For those of you who haven't heard, Team Global Xtreme has now cheated death three times. Classmate #1 was held at one end of a .45 handgun in Venezuela; #2 rode out the earthquake in Delhi; and #3 outran Kenyan tweens high on ch'angaa and wielding machine guns.

I realize our J-school is all about teaching via doing, but jesus christ.

And I can't help but feel like a schmuck sitting here in NZ, where the biggest scare is hoof-and-mouth disease, and the only likely meeting with death I'll face is by choice, on the end of a worn-out bungy cord or a faulty parachute.

I've known from the beginning that my role in journalism is not the same as some of the people I've been in class with. I have no desire to be covering war stories from a bunker, or interviewing disaster victims, or dealing with a lifestyle that people like Anne Garrels or Christine Spolar seem to be used to - regularly facing blackouts, disease, sexism, the possibility of being raped. No thanks.

But I feel sort of bad about it.

T. says I'm discounting my accomplishments and the fact that what I do matters too. But sometimes it's hard to see that, especially when you add in the vibe from faculty that newspaper reporters are the be-all-end-all.

I guess it's just hard for me to admit that there's something I can't do. And I suppose I could, if I grit my teeth hard enough, but I'd hate it. Give me the travel section, arts & entertainment, and restaurant reviews, please. Or Esquire. Or Domino. Or Jane.

So, to everyone out where the "real news" happens, I want you to know I respect you all so much. You have an amazing drive that I admire, and I hope you all stay safe. I have my fingers crossed that we'll all be back in Chicago in Dec. with great stories to tell.

Like all you ever wanted to know about NZ's corporate world and "innovation" strategies (After two weeks, I'm fully conditioned to pull out a pen if anyone mentions that word - if I never hear it again, I'll be thrilled). And, you know, little lambs and green pastures and rainbows.