Falling to certain death

Blog posts are coming few and far between, I’m afraid to say. It’s been two weeks since I last wrote, and every day I feel a little guilty that I’m letting my poor little blog sit growing dust while I gallivant off around the countryside, travelling between Wanganui and Tauranga and everywhere else under the sun.

Today I dropped 80 metres from a bridge above a canyon, all in the name of journalism.

That’s right, as part of my job, I was sent off to Gravity Canyon near Taihape to get strapped into a harness and do a bridge swing while our photographer took unflattering photos of my facial expressions. Needless to say, my throat hurts from all the screaming. He, of course, didn’t make a peep when it was his turn.

“You have to scream like a girl so that I don’t look like a wuss,” I said to him as he was getting strapped in.

“Bastard,” I muttered under my breath as I watched him fall and swing in total silence. The pictures afterwards only showed a look of mild concern on his face, nothing close to the almighty terror I was exhibiting.

Yeah, that terror.

 

A good night

Here we go. Time for a cliched New Year blog post about adventures and hardships and everything else under the sun. Or not. I’ve probably blogged more than enough about these things throughout the year.

What I will talk about, though, was my night.

Friends, this is the first year I’ve really properly celebrated New Year’s Eve. For 2012 I went camping with some mates, but I didn’t really get into the spirit of it. In fact, I think I might have gone to bed before 12, that’s how lame I am. This year I actually got into it, for the first time in my life.

I said to Sam earlier in the day: “Can you actually kiss me at midnight this year? We’ve been together for three years and we’ve never once done the midnight kiss.” He mumbled something about whether or not he’d still be on his feet at midnight but said he’d try. As it turned out, he particularly didn’t want to let me down, because it seemed like every time I turned around that night he was stuffing his face with bread, trying to sober up so he didn’t crash out and thus be unable to kiss me.

We spent New Year’s at a bach at Waihi Beach, with good ol’ Sacha, her boyfriend, and about 15 of their friends. I was a little nervous initially, considering there wasn’t going to be many people I knew, but after about an hour I started talking to more people and having more fun. I was already in a good mood because I’d had my very first pay day for my new job that day. I found it particularly poetic that I’d spent the entire year being dirt poor and borrowing money to afford my groceries, and on the last day of 2013 I was suddenly rolling in it. Life’s funny sometimes.

I don’t actually have too much to say about my New Year’s Eve, except just remembering a few of the fun parts. We went down onto the beach around midnight and I ran off towards the waves, only so I could splash around in the ankle deep water. I did that several times that night and each time I was chased down by a worried and somewhat intoxicated Sam who thought I might go too far out and drown. It was sweet.

We made some friends on the beach. I never really saw their faces except by the light of somebody’s cellphone, and I only remember talking to them for about ten minutes. I spent most of the time cuddling up to Sam and repetitively telling him I loved him, but that didn’t stop one of our new friends from trying to go in for the goodbye kiss when we left.

“No,” I said to this boy, pointing to Sam, who was completely oblivious. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh sorry,” he muttered, skulking off.

That was an interesting experience for me. People never try to kiss me. Well, Sam does, but he’s obligated to try, if only to keep me happy. Needless to say, I was the tiniest bit flattered. Not keen, in any way, shape, or form, but flattered nonetheless.

Today on the way home to Tauranga, a car ahead of us pulled over a little quickly. As we drove past, we saw someone stagger out of the passenger side of the car and projectile vomit on the side of the road.

I was amused.

The new girl

I’d like to think my first day at my new job was a success, considering I came into work today and discovered a story I’d written on the front page of the paper.

There’s a different feeling being the new reporter, as opposed to being the intern. I don’t know if it feels this way for everyone, but I feel far more at home. Maybe it’s because I have my very own desk, computer, and log in account, or maybe it’s just because the people I work with are patient, helpful, and absolutely lovely, but I think what it probably comes down to is my frame of mind.

