Do You Want More!?

Well, as expected, my new update after weeks of silence is not an incredible tapestry of gun violence, cocaine binges and Jewish princesses. It is instead a half-hearted, apologetic mish-mash of various barely-remembered quips and dull descriptions of what I did during my weekend. Here is the update in question:

I've spent the past two weeks exploring Borough Park a bit more. I realised that I actually have very little time for Hassidic Jews, and most extremists of any religion. Most people don't give a shit one way or the other about these men who walk around like gangly Pollyannas, with their sidelocks wafting in the breeze and their thoughts on what rules they must not break. Nor do they spare more than a cursory thought for their wives, who push wide prams containing twelve babies at a time and stare with suspicious anger at anyone who crosses their path. Only reform, secular or lapsed Jews are fascinated by these bizarre caricatures. They suddenly realise that the notion that all Jews have some abstract, metaphysical bond is pure horseshit, and either they feel contempt for these arch-religionists or they are filled with guilt and try desperately to become accepted as 'proper' Jews.

I am straddling both options at the moment. For every Hassid that scowls at me and refuses to treat me like a member of the human race, there is another kindly one who chats for ages and rekindles my faith in society. One such godsend was a stereotypical Ashkenazi tailor, with a long grey beard and little yarmulke teetering on his head. He was full of great quips as he fitted me out for my suit: "Oy, you look like a million dollars!...Green and wrinkly." He wanted to invite me to his family's house for dinner. Mr Zeiger, you are a true mensch.

Anyway, to entertain you guys who are bored at work and are tired of hearing my weekly column that really is starting to sound like Will Self writing for Home & Garden, here are some assignments from the journalism school. I had to research and write a profile on my friend Pete Holley, and he had to research and write one on me.

Enjoy!

PETE HOLLEY'S PROFILE ON ME (he unbelievably said my father was British!?!? And I want to work for the FT, not the Economist. But he did a pretty funny piece)

In many ways, Lionel Laurent had the idyllic British upbringing. He grew up in Knight’s Bridge, one of London’s most upscale and exclusive neighborhoods. He attended Westminster School, a highly competitive private school where London’s young upper class is groomed for spots at the country’s top universities. And he was promised by his father, a successful British businessman, any number of coveted job interviews upon graduation. Like many kids in his crowd, it would have been easy for the young Brit to remain satisfied, if not altogether complacent.

And yet, Laurent, 23, wanted more. He disliked his school’s antiquated customs and brash insularity. Questioning the way his quiet, upper class community sealed itself off from the rest of the city, he often found himself scouring distant neighborhoods in search of contrast, new friends or the latest undiscovered band. And over time he grew weary of the precarious predictability that he felt would accompany a life in business or law.

Although he would later find himself immersed in journalism, as a sullen teen trying to make sense of his posh surroundings, it was the transcendent intensity of music that initially captured his imagination.

“I was a huge Metallica fan,” Laurent said, adding that he never saw the heavy metal band as an outlet for the brooding or depressed. “Surely, at some deep level it is a catharsis for young sweaty boys.”

It was the first of many transient obsessions for Laurent, who could easily be called a drifter, but is more accurately defined by his restless curiosity and his desire for new experiences. That curiosity, coupled with an under-dog’s sense of self-deprecation, have created what is arguably the perfect template for a journalist: An inquisitive individual with a keen intellect and a wry sense of humility.

"His interests have always been pretty fluid," said Joe Lewin, a childhood friend who has remained close to Laurent over the years. "Generally being based on whoever he feels he is at that moment in time."

At this moment in time Laurent finds himself thousands of miles from home, embarking on his latest obsession: Journalism. For Laurent, who studied English at Oxford, followed by a Masters in History and International Relations at the London School of Economics, journalism is fundamentally an exercise in ideas and analysis. It's one reason, he says, that he revels in the idea of one day writing for The Economist.

"I think there should be more journalists who have one area of expertise," said Laurent, noting his disdain for American journalists who hop from one international conflict to the next. "I think the industry should move away from people like Tom Friedman."

