I’m finally here. I’ve finally arrived in Manhattan. I’ve been looking forward to this since Dec. 8, at an unpleasant 8:30 a.m., when I got a call from an all-too-chipper-for-this-early Dr. Edward Trayes telling me that I would be interning at The New York Times.
But before letting me roam the streets of Manhattan, I had to live through the roughest (mentally, at least) week of my life. I spent one week at the Dow Jones News Fund editing residency at Temple University. On a good night, I got four hours of sleep. On a bad night, I got two. I learned more in this one week than I have during my three years in college. But I think the most important thing I learned is how much I don’t know, and how much more I have to learn. By the end of the week, nine other Dow Jones interns and I had learned the countries and capitals of the entire world, the heads of state, the U.S. governors, the entire AP Stylebook, the anatomy of a hybrid car, and that there really is no such thing as useless information. But despite having no energy and a coffee addict’s teeth, I am so happy that I had the opportunity to learn from Dr. Trayes. Although he’s one of the toughest teachers I’ve had, he’s also one of the most motivating.
But now, I’ve finally arrived at my corporate apartment in Manhattan. After one very long train ride awkwardly lugging around my oversized suitcases, I’m here. And one thing I’ve learned so far: The New York Times does everything big. Each of us three copy editing interns got our own, ritzy apartment in midtown. I’ve got two plasma-screen televisions and a huge, comfy bed. If only I could stay here all summer, instead of having to move into a sticky old dorm room.
On our first night here, we went to Artichoke, an amazing pizza joint our friend Josh, who interning at the Wall Street Journal, showed us in the East Village. We also went to Strand, a bookstore that stores 18 miles of books. I have found my heaven, and it’s only one subway ride away.
Speaking of subways, I really don’t see why I was so worried about figuring this whole public transportation thing out. It took me one day, and I think I’ve got it down. Pretty soon, I’ll be turning into a real New Yorker, scoffing at all those tacky tourists with their heads looking up at the skyscrapers, and listening to Miley Cyrus so loudly you can hear it from across the subway station.

For almost four months, I’ve been neglecting my blog more than a fact kid neglects his vegetables. But tis the season to make resolutions. So in the name of progress, I have resolved to be more faithful to my blog. I have been quite a fair-weather friend in this relationship, and it’s time to get committed. So I am hereby promising to blog at least once a week. (I’ve learned practical resolutions are the best ones.)

Sadly, there are only two events worthy of noting over the past four months:

1. I fell out of my bed. And broke my wrist. In two places. Oh, and I was in a cast for more than two months until my wrist looked like that of Mary Kate Olsen (circa 50 years old).

2. I (miraculously) landed a copy editing internship at the New York Times for next summer through the Dow Jones Newspaper Fund. The best part of all of this is I will be spending a summer in the big city with two of my best friends, Lauren and Corby. Although I hate the fact that the end of this semester marks the beginning of my long-dreaded senior year, I can’t wait to start the summer of my life.

Now, in true New Year’s fashion, it’s time for 8-minute abs. So long - or rather, not so long.

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” 

This advice has been drilled into most of our heads since we were just a lump in our mother’s belly. Apparently, Americans have a hard time following it. 

This past week’s pathetic parade of insolence began with Serena Williams’ shocking display of poor losership at the U.S. Open. During the match point against Kim Clijsters, a judge called a foot fault on her serve. What was Williams’s reaction? She approached the judge and said, among other profanities and threats, “I’m going to shove this ball down your fucking throat.” Williams was given a point penalty for her conduct violation, costing her the match. When I saw the footage, I thought of a child who just lost a game of patty cake - a very threatening and vulgar child.

The child-like outbursts continued during President Obama’s speech to the nation regarding health care. Rep. Joe Wilson, R-S.C., belted out “You lie!” when Obama denied claims that reformed health care would insure illegal immigrants. Perhaps one can predict an athlete such as Williams losing her cool, but for such an outburst to come from a man that represents an entire state is unacceptable.

Next up in the juvenile parade was Kanye West, a rapper who has a history of outbursts. At the Video Music Awards, Kanye interrupted Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech for the Best Female Video award to praise Beyonce for her “Single Ladies” video. Don’t get me wrong; I am not an avid fan of Taylor. She annoys the hell out of me. In fact, I think the outstanding choreography in “Single Ladies” blows the cliche, high-school-dork-wins-football-star “You Belong with Me” video out of the water. Nevertheless, Kanye’s interruption was out of line. This was Taylor’s first time accepting this award, and she’s only  19. Kanye’s interruption was a slap in the face for a girl who finally attained one of her dreams. What’s worse is Kanye’s justification. Yes, he apologized. But somehow, he managed to attribute his childish behavior to the death of his mother. Atleast be a man and admit you’re an asshole.

