I guess it’s about time I contribute to this blog, especially as my first summer internship is coming to a close.

I’ve spent my summer working at the Home News, seven different community newspapers in the Las Vegas area. When I first got the job, I was petrified. The recruiter told me I would hopefully get three bylines by the end of the summer. 

Thankfully, that’s been anything but the case. The first week or so, I wrote a couple stories, but my days were mostly filled of the dreaded intern-tasks: briefs, obits, more briefs, births, more obits, filing, changing ink, archives and even coffee, once. 

I quickly learned that the faster I got through the intern-tasks, the more stories they gave me. The mind-numbing work made me realize how much I love to report and write. I take every story I can get my hands on. 

I’ve written a lot of great features that include things like a woman who turned 103 years old, kids with cancer, churches, children in foster care, exceptional volunteers, competitive eating couple ranked top ten in the world and the list goes on. I’ve also written some news stories about various community happenings.

I’d post links, but the Home News doesn’t have a Web site. (I know, they’re working on it.) 

It’s been a change working for such a local paper, but I’ve come to appreciate it. The readers are dedicated and more interactive than I expected. People call to talk about stories I write and I even received a thank-you note in the mail.  

All in all, I’ve received some great feedback from the editors, which gives me hope for my future goals. I’m constantly worried if I’ll be able to make it in this field and this internship has given me more confidence.

So far, I’m enjoying the opportunity to do what I love most while working along side and learning from some professionals.     

They’re bound to happen in this field and for me, that day was last Sunday.

It all began Friday afternoon, when a senior editor asked me to come into his office and told me I was doing a good job. That conversation ended with me agreeing to watch the government gather wild horses out in the middle of the desert on a Sunday. I’d be going out with Clay, the photo intern, come back to do a daily story, and then spend some time the next week working on a bigger enterprise story with Frank Mullen, a senior reporter here at the RGJ.

I hung out with Frank to get the background on the story while he smoked a cigarette, and then I tracked down Clay to tell him to meet me at the office at 5:30 a.m. so we can drive out to a place about 100 miles outside of Reno. I’m also told that The New York Times, the USA Today and NPR are going to be there, because it’s turned into a national story.

Cut to Sunday. I ignored my alarm clock, and finally opened my eyes around 5:20 a.m. I freaked out for about a minute, then hopped out of bed, quickly got dressed and proceeded to break a billion traffic laws to get to the office.

I found Clay calmly sitting at his computer, waiting for me. We nominated his car for the drive out because it gets better gas mileage, and then drove away into the sunrise, eating blueberry Poptarts for breakfast.

The drive seemed endless. We stopped for Wadsworth for five minutes, where I bought coffee, and then continued on through Nixon and past Pyramid Lake (though we didn’t notice it the first time), a Snoopy Rock and several small animals (I thought they were emus, but he thinks they were rabbits).

Two hours and lots of empty road later, we finally find where we’re supposed to meet everyone. Everyone meaning several of the Bureau of Land Management’s communications department, reporters from The New York Times and NPR, a photographer from the Nevada Appeal/Associated Press and a few people from the local TV stations. The USA Today didn’t show up after all.

To get to the site where they would catch the horses, we had to go offroading in our cars (cars that were made for city roads). Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve driven through the desert in a Ford Taurus.

Eventually, we made it to the corral, which really was in the middle of nowhere. You were surrounded by dirt, mountains and brush, and besides the noise we were making, you couldn’t hear anything.

As part of a precaution, the journalists were herded into a horse trailer. That lasted all of five minutes when we all decided that sitting in a horse trailer wouldn’t give anyone a decent shot, and wandered outside.

It was a long wait. I had time to wander around, check out the cowboys, learn about Judas horses and talk about porn stars with The NY Times reporter and AP/Nevada Appeal photog (no joke) before there was even a hint that the horses were coming. But once we got the mile warning, we all went into our designated spots to watch them run in.

They looked like tiny dots coming towards us at first, followed by a big orb. The closer they got, the better you could make out shapes - four adult horses and one colt, sprinting forward as a helicopter followed close by. The Judas horse - a horse trained by humans to lead the wild horses into the corral - was let out, and he joined the tiny herd. But as they entered the gate, one broke away, running the other direction as if it knew what would happen. She stood about a mile away later, looking on into the coral and probably wondering why no one had followed her.

They banged against the gates at first, though they didn’t make any other noises besides that. I can’t help but wonder what could have been going on in their minds. Imagine you’d been free to run your entire life, and then you suddenly were stuck in a small space and there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do about it.

