Real Time... the life of a journo
I'm in the midst of the part of the features-writing process I hate the most; the call and call-back stage. After a week of playing phone tag with his PR rep, I had all but given up on ever making contact with my interview subject. But just as I, clad in spandex and ready to hit the gym, was preparing to make one more futile call before i did so, she called me back of her own volition.
"So he can do the interview today," said the PR rep, "but I have to go to a funeral."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"So here's his cell-phone number."
"Okay," said I, "do you have his assistant's number in case I need to reach her."
"As I said," she said dutifully giving me the 310-number I requested, "I'd be happy to do the go-between today but I have a FUNERAL." (I wondered if she'd heard my sorry from before. )
"Okay, I said, then I'll call his assistant and call him."
"She's not in her office,' she replied. "It's in LA.'
"Oh. Then I'll call him." (Now feeling like the pea-sized amateur I am.)
So before calling the cellphone number given to me, I put together the nifty recording sytem I'd blown 100 bucks on last week. I connected the phone to a pair of headphones, a digital recorder, and a recorder-phone-headphone connector, and voila!
...Except absolutely none of it worked. I think it might be because I dropped my phone in the toilet (again) a few weeks back... when you live in a studio where the bathroom door is the only door you can actually close, it's bound to happen folks.
Hopefully I'll get to do the interview the ole' fashioned way, with a phone cradled lovingly in my shoulder blade and fingers flying across the proverbial keyboard. But only time will tell. More deeets to come later.
"So he can do the interview today," said the PR rep, "but I have to go to a funeral."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"So here's his cell-phone number."
"Okay," said I, "do you have his assistant's number in case I need to reach her."
"As I said," she said dutifully giving me the 310-number I requested, "I'd be happy to do the go-between today but I have a FUNERAL." (I wondered if she'd heard my sorry from before. )
"Okay, I said, then I'll call his assistant and call him."
"She's not in her office,' she replied. "It's in LA.'
"Oh. Then I'll call him." (Now feeling like the pea-sized amateur I am.)
So before calling the cellphone number given to me, I put together the nifty recording sytem I'd blown 100 bucks on last week. I connected the phone to a pair of headphones, a digital recorder, and a recorder-phone-headphone connector, and voila!
...Except absolutely none of it worked. I think it might be because I dropped my phone in the toilet (again) a few weeks back... when you live in a studio where the bathroom door is the only door you can actually close, it's bound to happen folks.
Hopefully I'll get to do the interview the ole' fashioned way, with a phone cradled lovingly in my shoulder blade and fingers flying across the proverbial keyboard. But only time will tell. More deeets to come later.
*************************
Meanwhile, readers, I hope your holiday was as nice as mine. I attended two hip indie rock concerts, one inside at night, one oustide during the sweltering afternoon. I went for a swim, had a yummy barbecue dinner (thanks, pops), spent some time overlookin' the hudson, watched a nest of baby birds, and spent some time with yo it's... and swvl wandering Ft. Washington avenue, where we observed four different sets of fireworks in varying locales from our hilltop position. Then, urchin-like, we perched outside someone's building and ate us some muffins. Word. Happy fucking independence day.
Meanwhile, readers, I hope your holiday was as nice as mine. I attended two hip indie rock concerts, one inside at night, one oustide during the sweltering afternoon. I went for a swim, had a yummy barbecue dinner (thanks, pops), spent some time overlookin' the hudson, watched a nest of baby birds, and spent some time with yo it's... and swvl wandering Ft. Washington avenue, where we observed four different sets of fireworks in varying locales from our hilltop position. Then, urchin-like, we perched outside someone's building and ate us some muffins. Word. Happy fucking independence day.
Labels: My bumbling life
posted by SarahMarian at 9:24 AM
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