a eulogy

I realized tonight, driving home from a movie, that in 33 days, I will be effectively giving up journalism. I've been telling myself ever since I applied for Teach for America that I could freelance, or at least contribute to journalism in some capacity beyond simply a reader (although with the state of newspapers, I'm sure they'd be grateful to know they have at least one avid fan.)

But as the send-off date gets closer, it's becoming very clear that my time for outside writing is going to be slim to none. Sure I have the summer, but I have to survive an intensive summer training, a more than full-time teaching position and a master's degree at one of the most demanding universities in the country. Time for even a journal, let alone conducting interviews and research, will be precious.

And that sucks.

As I sat watching State of Play with two journalism friends, I couldn't help but get a pang of longing for the messy newsroom, the rush of a deadline, the frantic scramble for a pen that hasn't run out of ink. The joke in The Whitworthian newsroom is that it's our addiction. If I walk into a coffee shop, I usually spend more time eavesdropping than I do on whatever I'm there for. When I hear friends at a party, I snap into investigation mode: is this a trend? How many other people would have similar sentiments? Is this something I should follow up on? It's what makes for a better story, but also for a cursed life.

While the movie raises so many questions of ethics it's hard to keep track, it ends with an almost 5-minute eulogy for the print newspaper, walking the audience through the printing process from front page plates to newsstand. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into my drug before the news is dead.

And on a random semi-related note, props to Ben Affleck for sticking up for the Boston Globe. Now we only need 5 million more rich people to follow suit.