Wait, what's the point again?

The graduate semester at NYU ends in two weeks. Most of the people who entered journalism school with me are looking tired, unshaven, and ready for a bottle of whiskey right now. The level of disenchantment is most poignant with these soon-to-be graduates, who've dealt with more than a year of harassment as writers and reporters. The best however are the old-school reporters, the guys you run into at major cases such as the Diallo trial, totally falling asleep on the job, resigned to the fact that they gotta talk to the same old faces for 12 more hours or whenever the session ends that day, and then type up a variation of the same old story for their respective papers.

As for me, I feel out of gas. No, I feel like a dirty range that's been scrubbed, unclogged, and relit with the harshest of chemicals. For these next two weeks, I gotta pump out the final bit of heat, before I get the hell outta here.

J-school hasn't been that bad. Now that I'm in a joint program, I actually appreciate the lack of b.s. that emanated from my colleagues in journalism. My other discipline, which is more academic, really fuels the idea of PhD's pontificating and churning out the rhetorical b.s. Sometimes I wonder whether doing one degree wouldn't have been more satisfying. It certainly would have been less work.

Now as my journalism peers are getting job offers from Stuff online, I get to bask in the thought of another semester at NYU, paying out my ass, pontificating and churning out the b.s. with the best of 'em.

If I make it through these next 2 weeks successfully, I might find religion.

Pray for me baby.

K.L.C., 8:57PM, 12/4/00

statement of purpose and other links

Email: katlachatte25@hotmail.com