Once they’d calmed down a bit, we were allowed to go outside and observe them from a closer distance.
They were beautiful - one dark brown stallion, two bay mares and one dark brown colt. They weren’t groomed like domesticated horses, but there was something so powerful, so natural about them.

And so the morning went, much like that. The cowboys ended up only catching one other small herd, another four horses. They eventually stopped around noon because the sun was begin to beat down on us. It’d reached the point where all I could think was how smart cowboys were for owning their hats.

We traveled back to where our cars were parked, and soon after, were on our way back towards Reno. We (Clay, the AP photographer and myself) invited the NPR people to lunch with us in Fernley, but they ended up heading out for an interview. So onto Fernley we went, where we talked about why we were in journalism, risk-taking, etc.

Another hour later, and I was sitting at my desk in the office, probably smelling absolutely awful and writing away to get the next day’s CP done. As I finished the story, I glanced at the clock and realized I’d been working for 12 hours straight.

It’s true, all I wanted to do at that point was shower and then go to sleep. But as I lied in bed later that night, I realized that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. These sort of experiences make you realize just how small you really are compared to the rest of the world. They expose you to nature, to something you weren’t really aware of before. At least, that’s what it did for me.

So bring on those 12-hour days. Even if you have to live off of coffee and energy drinks and Poptarts, even if you have to get up while the sun’s rising, even if you spend hours and hours driving…they create the kinds of memories that you know you’ll recount to someone a lot younger than you someday, and make you laugh and go, “Man, I can’t believe that I saw that. Wow.”

Hello all,

This is Ricardo, former assistant design editor at The Sagebrush—the best assistant design editor ever (arguably).

This summer I’ve been interning at The News Journal, alongside my future boss Nick Coltrain, next year’s editor-in-chief. We’ve both been working for the Metro section with desks right next to each other! Talk about Nevada pride.

Anyway, this internship has been grueling for so many different reasons. Some days I have so many things to do: stories to write, people to call and interview, events to cover, research, returning calls, and making deadline. Some days I have absolutely nothing to do—albeit, those days are less frequent. On those days all I want to do is crawl into bed and cry and change careers.

I question whether I really want to be a journalist, and it doesn’t take long for me to find my answer. There are very few people who can really say they garner satisfaction from their job. I’m lucky enough to be one of those. The positive feedback I’ve gotten on several of my stories is the reason I plan to stay in this business.

Let me explain: The world as we know it is fucked—excuse my language, but I’m trying to make a point. We’re facing problems with global warming, skyrocketing oil, food and living costs. People are foreclosing on their mortgages, etc. Sometimes I have to stop myself from reading headlines because I like to stay positive. That said, the stories I’ve written on regular people in this community working to make a difference in someone else’s life are truly inspiring. One woman decided to organize an event to have people donate their hair to make wigs for cancer patients. An equestrian center has begun offering therapeutic riding for disabled war veterans living in the VA nursing home. These are little things that would otherwise go unnoticed, but by writing a story about it and bringing some attention to their causes, people phone in and make contributions.

Frankly, I wish I could do what these people do, and be just as selfless and devoted to a cause, but I’m devoted to the First Amendment and writing. Being a journalist is simply helping out in my own way and still pursuing my interests.

With less than a month left here in Delaware, I’m really beginning to feel some pressure. I’ve written some good stuff, averaging five stories a week, but I need something meaty.

I need a project, and I think I’m on to something. Coverage of gay issues here in Delaware have been skimpy, and I’m hoping to churn out a really good project involving couples who have gone to California to get married, the criminal penalties they could face for entering a prohibited marriage outside the state, and other civil rights issues The First State is behind on.

So who did I contact to get some information? Why the ACLU of Delaware, of course!

The executive director of the chapter here knows a couple that is planning to get married in California, but she has to ask if they would be ok with being featured in the story. I’m crossing my fingers and hoping they say yes because if that falls through, I’m going to have to find something else.

Wish me luck.

WALL-E has got to be the best movie ever! At least this year. I loved it and I want to see it again. I hear Hancock was crappy though so I’m hestitant to spend the money.

In the last week, I’ve done a lot of random things, like visited Wyandotte Caves:

Played on a playground with Kyle and Ana, two people I interned with in Louisville last year:

And had lunch with my old mentor from Louisville.

I worked on some pages for the naked issue but those haven’t been published yet, don’t worry there’s asses and I’ll show y’all.