I finally feel as though I deserve to be here. I got the job because I impressed them and worked hard throughout the year to get good experience and grades. It wasn’t a case of me walking up and asking to do experience, and them putting up with me while I pottered away on some story. I was actually wanted. That’s a really great feeling, and I’d say it’s a good part of the reason I feel so comfortable.

I’ve observed that notes seem to pop up magically in my workspace without me noticing. I was working away at my computer when I glanced to my left and noticed a note with a name, phone number, and instructions not to name the person in the story I was working on. I never saw anybody put the note there, so I can only assume it is witchcraft. Later in the day, I noticed a sticky note on the bottom of my monitor telling me a patient I’d been calling the hospital about had been discharged. Where did this information come from? One can only wonder.

If the random notes aren’t confusing enough, I somehow ended up with four phonebooks on my desk.

Today I found myself wondering if journalists develop a special ability to stop elderly people rambling during interviews. The woman I was speaking to was lovely, but boy, could she talk. When the photographer and I were finally ready to go, she would not let us leave before taking a fun-sized chocolate bar each. She then grabbed my arm, pulled me in closer, and said “You have a very pale face”.

It’s an interesting job, there’s no denying that.

Kitten of mass destruction

My flatmate is away until tomorrow morning, and my boyfriend went back to Tauranga yesterday, so I’m feeling a little bit lonely at the moment. Sure, I have the kitten, but I go through fazes of either loving him or hating him, and he doesn’t really provide any good conversation, so while he helps a little with the loneliness, he doesn’t banish it by any means. 

After watching an episode of Community in which they construct a gigantic blanket fort, I was inspired to build my own in an effort to ward off the boredom brought on by being all by myself. It also gave me something to do that didn’t involve lying in bed on my laptop.

The kitten, of course, as all kittens do, decided that his task of the day must be total destruction of my masterpiece, so a scarce two minutes after I had crawled into the finished product, the roof collapsed in on me.

I should have known better than to try.

Getting my schmooze on

I’ll just say this: yesterday I gave Patrick Gower, possibly New Zealand’s best political news reporters for 3 news, a ride to the pub in the back of my beat up old Toyota Sprinter with the broken doors. He took a photo from the back seat and tweeted it. I mentally performed a self-hi five.

Yesterday we had the Wintec Press Club, a cool little event that happens three times a year, where all us third year journalism students get to go have a free lunch with a whole bunch of people from the media. 

This time, the organiser and our editor in residence Steve Braunias has set up a little competition. Get as many business cards as you can (with points for whose business card it is) and the winner would get a prize. In true Braunias fashion, the prize was alcohol, which a lucky second year student managed to snatch up. Still, I’ve got some pretty cool contacts now, including the editor of the NZ herald, and numerous politicians.

I had a particularly awkward moment with the editor of the Waikato Times after I’d been chatting with him for a few minutes. He said he was off, and I sort of touched him on the shoulder while he went to shake my hand, and I went to shake his hand, while he sort of went in for the hug. So yeah, I ended up hugging the editor of the Waikato Times goodbye, but he’ll now probably remember me as that awkward hug girl. Making an impression.

After hitting the pub, (I didn’t want to drink so I was the sober driver of the night), we headed over to a karaoke bar with a reporter for the Waikato Times and ex Wintec student Jenna Lynch, and Sebastian Van der Zwan from Woman’s Day. We then discovered two things: the asian guy behind the counter at the karaoke bar could really sing, and the one other patron there was possibly crazy, and very into her karaoke.

That was definitely a day to remember.

The chase

Our pet cat is a bit different from others. I’ve just spent the last ten minutes playing a weird version of hide and seek with him, where I run down the hallway and hide in one of the rooms, and he comes shooting after me. Then I run into the lounge and crouch behind the couch, and moments later he dashes into the room, trying to find me.

I’ve never had a cat that actually chases me when I run and hide. He is truly peculiar. He doesn’t seem to get tired of this little game either, he loves it. Everywhere I hide, he comes running to find me. On the off chance he misjudges and starts looking for me in the wrong room, I hear a plaintive meow from somewhere in the house, and have to call his name so he knows where I am.

