I'm not sure I'm cut out for journalism.
I know I'm still learning and figuring all the things that need to be figured out, but I wasn't shot out into the world with a great understanding of passive voice or a knack for getting the "truth" out of someone.
First of all, i don't even know what the truth is. Most of the time it seems the justification in making someone look like a dick. Sometimes i find myself editing quotations so the speaker sounds smarter. Maybe some would say "You're Lying!" but i like to think I'm just presenting what they really meant to say, how they really meant to say it. Again the chorus. "You're Lying!" No! I'm just presenting my world; a world where everyone speaks eloquently and politely on all sides of matters. There is no recognition of race. The world isn't melting. Jesus has actually returned twice. Also, there has been genetic engineering of livestock in an effort to reduce carbon admissions during transportation. In other words, pigs fly.
Sigh. The other interns at SP are great. I read one gals blog and she was ruminating on how alive she felt after a day at Sac Press. How she walked out of the office with seven story ideas pitched and felt solidly grounded to her purpose in life: fashion journalism.
Great. Do you know how I feel after my big four hour day? Pissed, usually. Im always sweating because I still haven't figured out how to dress professionally and casually with reguards to Sacramento's sweltering temperatures. Nervous, too because I'm normally late for the lightrail and I'm scared I'll miss it. The other day i was really late, and took off at a dead sprint toward the train, monorail whatever. I could feel it just about to leave, but i still had to validate my ticket. I have about ten of them in my wallet, my father works for the state so he gave me a bunch of free ones. There is honestly one of the most adorable elderly ladies ive ever seen trying to get a ticket from the machine I have to use. She turns to me, poor thing, and asks if i understand how to work the machine. She only has enough money for the senior discounted ticket. (God retelling this is making me sad and kind of hate myself)
I haven't really stopped semi spritning yet, and i skidd around her in my heels, breathing heavily. She looks up like i can help her, but i have another plan in mind. See my plan was to give her one of my tickets, so we wouldnt miss the train, but i had to validate them both first. i guess my adrenaline didn't allow me to explain or something, but instead of acting like a rational, non crazy white girl who has never taken public transit in her life, i box out the tiny old lady, huffing and puffing shoving my tickets in the slot and swearing loudly when i put them in the wrong way. Then i wordlessly hand her one and start jogging after the now moving monorail yelling "WAIT, STOP, NO... FUCK!"
The lady has caught up with linda blair and puts her hand in the crook of my elbow and says "Damn girl, dont worry, he'll stop. He'll stop." She walks quietly past me and gets on the fucking train.
Or another time this Vanilla Ice looking character complete with wifebeater, chain, FUBU jeans, rivercats cap, and Nikes gets on at Watt Manlove sits a seat down from me. I'm trying to read but the monorail is on speed and making me nauseous. I close my eyes and rest my head against the class. Vanilla is listening to his iPod. You can really hear what people are listening to on the monorail. I've gritted my teeth through one too many rounds of Poker Face.
When he first gets on its some metal, screaming noise. But as we continue, jerkily, i hear a familiar beat. It's fucking Elton John. Crocodile Rock. I remember when rock was yo-u-ung. Me and Suuuuuuuuzy had so much fu-u-n. Holding hands and something stones? With my old gold Chevy and a place of my own!
It was awesome. This is the kind of shit i thing about, post Sac Press. I don't envision myself asking the hard quetsions of some important dignitary, manuevering my words around polite discourse to get the cold, hard, unforgiving truth. I think abount vanilla and his elton john. I think about what a dumbass i am and how cool that old lady was. I think about my friends and sister, and how much i want to see them later on, and hear about their jobs, what their/he's writing, and boyfriend anecdotes. I think about my friends in Santa Barbara and how much i miss them. Occasionally i think about writing, but its usually in prep for a blog.
I don't know how i feel about that, haha.