Okay, so the little reporters’ drink-fest I was at the other day has now made the NYT. (thanks to commenter Tom for pointing this out). Like I said before, I don’t really think the idea of reporters getting together for drinks is exactly news. But it’s a nice little story:
At the crime scene, reporters compete ruthlessly for exclusive information, hunting and hoarding the juiciest quotation, the grittiest fact and the bloodiest narrative – anything to land a story on the front page.
But after deadline, many of them head to a bar, declare a truce and order enough beer to douse the daily dose of horror. An eavesdropper can sample the next day’s headlines, along with details too gory to print.
“These are the best street reporters in the city,” said Kerry Burke, a reporter for The Daily News, on a recent Saturday night in the 11th Street Bar in the East Village. “They stink of death, but I’m honored to work the same streets as them.”
I gotta say, it is often not exactly a “ruthless” competition, especially on routine stories. Most of us are friendly, as you can see … I sometimes help my competitors, never knowing when I might need help myself.
Also, for the record: I do not “stink of death.”
Anyone else want to try guessing who else is in Hiroko Masuike’s photo? I think that’s Jonathan Lemiere behind Burke with his back to the camera, but am not sure about the others.
R’ember to keep me informed of the next one. I want to judge whether it’s true about the death.
But I hear you do stink of death ….