I tried catching some video of our little game on my phone, but as I have discovered, my film skills are shockingly poor.

I think Tonka is a dog, trapped in a cat’s body.

Things I don’t want to hear

Travelling to and from work on the train everyday has been an experience with ups and downs.

I enjoy the train. It’s really great being able to sit down and just chill and not worry about other traffic and parking spaces and petrol. Sure, I have a 20 minute walk from the train station to the newsroom, but that just gives me a chance to turn on my ipod and zone out for a bit.

One of the first days I was on the train, it came to a stop in the station, and I stood up to get off. I quickly realised, after glancing around, that not one single other person had gotten to their feet. It soon dawned on me that, while the train had come to a stop, it was not yet at the platform because there was another train in the way. I sheepishly sat down, and a woman smiled at me.

The train, though being conveniently regular and, as I mentioned, relatively relaxing, is sometimes delayed or cancelled. Bad weather, slips, oh, and earthquakes can all put a damper on your train riding experience.

Today I saw a girl on the train wearing a hat that had ears. I feeling of joy swelled up within me – I, too, owned a hat with ears. We were a kindred spirit.

When I got off the train this evening, I walked past a bald, bespectacled man doing something on his phone. As I went past, I saw that he was playing a game. I chuckled inwardly.

Of course, then there’s the awkward train experiences.

Yesterday, as I sat down at the station to wait, a man came and sat down on the seat next to me. A few minutes later, he was on the phone to somebody.

“I thought you’d be away because it’s school holidays,” he said.

‘Oh,’ I thought to myself, ‘he must be talking to his daughter or something’.

This assumption of mine immediately put the next five minutes of his conversation under a very suspicious light, when he started saying things like “well, are we going to meet face to face? I really think we should.”

I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, but he was sitting right there and by this point I was highly concerned that he was sexually grooming a child. Everything was put into perspective when he started talking about how they needed to work on their marriage, and my inward sigh of relief almost instantly turned into an awkward groan when I realised I was listening to a man trying to convince his estranged wife to meet and talk with him.

I felt really bad being privy to all that. It was at that point I remembered I had my ipod in my pocket. Huzzah.

Despite all this, I’m going to miss the train when I head back to Hamilton this weekend. Of course, I’m not going to miss the evening walk up a ridiculously steep hill from the train stop to my grandparents’ house. Not one little bit.

The best first day ever

Oh wow. Oh golly. First day of a week’s work experience at TV3 today. I think I may have hit the jackpot.

Here’s my day:

Woke up super duper early, thinking I’d beat the traffic into town. I was wrong. I was the wrongest that anybody has ever been in all of history. Wrong wrong wrong.

When I got to the TV3 studio, I had to wait around for about an hour because they had a special meeting. Found out as I waited at a coffee shop down the road that it was because they were going into receivership and being bought by another company. Not to worry, the chief of staff told me, it was a good thing. So that was a big deal.

When I was finally let in, the other chief of staff showed me around, I got a high five from David Farrier, who I’d met at the Wintec Press Club earlier in the year. At the time, he promised to high five me when he saw me. I was not disappointed.

I was thrown in the deep end a little bit, when the chief of staff (Karen) told me to call up the police and ask about an accident that had happened out near Helensville. I’d never actually called the police before to get information like that, so I was a bit nervous, but decided to put my confident face on and employ that age-old mantra: ‘fake it till you make it’. Moments later, she’d dialed for me and I was holding the phone talking to a cop who didn’t seem pleased to be hearing from me. I was informed later that they don’t like us very much. The funniest part about that was that they put me on hold for a moment, and the hold music playing in the background was “My Heart Will Go On”. For the police, it seems a bit odd, but who am I to judge?

Then I was off with a tall man in a suit and a less tall man in jeans. They were following the story about the Tongan police officer who’d been arrested and beaten to death in his cell by other cops. We zoomed around half of Auckland, and I sat by as they filmed their interviews, thinking about how I desperately needed to go to the bathroom, but thought it would be unprofessional to ask where it was.

