Interns

I'm glad I'm not an intern right now. I wouldn't make it. This summer's bumper crop of interns is mighty impressive. They know more, dress better, exude more confidence, and work harder than I did when I was a college junior/senior shadowing reporters and learning about the business.

They also make me feel super old. Like I'm a grizzled veteran. I used to think I was so hip but now I realize I'm the homemade iced coffee drinking, mother of two, with an 11pm school night curfew. I am so not hip.

And no I haven't heard of Limewire or the Snapshot app. It allows your photos to self destruct 5 seconds after you've sexted them. Which is totally genius. Until I invent the app that captures the Snapshotted photo and use it to blackmail you. Vicious cycle.

I just love going out on shoots and bringing the interns along. They can shoot, they can edit, they can Wikipedia, they can set up interviews, carry stuff, and make small talk when I'm reviewing my notes. 

They shoot undercover video like it's a walk in the park. They don't flinch when people ask if they're being recorded. These interns are FEARLESS. They say, "I'll handle it." And they do. They are totally baller. And I'm so not one to gush over interns. I eat interns for breakfast. They have to earn my respect and admiration. I don't have time to coddle or hand hold. I'm not mean, I just move fast and judge quickly. I can only write so many recommendation letters at the end of the day. I don't want to waste my time on the interns who aren't fully committed, smart, and motivated.

I don't know what's in the water, but clearly this next generation of journalists is promising. They are multimedia savvy, multitask oriented, and they make it look effortless. One of my interns this summer has even taught me how to do the fiercest J-Lo bun with a tube sock. I'm not kidding, it is RIDICULOUS.

I think it's a clear sign that I'm getting old. I'm actually sentimental. About interns.