MY PROFILE ON PETE HOLLEY

After picking up whatever news was left on the 450-year-old city streets of Annapolis, Maryland, Peter Holley left The Capitol newspaper’s headquarters just after midnight and made his way home. With the September rain seeping through his coat, he unlocked the front door and cursed inwardly when he saw his housemate, Amy, on the living room couch, cozying up to the latest in a long line of sexagenarian lovers. “She was unquestionably unattractive,” he later recalled. Muttering a brief ‘hello’, Peter trudged up the antiquated staircase and down the landing, catching the whiff of hay and excrement emanating from Amy’s bedroom, which housed six unruly rabbits and was rarely clean. He held his breath and entered his bedroom, collapsed on the bed and thought, “I can’t do this anymore.”

The year was 2005, and Peter Holley had been working close to four months for the Annapolis Capitol, covering the night shift from Tuesday to Saturday, 3 p.m. to midnight, every week. His beat was small town banality, the daily grind of fires, robberies and whatever else the local readership was told to care about. “I was disillusioned by the profession,” he said. His lack of a social life also contributed to his winter depression. He said that “the late nights were the worst, especially on Saturdays.” But now, the 23-year-old journalist looks back on that period as one of the most important in his young career. It marked the moment when he decided to apply to the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism.

Thousands of budding journalists and more experienced reporters make the decision to apply to journalism school every year, but this does nothing to stem the heated debate over its merits. For some, the cost of tuition alone is enough to settle the matter, as a one-year Master of Science course at Columbia’s J-School typically costs around $35,000. For others, it is the very principle of a journalism degree that is repellent, as it attempts to teach the principles of a profession that are usually learnt through hard graft and practical experience. Some critics have even suggested that journalism is a last resort for indecisive college graduates who simply don’t know what to do with their lives.

Peter Holley, however, knew exactly what he wanted to achieve at journalism school. “I felt like Columbia was the only way to reflect on my writing, improve and advance my career,” he said. Though he had become a journalist almost by accident, Peter had developed a passion for storytelling, something that The Capitol’s news pages were not ready for. His first article, written during his college days as a petty-cab driver trying to make ends meet, was inspired by his customers and their curious stories. “To me, journalism is an art form,” he said, adding that he liked “compelling” tales rather than hard news.

Peter’s father, Joe Holley, a 60-year-old journalist, remembered his son’s mixed feelings upon starting work at The Capitol. “Peter was apprehensive of getting into journalism,” he said. Though Peter was excited about the possibilities of covering the lives of real people, his father said that “he was afraid of getting caught up in the minutiae of small town journalism.” But Joe Holley knew better than to be worried about his son’s fears, as this was not the first time that a new situation had unnerved Peter. Whether starting a new school or encountering unfamiliar territory, Peter would always begin by stressing his inability to cope. “His mom and I have learned that it’s just a phase,” said his father.

After his first two weeks at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism, Peter admitted that he was having doubts as to whether he had made the right choice. For some reason, after that fateful night in September 2005 when he decided to apply to the school, his job at The Capitol had taken a turn for the better. After six months of the graveyard shift, he was promoted to City Reporter and started to cover local government. “Everything changed,” he said. He worked more reasonable hours, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and relished the challenge of the political beat. “I finally got a grasp of how to do basic stories,” he said.

Peter said that his articles were telling stories that “had meaning”. He threw himself into investigative journalism, exposing a landlord in town who was cheating his tenants by refusing to maintain their apartments. When immigration became a hot topic, he wrote a story on the immigrant workers of Annapolis, without whom the city would shut down. His most prized work is a profile he wrote in early 2006 about a crack-addicted prostitute named Beth, who ended up on ‘The Dr. Phil Show’ because of the article. “We still keep in touch,” said Peter.

Having fun was also a possibility for Peter after his promotion. He started a local kickball team for singles, which he described as “goofy” but relaxing. He also enjoyed an intimate relationship with Beth Piccarillo, the only one of his Capitol colleagues that he was able to confide in. But just as things were finally getting better, Peter had to leave in order to prepare for his year at journalism school. “When I left, the newspaper’s publisher committed suicide,” he said.

It remains to be seen whether Peter Holley’s experience at the Columbia Journalism School turns out to be more valuable than climbing the greasy pole of the Annapolis Capitol. He said yesterday that he was “feeling better” after his initial regrets. One of his new friends at the J-school, Roopa Gona, 26, said that “he sounds confused about what he wants to do.” She said she was surprised at how honest he was about his fears, and that Peter seemed to have opinions on everything and everyone. “But his heart’s in the right place,” she quickly added, with a smile.