We were out for a few hours, and eventually we came back to the office, and I was handed over to another journalist, to watch as he filmed his piece to camera and then see what it was like editing the news story. His name was Tony Field, and the best word that I can use to describe him is “jovial”. I don’t think there’s any better way to say it. He was a cheerful, friendly man, who seemed fairly easy-going and made me feel instantly at ease. It was good.

On the way into the garage with Tony, I passed John Campbell coming out, and shot him an excited glance and a wave. He smiled and waved back, looking at me with something that I’d like to think was akin to recognition, from the time when I’d met him a couple of years ago. That was probably just wishful thinking though.

When Tony and I eventually emerged from the editing room, I wandered over to Karen’s desk to ask her if there was anything she wanted me to do. Her response seemed a little stressed and snappy, and with good reason. The six o’clock news was just going to air, and we’d just found out there was a hostage situation at a bank in Auckland. BREAKING NEWS.

I sat down and tried to stay out of the way. They told me to try call businesses along that street and get anybody to describe what they could see. I got hold of one business that said the hostages were out of the building. I passed the information on, feeling like I contributed a little bit, even though they probably already had that information. I watched as the newsroom became loud and frenzied, with people on phones all over the place, yelling across the room to others, and swearing here and there. It was madness. And it felt amazing.

After all the drama had died down a bit, Karen turned to me. “Sorry about all that,” she said.

“I hope I wasn’t a nuisance, and didn’t get in the way,” I replied sheepishly.

“No! You were great!” She said. Probably just consoling me, but I felt warm and fuzzy anyway.

On Friday, I’m getting up before 3am to come in for Firstline at four. Adventures.

Blonde moments and stupid accidents

Yesterday when we were moving furniture to our new house, my flatmate got her finger jammed in the couch and, after screaming, swearing and crying for a bit, settled on laughing through the pain. I, somewhat awkwardly, didn’t know what to do with myself, so wandered off to carry on packing things into the car.

Today, we were unpacking things in our new house. I was in the kitchen, she was in her bedroom, down the hallway. As I unpacked cups and plates and put them away in the cupboard, I heard a noise from the end of the hall. I couldn’t quite tell what it was, because I’d been thumping around with boxes. I paused for a moment to listen, and from her bedroom I heard the faint sound of hysterical laughter, and knew that my flatmate had hurt herself once more.

The day didn’t end until we’d each been hurt several times. For me, most of the times I hurt myself involved banging my head on my car boot. For my flatmate, it was a variety of things. She even cut her finger trying to pick up a pile of blankets that I’d accidentally put down on some broken glass. Whoops.

We each had our blonde moments too. My flatmate spent about five minutes hunting for her car keys and starting to sound as if she were stressing about it, only to find them in the lock on her car boot. I found a big puddle on the laundry floor and tried to dry it with a bathmat, and then said that I didn’t have anything else to mop it up with, completely forgetting that right in front of my very eyes, there was an actual mop sitting in the laundry, just waiting to be used.

Moving is fun.

The game of kings

There’s this little game we used to play in primary school that was perhaps the most epic game of all time: Bullrush.

Bullrush involves having one or two people in the middle of the school field, and the rest of the class running from one end to the other and trying not to get tackled. If they get tackled, they join the kids in the middle and start trying to tackle the rest of the kids when they run back. The game ends when there’s only one person left that hasn’t yet been tackled.

I just read a news story this morning saying that a Christchurch principal is bringing Bullrush back to his school, since it was banned in the 1990’s. This is news to me, considering that I was playing it at my primary school in the early 2000’s.

Still, good on this guy. He believes NZ children are overprotected now when it comes to rough and tumble games like this. I’m inclined to agree with him. Sure, I sprained my wrist once playing it, and once I got dragged on my stomach halfway across the field after I tried to tackle a boy but just ended up latched onto his arm while he continued to run, but it never did any permanent damage, and it was ridiculously fun.

Those children at that primary school are lucky buggers.