Fourth of july was interesting. Parking garage roof fireworks:

And hang out with the Pulliams:

Tomorrow I start the late shift - 5pm - 1:30am - for three works working on Metro/State and A1 design. Hopefully I’ll get good stories and have some stuff to post.

I also finished work on The Nevada Sagebrush forums which I’m extremely excited about. The forums will allow me to do my job as Public Editor without a lot of trouble. I can give students moderator abilities for specific forums so they can be in charge of Movies or their own club forums if they want. There’s a ton of beta add ons I can install to make the forums better but right now I think they’re pretty solid.

Alas, I will begin reading Atlas Shrugged today after 5 years of mentally preparing for the task of diving into Ayn Rand’s best and most epic book (So I hear). It’s more than 1000 pages of pure selfishness.

While on assignment a bit ago, I had a repeat-epiphany as to why this job is awesome. I spent the lunch hour listening to live jazz and talking to some really cool Delawareans about it.

I then wrote it up and got paid for it (Take THAT engineering majors) and all without losing my lunch break.

Later that week, another intern was sent out to cover the same event. And he rapped it (watch the video on the right side). How many other jobs let you pull that kind of crap?

Of course, there’s all the other reason’s being a journalist is awesome but I’m not sure if I could put into words non-journalists could understand. I’m not trying to be condescending, just inarticulate.

And here’s a couple of details for the “So that’s Delaware” file: they actually have “We sell it on eBay!” stores here. So it wasn’t just a cheap “40-year-old Virgin” gag.

And ever notice the state slogans on signs when you enter a new state? Like Maryland’s “Please enjoy the Chesapeake Bay!” sign. Except our nations great first state’s “now entering” slogan is “Home of tax-free shopping!” Delaware rocks.

While most newspapers are just digging their graves few others are innovating and adapting. But that’s a small percentage. At the Indianapolis Star, they have amazing marketing statistics coming from their multiple print products and web products. They have an innovation and development team of 12 people in charge of inventing platforms for journalism while most newspapers don’t have I&D let alone in such large numbers.

And because I was at the right place at the right time, I get to be a part of all of this if not just watch. They’re thinking about doing a completely customizable and immersive social-networking news web site. It’s what I had imagined a few months ago and what I want to bring to The Nevada Sagebrush. But because I don’t have the technical skills, I’m doing my best to put myself in a position to learn how to make or at least jury rig our site into doing that next semester.

I can’t really give any more detail but just think “perfect” and “adapting” and you’ll get the picture.

Indiana loves beer almost as much as Renoites or at least they think they do. I just finished designing a beer issue for the Indianapolis Star’s weekly magazine Indy.com (also related to the site Indy.com - punny). The three images above are the pages I designed while art director Jon Boho covered the rest (he’s one of my inspirations, he’s on my screensaver!). You can find all the beer stories on the homepage but since I’m posting this pre-publishing date, I can’t find any links.

It’s a pretty interesting collection of stories, I especially like the beer pairings one because it tells you how to be pretentious with beer. This prompted me to research my favorite beer brand Samuel Smith, which informs me that I have the best taste in beer ever. My favorite drink Taddy Porter (so far, I’ve only had two out of nine brews and the third is still in my fridge) suggests:

[Drink with] Oysters on the half shell, Rockefeller or Cajun style, clams, mussels, crab cocktail, lobster bisque and other shellfish, smoked mackerel pâté, veal with green peppercorns, porterhouse steak and of course chocolate. Serve at 55 degrees in nonik or tumbler.

The Imperial Stout, aside from having an interesting history with the Russian Czar, in my fridge is apparently best served with New York Cheesecake in a brandy snifter. I don’t even have a brandy snifter but to drink beer that snobby, it’s totally worth getting a set. In any case, I haven’t yet found a place that serves these types of beers let alone anything near it. Although, Payless Liquor has some of them. All they have out here is wheat beer - which I enjoy - but I’m on a dark phase right now so I don’t care for ales.

But, I did find one called Bad Elmers Porter that was Ice Tea flavored (what the hell Midwest, what the hell?) and it didn’t suck for two bottles and a drunken walk home. I also think I yelled at my girlfriend around midnight when she called and woke me up. So maybe Bad Elmer isn’t so bad.

But next week when I finally get paid, I’m going to visit an area called Broad Ripple, which is the trendy, indy, emo, cool, young, old part of town with a bunch of taverns and college stuff (it’s on College Avenue, they’re really into the puns here). I’ll make sure I post more crap about beer then.

