An entry in which the author notes how much he despises some aspects of student journalism
Writing a newspaper article can be likened to giving birth to an incredibly obese baby through your eustachian tube. It begins with an idea that seems simple enough, an idea which, when an attempt to transform it from ethereal potential into concrete form is performed, should easily slide through the channels of creation and into reality.
Unfortunately, like the obese baby holding on for dear life to the sides of my inner ear, that is rarely the case.
There seem to be no Republican spokespeople left in the city of Philadelphia, as they have all fled to the boondocks for some random inaugural fiesta, and I am left dejected and missing half of my interviews.
I might have to turn this into another campus piece, and hope that is what my editor had in mind all along.
The problem stems from the fact that all of my stories have been assigned on Friday, and have been due on Monday, giving me one lonely afternoon to attempt to track down idiotic spokespeople who fail at doing the most simple job in the world.
Spokespeople should all be demoted to reapers, and the scythes I give to them would be oh-so-dull that they would reap all day and starve, therefore ensuring my happiness. I, as opposed to eating their disgusting uncut grass, would order out.
Now I need to find some politically interested students to interview, namely my roommate and Kristin.
Unfortunately, like the obese baby holding on for dear life to the sides of my inner ear, that is rarely the case.
There seem to be no Republican spokespeople left in the city of Philadelphia, as they have all fled to the boondocks for some random inaugural fiesta, and I am left dejected and missing half of my interviews.
I might have to turn this into another campus piece, and hope that is what my editor had in mind all along.
The problem stems from the fact that all of my stories have been assigned on Friday, and have been due on Monday, giving me one lonely afternoon to attempt to track down idiotic spokespeople who fail at doing the most simple job in the world.
Spokespeople should all be demoted to reapers, and the scythes I give to them would be oh-so-dull that they would reap all day and starve, therefore ensuring my happiness. I, as opposed to eating their disgusting uncut grass, would order out.
Now I need to find some politically interested students to interview, namely my roommate and Kristin.