summer could have been more restful

What can you expect from a summer internship? After working for the past nine weeks, I'd say a either lot or a little, depending on how you look at it.

For me, it's been a tedious tenure at Washington Post Digital — editing photos, writing photo captions, and attempting construct massive databases that, frankly, I doubt will be implemented. In short, the work wasn't too rewarding. And all for no pay; my validation is a inconspicuous byline that even I overlook most of the time. Such is the life of an intern, and after a particularly trying day, after a particularly trying week, it's easy to feel taken advantage of.

On the other hand, maybe things aren't that bad. After all, internships are always temporary, and when I think back on how I could have spent my summer, to live and work in Washington D.C. definitely trumps the alternatives. I can't say I've learned much from a technical or journalistic outlook; the things I've picked up fall more under the "real-world-experience" category, re: full-time job, managing bosses, taking care of myself (i.e. not partying until 3 a.m. the night before work ... again ... ). The program I took here, The Washington Center, provided a lot of cool events and experiences, so I don't regret my time here. Things have just been too hectic.

What I find most frustrating in every internship has nothing to do with the internship itself, but rather the pairing of a work and school schedule. The two never overlap cohesively, and neither boss nor professor seems to understand (or care) I have more going on with my life. Especially while I'm sitting at work, I'm always thinking of school work that needs doing, and vice versa. Its a classic scenario of work during the day, school at night and sleep in between — though never enough.

If this is supposed to build character and ambition, I expect to be supernaturally motivated and interesting when I graduate. Right now, I'm just tired.

an intern is an intern

I just finished my second day with The Washington Post. It's a lot of getting accustomed to new systems, content management and coworkers. But, I got my first pseudo-byline today! (click on the credits button in the lower-left side; yeah text editor!)

Working at The Post has already been a lot different from The Arizona Republic, my last internship. The general newsroom attitude remains the same — relaxed, friendly but fast-paced and demanding — but The Post feels much bigger and a bit less personal. I can tell it's going to be a battle to stand out and get the opportunities I want from this internship, but I'm willing to sacrifice (I'm already sacrificing my summer at a no-pay internship). What it comes down to is the recognition that, while the name looks impressive on a resume, The Post will prove a more challenging place to find work. And as an intern, I WANT to work — work enough to get noticed, work enough to accomplish something, work enough to further my skills.

I'm optimistic, and with 10 weeks to prove myself, I feel like I have time. It's just going to be a whole lot of paper-pushing.

cock fights and cop fights

Breaking news continues throw exciting days my way.

I hadn't been at work for more than 30 minutes this afternoon before reports came in from the Arizona Humane Society of a major cock-fighting bust. My editor dispatched me to South Phoenix to grab the story.

I rarely venture into South Phoenix, and today served as a good reminder why -- it's crazy down there. I arrived at the cock-fighting house and took all the information available form the PIO officer. Three men detained by a group of police sat in the house's backyard, pestered by the continual barking of a nearby dog. I called back the information to the newsroom and stood in the shade of a Humane Society truck, out of the heat, to wait. The PIO, a very amiable guy, told me Humane Society officals were busy euthanizing the mistreated animals and an interview wouldn't be available for a while. Poor animals; some people are just sick.

I was begining to relax in the 80-degree, winter day when two officers sprinted past me. They tore down the street to their police car and gunned it past me, into the neighborhood. At the time, I was relaying more information back to the newsroom and my partner even commented on the rawrrrrrr of the car's engine. That was the first sign.

Soon after, I spotted a police helicopter making tight circles not more than two blocks to the south -- definitely odd. The PIO then drove off without talking to me. I desided to follow him since nothing was happening and sighted flashing lights in the distance.

Police swarmed the area. Residents stood outside, watching me suspiciously. No one knew quite what was going on, but it had something to do with South Mountain High School. Students loitered everywhere and it took a long time to locate the PIO on scene, the same guy from earlier.

He recognized me and waved me over, miles more friendly than his other police co-workers. The scene was still chaotic, but he filled me in: a group of seven to 12 students had assaulted a police officer after he tried to break up a confrontation.

While police tried to control the scene -- and the growning group of media reporter assembling for the story -- residents heckled the officers. They accused police of arresting their friends and family without charge, making an exaggerated show of it. It was a bad situation and I tried to stay out of the middle while still listening in.

I reported back frequently with the newsroom, gathering quotes and information. Luck had favored me by placing the two most imporant stories of the night so close together. Things settled down after about an hour and I headed back.

Crossing the Salt River into South Phoenix, you get the sense of being in another place entirely. The neighborhoods is run-down -- unpainted stucco, "bank owned" signs in broken windows, a "capture cam" guarding the entry to a housing development. That espoused with what I witnessed today doesn't make a good impression. I'm just lucky all of this happened during the afternoon, not at night.

a passion for tragedy

I should probably post the stories I did Friday before it gets too late. In the fast-paced world of breaking news, there's just never enough time for self-promotion. It was a polarized day: a dead body and a charity fund raiser.

I can't get over the excitement of this new internship. I'm working eight-hour shifts—plus school—and need to get up unearthly early, but I'm having a blast. The adrenaline high gets me through, particularly when my pager goes off and displays something to the tune of "MaricopaFD—Body found. Now CONFRIMRED dead. PD and FD to en route."

Friday was the first time I was dispatched to the scene. As soon as the call came in for the body, my editor, Aric, turned to me and said "you'd better get rolling." I hurried downstairs and just as I was getting into my truck, a call came in for an aircraft crash in Flagstaff.

I called Aric:
"Hey Aric. What was that?"
"We don't know yet. Just keep going to the body scene and I'll get Drew to work on whatever this is."
"Okay, I'll call you when I get there."
"Right, just see if anyone's talking yet and DON'T cross the police tape, remember?"
"Ha, right. I'll look for details and neighbors, then call you back."
"Okay; get going."

Exciting.

After a few hours, you start to get a sense of how many bad things happen in a city the size of Phoenix—fires, shootings, drowings, murder, plane crashes, etc. It seems a bit cold, but I really do find myself wishing bad things will happen, just to get the thrill of covering an epic story. I don't want people hurt, but the urgency is addictive.

Regardless, I don't cause these things; I make them into stories. It may seem callous to probe tragedy for information, but I think my job has the potential to give meaning to seemingly horrible events. By understanding and reporting on these events, I can turn them from a bad day into a day to be remembered. It's my job.