

In any case, it's going to be important for me to keep on trucking -- and writing. If I were a more pompous person I'd say that I need to keep honing my craft, but I think I'd have to wear a bowtie and smoke a pipe to get away with those words and I barely remember to zip my fly half the time. Not to mention smoke makes me wheeze like a four-year-old with a clogged nose.

So here's to waiting for the big news in the mail, and not forgetting to take care of business in the meantime.

Moving On or Moving Out

I helped one of my roommates move out today as he apparently decided to leave New York and head back home. I say apparently because he didn't tell anyone that he was moving. In fact, the only way we knew he had moved out was when I opened his door yesterday afternoon and found nothing but dirty carpet, lingering smoke residue, and an old pair of dress shoes in the closet. I immediately thought of Tom Arnold in True Lies when he complained about his ex-wife who took everything when she left him, right down to the ice cube trays in the freezer.

I can shake my head and chuckle at the situation because I'm not my landlord who is now missing one third of a rent check (we came into the apartment separately so we don't pay our rent together). I think my apartment-survivor's-guilt led me to vacuum my ex-roommate's room for my landlord but otherwise I'm relatively unaffected by his sudden getaway.

My ex-roommate, who I will call Brent because that's his name, was obviously having a difficult time since he moved here from Rhode Island in early December. He's twenty-five and the oldest of our (ex) trio of roommates but I could tell that he had done the least growing up. One late night while we were chatting he admitted to me that his parents still cleaned up all his messes for him: tuition bills, speeding tickets, moving costs, you name it. It was that same night that he told me (not in so many words, but the message was clear) that he often walked the streets because he was lonely and that beer was "his most favorite thing in the world."

And even though Brent lied to me about his plans I can't help but feel some sympathy for his situation.

A couple month ago I was in a similar conundrum though it now feels like it happened closer to a year ago. I was juggling impending grad school applications and the pressures of my internship, and one night I hit my first snag in my new night job. When I got back to my apartment at three or four in the morning I took to the streets like Brent did and I called home.

My parents listened to my challenges and declared their unconditional support for me. But then they urged me to keep trying. I was already considering waiting another year for my grad school applications but they helped me realize that no matter how long I waited, I would have to buckle down at some point. And if I didn't get in, well, I already faced that possibility anyway. A month later I'm very, very glad I followed their advice. It certainly wasn't easy moving past that difficult period but I know now I made the right decision to keep moving forward.

I'm not sure if Brent made a similar call back home. I suspect he did because I'm pretty certain he was very short on money and would have needed his family's help once again to move out. It's too bad he wasn't able to make a different decision because now he'll have to erase the last two months of his life from his resume and his housing history and he'll have nothing to show for it but another mess his parents had to clean up for him.

It's a struggle to not think less of him for what he did. He lied to myself and my roommate. He may have shorted us on his share of the utilities (I'm not sure if he settled with my roommate), and my landlord told me that Brent lied to her face about moving out. They crossed paths in our building's stairwell amidst moving furniture and he said that he was staying put. The poor sap.

I suppose I could have tried harder to reach out to him, but that's hard to do when somebody holds back their true intentions from you.

I'm going to do my best to remember Brent. Because I know I'll be running into challenging spots for the rest of my life, and when I do I'll think WWBD -- "What would Brent do?" And then I'll do the opposite.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Nearly two weeks have passed since I took Columbia's written application test so I had fallen out of my "professional journalist" mindset by the time I went in for an interview today at CUNY.

I blame my late work hours for part of my lack of focus and I blame my attempt at maintaining a pre-noon wake-up call for the rest -- that misguided project has only succeeded in making me sleepy anytime I'm not physically drooling on my pillow.

I also blame the Super Bowl for being so exciting that I had to watch it and stay out late enough that I had to spend the night at my brother's apartment before dragging myself to my place in the morning. My interview was at 3pm but I always have to set aside an extra four or five hours to dress myself appropriately. Because I suck at dressing appropriately, see.

Case in point: Of all the clothes I wore at my interview today, the shoes, pants, shirt, and sweater were either purchased today or else acquired so recently they had never been worn. I'm pretty certain tags were still sticking out of me when I walked through CUNY's doors.

Despite my inability to dress myself in a professional manner I think I actually made a good impression. I even got the impression that CUNY wants me.

I certainly found a lot to like after touring their facilities. They have state of the art equipment, and by state of the art equipment I mean stuff that flashes and beeps and does things that I can't comprehend. The students were dressed very nicely, which isn't necessarily a positive sign for me, but the faculty members I spoke to were very energetic, experienced, and more than happy to answer my questions.

If I had to compare my interview with a movie, I'd go with The Cutting Edge. I played the role of Doug Dorsey, the hockey player who carries an extra helmet to throw up in before the game because the first ten minutes of my interview I was so nervous and inarticulate that I felt like one of those zoo monkeys that hoots a lot but can't effectively communicate intelligent thought. Thankfully my interviewer was a very kind lady who didn't acknowledge my brief regression into the animal kingdom.

CUNY's program looks fresh (it's less than two years old), hungry, motivated and thorough. It also doesn't hurt that it's a fourth of the cost of any other program I've applied to.

I'll definitely be going back to check out a class or a talk and hopefully I'll remember not to hoot at anyone. Or throw up.

Is my stomach half full or half empty?

Did you know you can be full and hungry at the same time? I'm suffering from this condition at the moment, which is one of the reasons I'm writing this and not, say, sleeping.

The meal was great going in at least. I ate some gumbo, buttered crawfish tail bread, and onion rings at a tiny southern food restaurant in the East Village with my brother and an acquaintance who regaled us with tales of printing a thousand dollar ad in the newspaper of himself in tightie-whities humping his friend's face. Did I mention the crawfish bread was delicious?

Unfortunately, most of my meals aren't that interesting. I try to budget myself with $10 for general food/consumption needs every day. This usually translates into Campbell's soup, Chinese take out, Subway, or sometimes a panini.

The other night I was going to try a greek, meat-on-a-stick meal from the cart down the block from my apartment but when I walked by after work (around 3:30am) I changed my mind after the dude running the cart started peeing in the street. I try to avoid mixing urine with meat.

I realize I'm talking about stuff that's not even tangentially related to journalism but my stomach is demanding food and also demanding that I pass gas. It is not a comfortable combination and precludes thoughtful discussions.

I will be updating soon with something resembling a real post.