Journalistic Confessions: Part I

Summary: I think, I think, I think…

Word of the day: still

You can either choose that kind of water, or sparkling water. It's so fun. Today, I asked the waiter for sparkling; why would I want to be still?

What I learned today: Being a financial journalist in England -- although I’m about to complain about it -- has huge perks, such as the amazing food I had today at a press lunch on the effect of the credit crunch on credit derivatives.

Next time I go to London I will ... be the boss of my own newspaper and say “see ya” to people that went to school to study Australian history or something and want to then learn about the news business. (Oh I'm being a brat!)

Lukewarm Tip
I think something about journalism in England (or maybe just the English in general or maybe the city of London) is not sitting well with me and I think it built up and I think I’ve subtlety been taking it out on those around me. And I think I will feel better once I tell you.

Today I went to a swanky press briefing lunch and sat next to someone at a financial newspaper. She had distractingly thick eyeliner on and mentioned she had to go to a libel training session after that (which she had never had before). I, the young, sprightly, American journalist that I am, nicely mentioned how horrendous my communication law exam about libel had been. I could sense some British pride in her voice as she mentioned that in England they value experience over journalism schooling. And I mentioned that in America you could never get any sort of respectable job if you didn’t go to a top journalism school and also have internships under your belt (look at me! my Midwestern modesty finally dissolving!).

Then she told me how people just aren’t as careful in England. No one will even call about an error, unless it’s in The Times (translation: New York Times) or something … Ew! I miss American journalism, full of kids who memorized the Associated Press stylebook and slander court cases. *Sigh.* Here I always rolled my eyes at my journalism friends that were wannabe Woodwards and now I crave that sort of energy. American journalists and British journalists: both self-righteous, but the former so much more worthy of this trait. (Oh I'm being a brat again!)

So somehow this unvoiced knowledge of my American superiority/inferiority has been weighing on me. And I’ve been letting it out in slight acts of bitter rebellion. It made me kind of snippy to our surveys editor, who wanted me to send a bunch of e-mails to clients after I got back in the office. She thankfully realized how overwhelmed I was, and figured she’d do it herself. Actually, that worked out in my favor. I do have plenty to do and didn’t get a bachelor’s degree in sending e-mails, although it feels like I did some days.

And then my co-worker, who is really such an ally to me for the most part, playfully asked me if I was chatting with my boyfriend. I could’ve just said, no, I am actually e-mailing our boss. Instead I think I was almost a bit snooty, saying, “Um, no, I’m e-mailing [our boss] and I’m not like other people who work here, talking to my boyfriend all day.” Geez, what have I become? A monster? I mean, I was speaking the truth, the (lack of) work ethic of some people is really quite astounding. But now I set myself up! The next time I do talk to my boyfriend at work I will look like such a jerk!

Maybe I just got sick of making people feel good about themselves all of the time, especially when they are English and generally feel good about themselves anyway depending on what birth rank they were born into (wink). It’s tiring being Kind Ellie, who, while speaking my mind, still manages to make everyone feel great about themselves as if I am the host of one big constant party.

All it took was that London way of life -- the Oxbridge manner of ruling one of the most capitalistic cities on earth -- to bring the assertive me to the surface. And I don’t know if I like it yet. I don’t want to be irritated by the utter cluelessness of some other journalists heres; I would rather be surrounded by other cutthroat writers and reporters that I could be learning from, that make me feel like a small dot of inkblot who wants to be a novel.

But maybe I’m exaggerating. Sometime when I think I’m being assertive, it still comes across sweet as icing on a cupcake. Or maybe I’m underestimating. I could be becoming one of the shedevil journalists I’ve worked with in America with giant you-know-whats up their you-know-whats.

Well whatever that case, I’m glad I told you.

I am now reading: The Secret History by Donna Tartt -- a thrilling, modern-day Greek tragedy set in New England to make me feel even chillier.