Live from my temporary desk

So I'm working at the Beeb, right? Right.

I came here to write. But I've been working in the specials graphics department researching figures (figahs) and data for graphics that some very talented designers put together.

All the while I'm reading every newspaper and magazine and hitting the streets in search of stories.

So I finally got my break. I pitched a story to the editor, he dug it, and said, oh actually, we were thinking of doing a story about this anyway. So, voila. What happened to Second Life was born.

It went live on Friday and I jet off to the Hague for the weekend. Forget that it happened.

Wednesday. I get an e-mail from an NPR show in New Hampshire - word of mouth. My article caught their eye and would I mind being a guest on the show?

Pardon?

Moi? Little ol' intern moi? I ran it by my editor, he laughed a little to himself and let me have a 'go' at it.

It was set. I was to go on live at 5:15 the following Wednesday.

Monday: radio week. Me and NPR guy have a nice little chat to make sure that I can form a sentence and have something to say.

At the end NPR guy mentions something about the comments - They're quite, well, angry. Have you seen them, he asks? Of course, I laugh.

Monday afternoon I actually get to reading those comments. Heh. My scarf is on too tight. I realize I'm not wearing a scarf. I step away from my computer and go get some tea. Hold the first pep talk with myself.

Tuesday - NPR guy e-mails with a follow up pointing me toward a (few) blog posts that have mini tirades against the 'BBC journalist Lauren Hansen.'

Tuesday night - I start to read one of the blogs NPR guy sent me. Decide to stop. Hold second pep talk with myself.

Tuesday midnight - open my twitter feed to find I have three mentions - a rarity since I have about a dozen followers all of whom are my j-school friends.

I click on the mentions. Read first mention:

@myLaurenHansen must be the most hated intern on Earth!

Turn off computer. Third pep talk.

Sleep (sort of)

Wednesday - day of the radio program.

7:45am Get to work early. I work in an open-layout office which means I sit ON TOP of about three people. Any phone calls I make might as well be whispered into their ears. Miraculously the guy to my right, the closest to me by far, is out! If I speak at a low enough volume I can pretty much go undetected. I'm feeling good. Confident even.

It might just be possible to keep this little radio piece under wraps so that BBC peeps won't begin to wonder why on earth the wee intern is doing a radio interview on the very first story she wrote for the place.

8:30am check e-mail. NPR guy was supposed to send me the questions they will ask. He didn't. But that's ok, I tell myself. He'll do it when they get in to work in a few hours. I mean it's 3am where he is. I ought to let him sleep

9:00am second cup of tea

10:00am I set off on a very quiet adventure to find a special phone line - the kind that makes you sound like you are in studio. I make a few hush-hush inquiries, lets one of my colleagues is a Second-Lifer in disguise.

10:30am third cup of tea

12:00pm the little radio room is set up and a young guy says he would come up and help me set it up! Glorious. Someone who knows what he is doing. I e-mail the phone numbers to the NPR contact.

12:15pm Twiddling thumbs...waiting for the e-mail from NPR contact. Make myself look busy.

2:30pm I've sweated through my clothes and my heart beat is actually visible through my button-down shirt. I have three hours until I go on air. There are only so many tea, pee, water breaks I can take before people are going to get suspicious.

3:00pm My boss moves from his desk on the other side of the room and sits down next to me. I smile. My foot starts to shake uncontrollably. Hey, John. What are you doing way over here (insert nervous laugh). "Dom has to use my computer." Ah that's greeeeeaaaaat I say through gritted teeth.

3:10pm Boss types really softly.
Every noise I emit is amplified. Why is my keyboard so loud? And where they HELL are those questions?

4:00pm Boss can hear by heart beating, I'm pretty sure.

4:30pm the questions arrive! I take some furious notes and read the e-mail 8 more times.

4:50pm phone rings. it's a little early. I fret. Answer it. It's a new NPR guy "Hey Lauren, we're looking forward to having you on, just wanted to get phone line settings (insert techno speak)."

Uh...I don't know those things but this guy is going to come up and help me any minute.

"OK great...but you're going on at 5:15 you know, right?

Right.

