InkTank

Making the Most of Mistakes

One of the most important things I've learned so far as a journalism student here in Washington D.C. is that flexibility is not only good for your sanity, it can lead to a good story. Like how I went from covering a panel discussion on the Middle East to writing about an art studio for Russian orphans with disabilities.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the Rayburn House Office Building to cover one of the bazillions of panel discussions that have been taking place throughout this city over the past couple of months about the current religious and political climate in the Middle East. I figured the greatest challenge to my day would be hunting for that new and interesting quote from an expert that would lead to a good lede.

Unfortunately, when I googlemapped my route I didn't specify the address of the Rayburn building. My directions took me to Independence Avenue, the road the Rayburn building is on, but not all the way to the actual building.

So what I first thought would be a twenty minute walk, turned in to a forty-five minute walk. It's a good thing I left an hour early for the event.

After going through security I looked around at all the non-descript hallways and well-dressed serious people rushing around, and realized I had no clue where to go.

A tip for future reporters, it may be intimidating, but it doesn't hurt to ask people for help when signs fail you.

I finally arrived at the meeting room with two minutes to spare, and found the doors closed and locked. After ten minutes of searching in vain to see if the panel discussion had simply been moved, or been cancelled, a kind lady took a look at the information I had on the event.

Yes I was in the correct building, yes I had the right room number. I had even arrived on time.

Only problem was, the event was scheduled for March 2, and it was March 1.

Tip number two for future reporters: Read your information carefully.

"Well, at least I'm not late," I said to the lady trying to make the best of the situation. We had a good laugh.

I still felt embarrassed. 

And so as I walked back towards the main lobby, feeling very much like an inexperienced intern, I was faced with a choice. I could return early to my internship empty-handed or I could search for another story to cover. After all, I was in a building filled with plenty of interesting and influential people doing all sorts of important things.

An Unlikely Miracle

The longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve recognized the importance of coming to D.C. with an open mind. While in a program like Washington Journalism Center, going to different parts of town is inevitable. Saturday I experienced two very opposite parts of town in a matter of hours, and I learned things in places I didn't necessarily expect to.

Bus Day.

Around 10 a.m., a group of six of us from WJC and ASP left the Dellenback for Anacostia—one of the most impoverished areas of the city.  The intersection where we got off the bus was a bit desolate on the cloudy, chilly morning. Our first stop was a Bethel Christian Fellowship, a small church near our bus stop. The door was unlocked, so we walked inside. There was a group of African-American children near the stage, and scattered adults in the chairs. Everyone turned to look at us.

Free Breakfast!

This semester I’m interning at Market News International. One of the things I like most is its great location. It’s right by the Metro Center Station (with red, blue and orange lines) and has a great D6 bus route for rainy days like today (or days when I don’t feel like walking to Union Station—OK most days).

My office is in the National Press Club building. Which is nice because sometimes the event I’m covering for the day is just right up stairs. I save so much time in the commute.

But, what is also great is the free daily breakfast The National Press Club offers to members. And as student at WJC we have a semester membership! This is great for the daily free breakfast and a free (well free with soda purchase) taco night on Fridays.

Pride? Or a blessing?

Gold colored, automatic doors slid open as I walked into the front lobby and up to the receptionist's desk. "Interns are here to see you sir," she phoned to the national editor.

It wasn't long until the editor greeted Elizabeth Wong (a fellow WJC student and intern) and me to give us a tour of the newsroom we would soon be interning at. We walked through the newsroom, a huge collection of desks with computers and some with TVs tuned into the news (really what I had imagined in my mind of a newsroom). After a brief tour of the newsroom we made our way through several halls and corridors passing the cafeteria and meeting several reporters and editors.

 That first visit to The Washington Times was over a month ago and had me excited to begin my internship there. There was only one problem. I could not, for the life of me, remember how to get to the cafeteria. I remember it being down a certain hall after entering through several doors but couldn't remember how to get there.

Call it pride, stubbornness, or being too proud, but I simply refused to ask someone where the cafeteria was, least of all my editor who'd shown me that day. I couldn't do it . . . and haven't.

In the big White House beyond the iron gates

By Jenny Miner and Matt Boivin (WJC Spring '11)

It's obvious that the following blogpost was written by two people of the opposite gender, because one thought the headline should be something like “Beyond the Iron Gates” and the other thought a fitting title would be “Inside the Big White House.”

Anyway, the headlines may suggest different sentiments, but I think Matt Boivin and I had the same sense of awe when we both got to report on an event at the White House today. The following is an account of our experience. 

Jenny: It was approximately nine in the morningwhen I made my way toward the White House to attend a conference on Bullying Prevention on behalf of my publication. Though it was a rainy day and my umbrella was not doing much to keep me from getting wet, I was excited. I walked along Pennsylvania Ave. for a few minutes, trying to figure out where I was to enter, before finally asking a Secret Service agent. If you've never seen them before, they look quite intimidating and don't exactly look approachable.

I failed to mention that I was a part of the press, so the agent directed me to a security post directly opposite of where I needed to go. Luckily, I ran in to Matt, who figured out my error.