Meanwhile, remember that everytime you drink beer from a bottle or pour it sideways into a cup, a brewmaster dies.

Side thought: If journalism doesn’t work out, I think I’m going to start making my own beer…I may even sell it for a living.

The sky in the midwest is definitely different than the west, evident by this sunset. Here the humidity is so high, the sky can change from blood red to purple to orange in a matter of seconds during sunrise and sunset, giving my seventh-story apartment in Indianapolis an added feature.

Speaking of other added features, aside from not having air conditioning for the first week, there’s a pool on the roof of my 20-story apartment carefully balancing the tradeoff between slow maintenance, uncaring landlords and nice cold water with an awesome view. Of course, if the midwest had anything other than trees, the view might be more interesting.

But I’m not here to complain, I’m here to compare and contrast. If any of you have heard about the flooding out here, you know it’s been a trying week for many. Luckily the city has not endured any flooding at all but the outlying cities in Indiana, Wisconsin, Illinois and Misourri are not dealing well with their seasonal monsoons. I can safely say I’ve seen more rain and heard more heart-stopping thunder in the last two weeks than in the last 10 years in Nevada.

Of course, they think 100 degrees is hot. They also think where I live is a “bad neighborhood” but they clearly have never visited Fremont street in Las Vegas or those seedy motels on Virginia Street. A few black people is enough to send people running for a Starbucks - which is actually considered an effort to “rejuvinate the area.” No joke.

But what really culture shocks me - and I’ve lived in the midwest plenty of times in Kentucky which is not the south and so help me I’ll hit the next Nevadan who thinks so - is the ratio of churches to bars. You can’t find a decent porter out here without first driving passed about ten churches. At least things don’t close at 8pm or 11pm like in Louisville but the bars are simply fewer and farther. And I need my porters.

Hi, my name is Michael Higdon, you may remember me from such pages as the Chuck Norris page (07) or the sperm and egg cover this year. I am the former design editor of The Nevada Sagebrush.

Right now I’m in Indianapolis enjoying my Pulliam Fellowship at the Indianapolis Star, a superb and innovative paper deeply involved in community enriching journalism that I’m sure to blather on about for the rest of the summer and hope to bring to you this following school year.

Driving out from Nevada with my wonderful girlfriend proved a challenging endeavour. With mormons in Utah, nothing in Wyoming and a death cloud laying hail and tornadoes throughout our path,in Nebraska, I’m surprised we came out of it alive. In fact, I’d say Nebraska must be the worst state in the union. Not only does it stink like cow manure, the “death cloud” hail shoved my car backward into the ditch on the side of the road. Luckily I’m an expert at controlling a crash - think Launchpad from “Ducktales” - otherwise, I might have rolled my truck or worse, flown into oncoming traffic.

Though I must say I stupidly didn’t slow down and hide under a bridge like everyone else I passed a mile back. But hey, I’m from Nevada, hail can suck it. In any case, after a brief stop in Chicago, I finally made it to Indianapolis only to find most of my food had turned moldy or oddly blended with their cardboard containers. And somehow my suit bag ripped open and I lost a tie.

Morale of the story…Nebraska and California should meet and become better friends with the ocean.

It’s a slow news day, so I’ve decided to oblige to the head honcho’s request and fill you in on my summer.

Jessica Estepa here, reporting from the insides of the Reno Gazette-Journal newsroom.
Yup, that’s right. Unlike some of my fellow Sagebrushers, I’ll be in town, hanging out and reporting this summer.

What that means for me: I’m working for a daily, I’m paying $50 a week to fill up my tank in my tiny car and I get to visit random places that I didn’t know exist until I located them on Google Maps (which is God, in case you ever wondered. Trust me).

What that means for you: random thoughts on what I think about how news coverage in the Reno-Sparks-Tahoe are and ramblings about the future of journalism technology-wise.

I’m the only news intern (sports has two and photo and copy each have one), so I get passed between the news and neighborhoods desks and do whatever they tell me to do.

So far, my three weeks in this newsroom have brought me to a John McCain and a summer science program where they built robots out of cardboard. I’ve been reporting at Starbucks and the mall, and I met Geraldine Ferraro and an American Indian movie star who I didn’t realize was famous until after the event.

That list exemplifies just why I love journalism. Even when I’m stuck with intern duties, which I’m told are inevitable because everyone has to pay their dues, I get to experience things I wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s like an editor I met at my last internship down in Henderson, Nev. told me once: “You have the best job in the world. You get to see things other people don’t see, do things other people don’t do. And you get paid to do it.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.