"It's live so..."

Got it.

4:55pm frantic phone call to young dude. "Yeah," he says sleepily. "I was coming up in a minute."

4:56pm Pacing back and forth in the tiny 4x4 foot radio room. Check my watch.

4:58pm check my watch. Check my phone.

5:03pm sleepy guy arrives WAY to nonchalantly. He fiddles with some keys and buttons and this big board. I try to bore holes through his head with my eyes.

5:05pm we try the call for the first time. Fail

5:07pm I'm on my mobile with the npr guy who is getting a little concerned.

5:08pm try the call a second time fail. Pass the mobile to nonchalant who has trouble hearing npr guy because we're in a back room with no phone access. He repeats our phone number at a construction-site volume four times.

5:09pm realize I haven't taken a breath. Breath deeply. Wish I had brought my water bottle

5:10pm npr tries to call us. fails. Nonchalant is still on the mobile. I'm wondering when the last time was that I topped up that phone. How much does it cost to chat to New Hampsire for ten minutes?

5:11pm mobile is passed back to me, npr guy says, we're just going to patch you through. We'll do it over the phone.

NO! I mean..uh..no, I'm on my mobile. Call me on my desk phone.

5:12pm Sit at desk. Look around at coworkers getting on with their day. The room is church-quiet and I don't understand why everyone can't go home a little early.

I smile meekly at boss. He pretends not to notice the uncontrollable twitch in my eye.

5:13 phone rings. Clear my throat. Answer. New NPR guys asks if i'm alright. "of course!" i say a little too loudly. He gives me basic directions. I'm going to hear the last program wrap up, he tells me, they'll introduce me. music. host will come on and announce me and we're off. It'll be about 12 minutes, he says.

5:14 Can't feel my hands.

5:16 "We're joined by Lauren Hansen in London. Lauren, thanks for being here."

"Thanks for having me..."

5:17 - 5:26 I black out.

5:27 "Thanks, Lauren."

Thanks for having me.

"Up next, puppies, babies, kittens!"

That last part is no joke. Their next show was about cuteness! Hilarious.

So I survived and though I've been too nervous to listen to the show myself my Dad tells me that I did fine. So there you have it.

Live from my temporary desk. Cool as a cucumber. I was totally made to do this.

Protests, taxidermy and Boy George

Yesterday was a London kind of a day. It was the day when professional life met real world which literally collided with childhood dreams and gussied up with a little London nightlife.

It was just a regular day. Except that I forgot to set my alarm. I awoke on my own, with a little stretch and big yawn and through bleary eyes gazed out of my one window to see...sunlight. Sunlight?!

I get up in the darkness. Horror! But it was 7:05 and I still had 10 minutes to put myself together and get out the door. I took a European shower, which is really just a small incline from my regular bath (yes, this flat has a bath situation, which makes for a soapy, sloppy and, frankly, cold morning).

But I made it to work and no one was harmed in the process.

It was fittin' to be a big day. I was going to be the point person for any graphics that would come up from the UK desk and I had my first byline story due by end-of-day along with the graphic (!). I was doing three things at once and it was glorious. I put that byline at the top of the page, sent it off to my editor and thought, my, it's 3 and I need a sammy.

There's the monstrous mall just a few yards from the BBC building. I'm not going to sugar coat it, this spaceship of a mini-town is growing on me. I might find errand-type excuses to spend my lunch break there and 'happen' across the top shop.

This lunch break, however was meant to be short. Run in, grab a sandwich with as little mayo as Britishly possible (impossible, in the end) and head back to finish up.

Except there was a protest going on outside the BBC Television Center building. I'd get into the deets but the online site has already covered it ever so clearly there seems no need.

But the scene outside the building boiled down to anti-nazi posters and songs sung through a blow horn about fascist pigs (so European!).

Since I work on the 7th floor I really hadn't even realized that this 'event' was not only taking place but growing. It was all relatively harmless. I got my sammy and swept by the high security with my BBC tag dangling from my neck (the excitement!).

