The art of mediocrity

The city editor of the Whig-Standard called me into his office on my last day on the job. He handed me an envelope he later told me contained a reference letter and asked me how I thought it went. I lied a bit and said I had a lot of fun and returned to the truth when I said I learned a lot. He said I’m a “good writer,” which was nice, I guess.

He said I need to work on pitching stories, which is definitely true. More specifically, he said I had to do “a lot more” to convince him that it’s in his interest to pull me off an assignment. This was a troublesome development, given that the days I pitched stories — and failed — he assigned me some fluff story about local residents complaining their Christmas decorations were vandalized or whatever. (Mind you, it turns out the Whig’s readers eat that stuff up, and I always got mail the day after. But that’s beside the point)

Then he said he places me in the top 80 per cent of Whig interns, which was somewhat comforting until he qualified that comment by saying “most” interns “can’t string a sentence together.” I laughed along with him as he described how these people left the office in tears, though fully realizing he sees me as average, at best. I suppose I didn’t deserve a much better assessment, and he did give me a reference letter, so that’s something, I guess.

He gave me the envelope unsealed, which was strange to begin with. As far as I know, job applicants aren’t supposed to read their reference letters. Will an employer consider a letter without the referencer’s name on the seal? Hmm...

Next there was, well, one. So… I just gotta make it count? He said “do what you want with it” when he handed it to me, and I’m still wondering what my options are. Nevertheless, it was a genuinely kind gesture. Maybe he can redraft when my rejection letters start pouring in.

So I read the letter. Call it journalistic curiosity. I considered posting it, but quickly realized the violation of ethical principles the act would demand. But, to summarize, it pretty much places me in the same average category I found myself in during the conversation. So, at the very least, I didn’t fail. So there’s that.

In sum, the internship went fairly well, an adventure indeed. I wrote some OK stories, but got sick of the fluff assignments by the end of it. And the process would have been quite a bit smoother if the other reporters actually talked to me. In a previous post, I mentioned they started turning around when I was speaking, but it didn’t get much better than that. Most of them didn’t say good bye when I left, and one barely looked up from his computer when I said good bye to him. So it was a bit tough working under a deadline with no one to talk to. But they still helped me when I asked for it, so there’s that too.

And I learned how to write fast. By the last week, I could write two stories before the six o’clock deadline, and another within an hour or so, which I really wasn’t expecting. I also have some pretty hilarious stories about how ridiculous it is to work in a community paper newsroom.

That’s about all the energy I have to report on that subject.

***

In other news, I’m enroute to Halifax as I write. I paid the regular fair for my ticket, but I’m sitting in the most pimp seat you could ever imagine. I’m in between the window and the isle, and there is a plug right below my feet. I feel like I’m in business class of an airplane without all the free stuff. I’m pretty much set.

The irony of this is that I’m going to be in Halifax for all of four days before I return to Ontario yet again — by car this time [insert continuous shudders]. There, I’ll see my grandfather and the rest of the fam for some holiday festivities before hightailing it to Montreal with my brother to hit up my favourite city in the country for new years. I haven’t seen my brother since last new years, so I’m stoked, to say the least. Unfortunately, my old man can’t make it out, but I’m planning on making a trip out west after graduation.

Alright, that’s it. I’ll see ya’ll when I see ya. Merry Christmas and stuff.

Best Of, part deux

Here comes another lazy post. The "Best Of" the blog circuit I visit. The funny part of this is that most of you know each other. But I'm going to do it anyway.

Isn't it Friday afternoon yet? If I were days of the week, I'd be Friday afternoon. And I'd be asleep.

Saman

Reid what's a Parenthesis? is it like writing a long paper about changing diapers? I dont know, But then I was like "oh snap."

Danny

"Can I send someone by to look at the place?"
--silence--
"'Someone'?"
"Yes, I'm in Halifax. I'm moving to Toronto. I'd need to send someone by to look at the place."
--silence--
"Shouldn't you be moving to Edmonton?"

Chris

So, to recap, I’m cooped up in the comp sci with a bunch of people who look like they’re auditioning for “Depressedville” cramming for a failsafe exam worth 0% listening to some hick band that I don’t even like and the vending machine just ran out of regular juices and only had “Strawberry Orange Banana” juice left... so this is what rock bottom feels like.

Li

If you had told me two weeks ago that Stephan Dion was going to emerge out of this thing victorious, I would have told you to that you were insane. If you had told me the same thing after the second ballot came in, I would have nodded in silent agreement, while still clutching my Ignatieff sign.