"Cause when you're a celebrity..."

I can't believe the way some people stalk me to talk to me about my folding bike. This week I was on my way to my internship walking down M Street in Georgetown grooving to some tunes on my iPod when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and look really hard at the woman looking intently at me, but I don't know her. I pulled my headphones out and she started asking a dozen questions about folding bikes. I listened and answered the questions as I locked Foldy up at Dean and Deluca where he waits for me while I do my journalism thing.

I thought that putting my keys in my backpack and starting to walk toward the Georgetowner, the paper where I intern, would signal to this lady that it was time for me to go and for her to stop asking questions about Foldy, but apparently she didn't understand the cue. Finally I told her I had to go to work and she said ok.

Later that day on the way back from my internship I was riding down the National Mall when I hear a guy behind me yelling "hey, hey, hey!" He starts running next to me and Foldy. I looked at him and he goes, "Is that one of those bikes that like gets smaller?" I told him it was a folding bike and he said, "Well would you stop and fold it so I can see it?" I was a little shocked. There I was riding down the Mall and some guy wants me to stop and fold my bike so he can see it. "Sorry I have somewhere I have to be," I told him. He thanked me and finally stopped running next to me.

Overcoming interview jitters

A little over a week ago I had my first face-to-face interview in D.C., and my nerves were a wreck.

This interview was much bigger than what I have done for my campus newspaper. It wasn't with one of the professors I pass every day in the hallways of my university or another Christian studies major praising the musical talent of Mumford & Sons. I was going to sit down with Ingrid Betancourt, a Colombian presidential candidate who spent six-and-a-half years captured by a guerrilla force in the Colombian jungle. She's a woman with a haunting yet amazing story.

Of course, Murphy's Law, that morning in my office was hectic and time-crunched. I had more things to do that day than I had yet to encounter and less time to accomplish them. I also had not eaten breakfast and there was no time for lunch!

Good directions

I've been in DC for only one month, but suddenly I must look like an expert. On my way to and from my internship I got asked fourtimes how to get places. I counted myself as lucky since I was aquainted with the places I was asked about.

I was in Union Station heading up the escalator to the Circulator bus when I woman asked me how to get to E street. "What?" I asked halfway up the escalator and with her standing on the floor calling up to me. I wasn't the only person in the station why she was chosing to ask me at that moment was beyond me. I started walking down the up escalator to give the woman directions. "Here let me ride up with you," she said and suddenly some strange woman was riding the escalator up with me while I waved my hands around pointing and directing the woman. When we got to the top of the stairs though I realized all my crazy arm waving was for naught because she still didn't even know how to get out of the building. To say the least I was disapointed.

On the bus three women laughed jovially and talked about how glad they were to be in DC. Then one of them spoke up and said, "Did any of you pay attention to that map we looked before we got on this bus to see what stop to get off at to go to Georgetown?" None of them had and thenhad terrified looks on their faces.  I asked where they were trying go in Georgetown to which they answered they just wanted to shop. "Just follow me then I am getting off in Georgetown." The women were extremely grateful but I realized ten minutes later when I got off the bus the ladies weren't following me. I called to them, "Hey this is Georgetown" to which they jumped up startled and said, "We just got so into talking we forgot we had to get off the bus to get to Georgetown." I smiled and directed them to some good shopping places. I felt like I'd failed once again.

Fighting Over the News

Tony Danza becomes a tenth grade English teacher, Lady Gaga goes political and Steven Colbert is a main reason people tuned into the recent immigration hearing.

I read an article the other day titled The World’s Most Influential 16-year-old Bloggers. One of these ‘kids’ made $5, 000 in the first month of launching his blog.

Now I don’t know about everyone else but I feel semi-defeated.

I didn’t spend four years day-dreaming through math classes about becoming a journalist so that I could compete with celebrities and 16-year-olds with a smart phone.  

What is going on?

More importantly what can we do to revert the attention to the actual news media? There is such an availability of mediums and information that I’m beginning to wonder what being a journalist is going to mean when I graduate. I also feel like I have no right to complain because I still have a fighting chance. There are people in news rooms who have spent their post-grad lives making a name for themselves and now have to compete with me; a kid with less experience but a better understanding of converged media.

Fighting DC's elite just to cross the street

I trekked 2.6 miles to work this morning. First day of interning as part of the Washington Journalism Center's program! Let me just say that mothers certainly do know best and I'm glad I yielded to my mom's advice of wearing my Nike Pegasus sneaks to work instead of my adorable black, patent leather heels.

I left home at 8:35 with one of my roommates and we split up at Union Station, just under a mile from our apartment. I set out with my iPod, listening to my Hip Hop/Rap playlist. Now let me just say that although I was paying attention while crossing intersections, these roads in D.C. are a major hazard to pedestrians! There are 6 different paths of traffic going in all different directions. You have the perpendicular number and letter roads that have a state road running through diagonally. Needless to say it's an agonizing task to get up, run out the door without your coffee and then attempt to dodge taxis and raging bicyclists who think they rule the roads.