That was until 6 when I was trying to leave and the protesters had 'breached' the BBC security and were in the building and being dragged out by hands and feet. This is actually all incredibly exciting. We were watching the downstairs chaos from our upstairs office on the BBC channel that was recording the BBC break-in.

But then security locked us in. They locked all the - oh - 25 exits to the streets. So protesters were being dragged out kicking and screaming and employees are trapped inside? It makes no sense.

They finally opened up one entrance so I jumped on a small bandwagon of fellow workers who were going to find this far corner exit of the building. We were walking through corridors and down stairs and back up elevators I would never have known existed.

When all of a sudden I walk right into non other than BOY GEORGE. He may have tatooed his face and eaten his former self but I would always be able to recognize that pout.

But there was no time to idle in startruck wonderment. My freedom wagon was leaving and I was not going to be stuck in this maze, I had a supper club to get to.

I made it out. Made it home. And made myself up for a night of dinner and chat with strangers. It's a clever little idea that has taken flight in London and other urban areas. Someone who likes to cook makes the meal. Someone who likes to host gets the people. There has to be a nice mix of women and men and you have to send in song requests (to enter, to dine, to dance) and pay 25 pounds for champ, a three course meal and wine. A delight.


I went with my lovely flatmate who introduced me to the whole idea, but we were seated at opposite ends of the table. I was seated next to a Londoner by way of Sweden, an aged rocker turned professor (who was, ironically, going to be at the protest today but couldn't make it), an Aussie and a slightly sauced young mum. It was lovely. There was plenty of conversation and a surprising amount of wine for so little money.

And the set up was perfect. On the top floor of a north London pub was a little private room decorated like Alice in Wonderland meets Anthropologie


- taxidermy heads on the wall, floor-to-ceiling purple wall paper, chandeliers and a fireplace.



There was also a garden terrace accessible by french doors. Adorable! I had slight food envy of the Swedish girl next to me but otherwise it was delicious. A walnut, pear and blue cheese salad for starters. Something called grouse (game bird...a little gamey) for main


and some sort of coconut ice cream with caramelized bananas for pudding.

I got some more London recommendations from the aged rocker and am newly besties with the drunk Swede (that's right I now have THREE phone numbers in my mobile).

All in all felt it was a London kind of a night.
xoxoL

The new (BBC) me

First day!

It went along swimmingly for those of you who are on the edge of your seats. My commute was WAY to short for the not-one-but-two papers I bought to read during the time.

I had checked and rechecked the route from my tube stop to TV station at the BBC. It didn't seem clear. I walk north and THEN cross? Low and behold you could see the MASSive buildings from the escalator that brought me safely to ground floor. I needn't worry.

How the hell do you order a coffee in London? I tried twice today and both times was received by curious looks. I thought it must be my American peeking through so I tried the order again with a faint british accent, which really just ends up being a long "Pleeeeeeeese" at the end. But still - all blank face. Then I'm inevitably forced into what I'm obviously trying to hide - "OH," says the girl "you mean an Americana." Yes, yes, fine fine. (bitch).

Today was actually not my first day. It's sort of a pre-first day. It's a computer training day that was delightfully easy. It's all just false promises though. I'm going to grow confident and casual before the big blow on Wednesday. When we went around an introduced ourselves (there were five others. I am, however, the only sucker not being paid) I said I would be working on the Specials Team. A woman dressed in head-to-toe navy asked, "what's the specials team." Good question, I thought. I suddenly found the hem of my shirt very interesting and the question was diverted to the teacher (BER-nahd) who literally gasped. "Oh," he said, "they're they piece-de-resistance (at which point I began unraveling my fallen hem)." He went on to tell Navy that 'we' put all the 'crazy' stuff on the site - interactive maps and graphics - "if you want something exciting done to our story and don't know how to do it, you send it to them."

The room spun around and starred at me, this suddenly brilliant computer wiz, and I smiled politely and gulped loudly.

BUT. That excitement will come and smack me in the face later. For now, it's still intro. And intro is, gloriously, easy. I was so PLEASED and shocked to find that I had been well-equipped to, say, write a news article (helloooo inverted pyramid), if that were my assignment. Or write a headline or a photo caption (add something, don't repeat). Then, the entire afternoon was spent on photoshop. We were given the keys to the online database of photos (fabulously endless celebrity sightings...and other things I'm sure). We were told to find certain photos and crop and set accordingly. Blah blah blah.

