Monday, September 17, 2007

I'm the boss.

This is going to be a blog about journalism. This is going to a blog about the pitfalls of j-school. This is going to be a blog that is dedicated to all the third-year students who have no idea what they are getting themselves into.

I still don't own a bike.

This means that every morning, the very moment I wake up, I'm faced with the first major decision of my day.

I can choose to sleep in an extra 20 minutes, spend a bonus 10 minutes getting ready, wear a nice dress and heels to school and pay $2.75 to take the streetcar to school (and another $2.75 to take the streetcar home). Or, I can stop hitting snooze a little earlier, rush to get ready, forgo the shower despite my greasy hair, slip into a pair of jeans that I've been wearing for the last three days straight, and spend 40 minutes walking to school (and 50 minutes walking home--because I'm never late to get home, so I don't have to walk quite as fast).

Lately I've been choosing the latter option. I'm poor and the 40 minute walk (which translates to walking roughly seven kilometers every day) has been a relief for my back, which is aching after spending six hours in lectures, two hours in groups meetings and impromptu meetings with my profs, and another two hours hunched in front of a computer finalizing the McClung's masthead.

It's nearly 9:00 p.m. and it's time for dinner; another brief break before I settle into an evening of doing research (again, hunched over my laptop) in preparation for the RRJ masthead meeting tomorrow, and struggling to get through another 100 pages of a novel for my English class.

Behold! The next eight months of my life!

(But the truth is, I walked home with a sense of satisfaction tonight. "I get shit done," I thought, having a mental interview with a fictional future employer. Not that I would ever use profanity in an interview, of course. But school has started, and I'm back into it full-swing. For the first time in the last five years of my post-secondary education, I truly feel like I'm giving it my all.)


  1. A friend of mine had a job with the Alberta Government and when she left they asked her to be on the hiring committe to find her replacement. It was her and two women in their mid-forties. In one of the interviews one of the applicants used the word "cunt." And then went on as if it didn't matter. She didn't get the job.

  2. In the last job interview I had, the topic of Michael Bolton came up in the course of conversation. I actually used the line from "Office Space" -- "Michael Bolton? I celebrate his entire catalog of music!"