"You should give out free illegal music downloads on your blog. Then everyone will love you." -Justin Bennett
Adventures in Journalism 150: A Slightly More Relevant Title
I’m really glad I don’t hate journalism.
Like, really glad.
I’m also pretty proud of the fact that I didn’t freak out when my Journalistic Writing and Editing professor brought us brownies as a peace offering the day we got our first graded grammar labs back. They were triple fudge. I had two.
I’ll admit that the day we got those labs back, I was a tad bit on the panicky side. (Let’s just say I was a little sweaty despite the Icelandic temperatures of the room I have that class in.) Professor Fallon wasted no time easing her way over to my chair, a thin slip of pure, white paper in her clutches.
My name was on the top of that paper, I thought to myself. My desperate scrawls of semicolons and excessive adjective insertion – there it was, live and in person.
I think she made eye contact with me the entire time, which I noted as some sort of superiority tactic. She suddenly broke out of the slow motion time-warp that I had seen the entire scene unfold in, and placed my paper face down on the table, which in my mind, was her silently telling me to pack up my hopes and dreams and drop out of the school of communication. Words were exchanged, there was a lot of nervous chuckling involved, and then she sashayed off, and I buckled down and tried to flip the paper over. The key word here being tried. I’m convinced someone pulled some sort of hoodoo magic on the thing, because all of a sudden it weighed thirty pounds and I became physically unable to turn it over.
What is this sorcery? Why don’t my hands work? I can no longer go on. This is the end. Tell my family the money’s in the attic.
It was then that I realized something (to make things more dramatic, we’ll call it an epiphany) -- it dawned on me that I could use this and actually learn from it (because the whole point of college is learning, right?) or I could cry into my triple fudge brownie. I chose the former and flipped it over. Hold the applause.
(I also find it necessary to mention that I got a C on the lab. Don’t worry, mom. I’ll still probably get my degree. My future as a wayfaring, purposeless, carpet-bagging vagabond has yet to begin.)
Ironically, my most demanding class is my favorite. I always have liked a good challenge.