Then we were set free! Allowed to look up whatever we wanted. Sure, I tried to play it straight at first, Gordon Brown here, Becks and Posh there, maybe a little Eddie Izzard for my sauce, but when we were asked to put together a three-block photo set of any theme I went by my old standby - PUPPIES! Oh the database was FULL of them. you'd be surprised. My final photo looked, ohhhh, something like this:



And with this photo I was welcomed into the class anew. Navy pulled out here camera and showed me a pocket-sized puppy of 4 months in a hamper, on a bed, rolled in a towel. Once-stern progammer in the back flipped through a pug-tastic slideshow on his iphone, suddenly all smiles.

Ah, puppies. I unites us all, americanos and brits alike.

xoxoL

BK girl hits LDN town

London.

She arrived in a flurry of goodbyes, heavy bags, miscalculated drop offs, layovers, parched tongues and salty drivers. But she certainly did arrive.

It all started at 4 p.m. in New York City where I settled into a very tight, very yellow, economy class seat in a Lufthansa airplane. I had done all that my dad, the seasoned traveler, suggested: light dinner (sammy and a delicious brownie), some sleeping drugs 30 minutes before take off, herbal sleeping drugs 15 minutes before take off, setting my watch five hours ahead (to get myself in the mood) and a sleep mask. Now if only I could have gotten my body to believe that, yes, 4 in the afternoon was sleepytime.

But the drugs kicked in and before I knew it a very dark 5 a.m. in Frankfurt rolled around. In a haze I found the general location of my next flight, set to leave in 2+ hours (the NYC flight landed oh so kindly ahead of sched). Nothing is open at 5 a.m. in the Frankfurt airport. And I couldn't even get into the waiting area to settle into an awkward sleep-standing snooze. I sat on the edge of a very dirt chair and munched on a peanut butter something rather i brought from the states (sweet heavenly pb treat).

I think the flight was delayed in the air, or so I gathered from the upset passengers surrounding me. I really could have cared less as I was passed out, drooling a little in my second very tight (now very blue) seat.

I arrived to a wonderfully sunny, surprisingly warm London day. I popped out of the car that picked me up and into one of those beautiful, tall, white and brick london homes. It's so very picturesque, with a blue door perched just steps form the thames. I was welcomed into the home by a quick talking cute blond girl, the daughter of the family, who was packing for uni. i was bleary eyed and had to catch up to what she was saying, with the accent and all, but she was lovely and her bounce was addictive. As luck would have it she had invited her grandparents over for lunch so she could see them before leaving that afternoon. One hour and one shower later the most English pair walked through that blue door - all tweed and clenched teeth. My goodness they were edible and lovely. They're chitter chatter practically lulled me to sleep - that or the cold meats and cheese. I napped, woke for a walk, ate again and slept so hard I would have thought a few years had passed.

The weekend has been a mix of strolling and getting. I'm slowly becoming a real working londoner, equipped with my very own oyster card - my way to get here and there on the tube - and a mobile! With my very own phone number, which I'm never going to remember. What's the deal with the (0) in these london numbers anyway? Do I dial it? Just it change the number? Is it like our ubiquitous (1) that isn't even necessary anymore? These are the things that keep me up at night.

I made dinner for my lovely host fam tonight, which, despite the slight overload of olive oil, seemed to go over well. Though I'm looking for a place of my own, I've unloaded a few of my things into a closet and am settled, in a way, here. I'm ready, at least, for my first day of BBC tomorrow. SO glad to have a purpose. After two weeks of lounging with Lola and then three days of meandering 'round London I wasn't sure what I was up to. Then it dawned on me, ah yes, work. Thank goodness. I've laid out my clothes for tomorrow and am getting up much earlier than necessary, which just means I'll give my snooze button a work out. I've packed by bag and if it weren't for this unsightly pimple I think I'd was a real person with a job.

Must get my beauty sleep.

More soon (and photes).

xoxoL