Something Fishy

Only One More to Go ...

Ur Still Up?!?

"OUR LOVE MAKES IT POSSIBLE, CHAD!"

Nothing brings a family together like the holidays, except for maybe this.

"Would You Like to Write About Pork Belly Futures?"

Okay. It would be dishonest if I didn't owe up to similar delusions of grandeur. Maybe my dreams weren't as broad as the future floor plan for my Greenwich Village loft, but there's no denying what a privilege the New York Times would be.

But, to be fair, I had just finished high school under the false assumption that the next four years of my life would be a fairly predictable adjustment. Inspirational speeches were made, implying that if I shot for the moon, and failed, I would at least land among the stars. Whoever coined that aphorism deserves an 'A' for effort.

Unlike my Hello Kitty cohort though, I eventually learned that a communications degree alone couldn't unlatch a media empire's velvet rope for me.

"at least you'll float aimlessly through an unforgiving vacuum of death."

In a career defined by metaphors, reporters have oft been referred to as the foot-soldiers of the 'Fourth Estate;' waging a heroic battle from the trenches, and then surging forth to the front lines in the fight for truth. While all of that imagery makes a compelling pep talk for high schoolers, it's a cold comfort when you're already 30K in the hole, contemplating the plunge again for a Masters degree.

Unless you're Richard Engel, NBC News' Middle East correspondent - AKA My Newsroom Crush - and have survived the anarchic streets of Fallujah, Mogadishu, and Israel's West Bank, all while doing your job, then you're not a crusader in the slightest sense.

Pork belly futures probably won't transform you into a champion of the people, and you know what?

It's okay.