Jeremography, Part III

Editor's Note: This is the third part of a series aimed at shedding some light on AYT's newest blogger, Jeremy.

Another decade passed before Jennifer and I wound up in the same building. This time, the setting was a sports bar instead of a sports stadium.

A colleague of mine buffeted e-mail inboxes across South Florida with invitations to join a club for young journalists. Similar organizations were popping up across the country at the time in reaction to the bad name we were getting because of the Jayson Blair scandal.

My colleague rented a room at a bar in Broward County. I showed up fashionably late and sat next to my then-roommate (and current T-U staffer), Larry Hannan. After a few minutes, it struck me that I should probably try to mingle.

I found an empty chair on the other side of the room and started a conversation with a Sun-Sentinel copy editor. But I soon found my attention gravitating to the young woman on her left.

Jennifer, then the lone metro writer for The Jupiter Courier, was more gregarious and could speak more deeply on a subject that was of particular interest to me that day: the degree to which Dolphins QB Jay Fiedler sucked.

After a while, we exchanged business cards and parted.

I e-mailed Jennifer the next morning. She e-mailed me back.

Later, we discovered we had been together before: 10 years earlier in a stadium, separated by a sea of orange seats and a crush of humanity. Perhaps that decade-long delay is the reason we don’t like to be away from each other for long.