Jen

Thanks to the Gazette'er's that showed up and had fun, Rafal for taking pictures, Nadine and MK, Ian and Co., Andy showed up to celebrate his birthday, and well.. fuck everyone else.

Loukas
I only posted this one cuz I haven't yet bitched at Loukas for naming everyone else right next to the stage except ME, and instead lumping me in with the paper people. Bastard. That and I almost buckled over in laughter when Loukas kept trying to get back on the decks like a kid on a power wheels.

Alright, all this cutting and pasting is taking away from my precious drinking time.

The cubby and the underdog

There's a really small sort of cubby behind the Whig-Standard. It's actually smaller than the closet I lived in during my first few days here, and most of the space is taken up by a picnic table, which the old bats from the business department sit around to smoke and talk about their kids and buying christmas gifts and all the rest. But I can tell you that little brick hovel is the most magical place in the building.

To explain, I'll digress.

I had a really hard time getting up today. I bullocksed this story the day before on the local children's aid society's response to the damning auditor general's report, which found that the societies were leaving needy kids in the lurch, meanwhile buying flashy cars for their executives. The whole thing had to be re-written - and I missed the last bit. For some reason, I didn't think it was as important as the former in my deadline-crazed mind. Yeah, I know. So getting up was tough, but quitting is just not in my blood (Re: recipient of recent dedications).

And by mid-day today, I had three stories hovering over my head and had no idea how I was going to write any of them. The morning began with only two reporters, and we were a mess. Well, I was. But a few others luckily emerged out of the woodwork and some of the tension eased. Meanwhile, I went out there with a smoke in my mouth as usual and a hope for ideas. And then came my Eureka.

My interview with Green Party Leader Elizabeth May went really well and the writing just sort of flew out of me. She talks really fast and the phone recorder thingy attached to my phone doesn't work that well so finding usable quotes was tough, but it still came together in about two hours. Well, they wanted it in a half hour, so I guess I disappointed them a bit, but the cubby once again came through in a clinch. It's amazing what you can do in two hours when the desk is breathing over your neck. Can't forget the cubby.

***

In other news, May made me a Green Party believer. I am honestly considering voting for that party next election. She has WAY more promise and charisma and leadership ability than Layton. I've interviewed them both, and May blows that mustache-sporting used car salesman out of the water. Although it will never happen, I really wish she'd get a spot in the national debate. If she did, I'm sure she'd wrap at least some of you non-believers around her finger. She's not a dummy and she's honest. That was her explanation for praising Dion's record recently when he came under fire for Liberal corruption. She says she will never tell a lie for her entire political life. Seems crazy and self-defeating. But she doesn't seem to care. And she actually seems honest.

Will the Greens get a seat? She might. She's thinking of running in Cape Breton next election after losing an extremely slim race in London North Centre just two weeks ago. I hope she does.

Then again, the Greens attract people like Nick Wright, the former Halifax candidate who used to be an ecstasy-head and apparently couldn't hide his drug-induced twitch during the debate at the Dal student union building. I'm guessing they allowed him to run just because Alexa is pretty much unbeatable.

Anyway, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to seriously follow the Greens over the next little bit (MAN I wish they'd change their names, though). Their Nova Scotia counterpart is beyond absurd, suggesting things like increasing gas tax so people will drive less. I think the feds have a bit better of a grasp over the reality of an economy.... well, over reality in general, so I'm going to stick it out. But this simply means I'm on the fence and no longer committed to the NDP. I usually vote for the candidate, so we'll just have to wait.

Iggy goes down

Being right is pretty sweet. Although, the vote share was pretty slim: 437 ballots, or .09 per cent. So I was pretty close to being wrong, and Canada was pretty close to a major setback. I haven't been up to speed with the post-convention media coverage so I'll just leave it at that lest I go on about stuff that's overwhelmingly obvious.

Instead, I've pasted some entertaining quotes quipped by Rick Mercer during the convention:

I think Turner had the chili for lunch

The Ignatieff delegates I’ve been talking to have that tragic air of someone in palliative care eating apple sauce and making big plans to run a marathon.

The only guy having a good day at this point is the soon-to-be leader of the opposition Stephane Dion.

~ post second ballot

The Liberals went into this convention with a host of choices. They could have gone with a battle-tested politician, a former athlete, a world famous academic or a food bank founder from the West; at the end of the day they choose the nerd.

That’s pretty Canadian.

Stephen, can I call you Steve, like George W.?

~ Chretien. If I regret anything, it's missing that speech.