I hope we can all learn the from the infant-like behavior of our politicians, athletes and musicians. When pondering whether to argue about this or bicker about that, let’s just remember the advice of our esteemed, fictional news anchor Ron Burgundy: “You stay classy, San Diego.”

I’ve never been an I-bleed-red-white-and-blue kind of American. I’ve never worn a “God Bless America” shirt. I don’t look down on people who don’t repeat the pledge of allegiance. 

But I do think that everyone should take today to remember what happened to our great nation eight years ago. Anyone who already has his or her 12-year-old molars probably can remember the moment the planes struck the twin towers. I was tying my shoe. Pretty unsubstantial, but I remember vividly. 

I also remember the months following the attack and the unity our nation felt. Yes, some (many, rather) bad choices were made after Sept. 11. But that doesn’t change the fact that after losing nearly 3,000 Americans, we were one. 

Eight years later, we are a nation divided. Doctors are killed due to practicing abortion. Churches organize movements to make the nation think Islam is of the devil. Politicians argue and yell “liar” to the leader of our country mid-speech. 

Yes, we differ in our views of the world. But the lives of those who died eight years ago are far more important than our own trivial issues. If we can remember this, maybe we can find a way off the unfortunate road we’re heading down.

For the past month, I have been brooding endlessly over the future of journalism as well as my own. But this week, following a particularly depressing “Everything is movng online” lecture in my editing class, I got a much-needed confidence boost.

Following millions of dollars in budget cuts at the good ole’ University of Florida last year, students returned to campus to find that copies of The New York Times were nowhere to be found. Granted, copies are usually cleared out by 10 a.m., far before most students contemplate ending their slumber. But this time, not even the early birds could get their hands on one.

In response to university budget deficits and a rise in the Times’ subscription costs, Student Government nixed the $60,000-a-year program that brings the newspaper to UF students for free. 

The response by the Student Body was negative, the response in the minds of budding journalists like myself, however, was undeniably positive. Students protested the decision by speaking to student Senators and faculty. A Facebook group named “Save the New York Times at UF,” http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=122399294260, already has nearly 2,000 members.

On the facebook group page, students expressed their reaction to SG’s decision. Most students wrote that the online version of the newspaper did not compare to the print version. Even college students, often deemed the most tech-savvy and new-fashioned bunch, often prefer the “outdated” print journalism.

At a time when everyone and their mother is telling me that newspapers will be long gone within 5 years, students’ reactions proved that maybe print journalism isn’t on its death bed. Maybe, just maybe, other people really do realize the value of print journalism. College students are the future of this country. If they still enjoy picking up a newspaper and reading it over their morning bowl of Wheaties, maybe we really do have a chance.

I hate to come across as a Debbie Downer/Negative Nancy/whatever name you wish to call a pessimist on my first post, but here goes.

Today, I came to an utterly disturbing and unavoidable realization: print journalism is dying. Not maybe, not even eventually. It’s happening, and it’s happening now.

Yes, I had heard the “Print is Dead” argument countless times. But as much time I have spent searching my heart out for loopholes, the truth struck me hard as I was sitting in on an editorial board meeting at the Orlando Sentinel last week.

We were discussing recent budget cuts at the University of Central Florida. The controversial changes included the elimination of some health science and engineering programs. The entire board agreed that instead of nixing these profitable programs, they should be cutting those that have no future.

“Like journalism,” one said.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

I couldn’t tell you what we discussed for the remainder of the meeting. All I could think about what was left of my future. A perturbing image of a much older, much more worn version of myself living beneath an I-4 overpasses clouded my mind. I questioned my entire life plan — to move to New York after graduation and work at a successful magazine (not a fashion magazine, I’m not that cliche). The long-anticipated vision of myself as a successful journalist in a Manhattan apartment fizzled into dust.

There’s always the possibility of law school — something i had been considering long before I realized obtaining a degree in journalism was like investing your life savings in a cassette player — or switching over to the dark side, Public Relations.

But for now, I’m not surrendering. I don’t have the guts to throw away everything I have worked for. Instead, all I can do is brace myself for the future of media and build up my Internet experience. I won’t give up on journalism. In the words of the incredibly amusing “Drinking Out of Cups” guy, “Not once, not never.”