As an English major and future journalist, there are certain random things that run through my brain. Some of them revolve around grammar, some revolve around life and some are just plan weird.
One thing that ran through my mind a minute or so ago was the notion that I am a little too addicted to the internet--more specifically to social media. There's no question I love the internet, but it's difficult to tell where the love ends and where work begins.
For the FSView I have to write on social media (pardon the shameless plug) constantly. I update our facebook page, twitter feed and our tumblr. Where does that stop being work and become play?
04 August 2011
06 June 2011
Lies routinely believed
I'm different than the rest.
This lie is told time and time again when dating someone. No matter what, it's believed. If a guy tells a girl (or a guy...) he's different than her cheating, no-good, lying ex-boyfriend, she's going to believe him. This particular lie is way too believable. Yes, everyone is different and we're raised to see the unique beauty in each other, but let's be honest. I'm all about honesty. I'm no different than any other man. I have the same desires, the same motives and the same lust as every other guy. I am also very straight-forward. I'm going to tell it like it is; I'm going to tell you what's on my mind without hindering it or sugar-coating it. So, I guess that makes me different. (See what I did there?)
I won't cheat again.
Really? Who's to say that you won't do it again. The one phrase my parents always said to me--and I can't believe I'm actually typing this--was: "You can only judge a race horse by how it has run in the past." Once a cheater, that's it. Why would I ever believe that you were sorry that you cheated? If you were sorry, you would have thought about the consequences before you decided to cheat: plain and simple. Once a cheater, always a cheater.
This lie is told time and time again when dating someone. No matter what, it's believed. If a guy tells a girl (or a guy...) he's different than her cheating, no-good, lying ex-boyfriend, she's going to believe him. This particular lie is way too believable. Yes, everyone is different and we're raised to see the unique beauty in each other, but let's be honest. I'm all about honesty. I'm no different than any other man. I have the same desires, the same motives and the same lust as every other guy. I am also very straight-forward. I'm going to tell it like it is; I'm going to tell you what's on my mind without hindering it or sugar-coating it. So, I guess that makes me different. (See what I did there?)
I won't cheat again.
Really? Who's to say that you won't do it again. The one phrase my parents always said to me--and I can't believe I'm actually typing this--was: "You can only judge a race horse by how it has run in the past." Once a cheater, that's it. Why would I ever believe that you were sorry that you cheated? If you were sorry, you would have thought about the consequences before you decided to cheat: plain and simple. Once a cheater, always a cheater.
04 June 2011
Don't Ask, Don't Tell -- overnighted?
A recent article from the Associated Press got me to thinking. Perhaps we, meaning mainstream media, misunderstood the "DADT" laws.
This is something that has marred military society since the 1990s, a Clinton-era policy. Perhaps it's not meant to keep gays out of the military, what if it is designed as a safeguard to keep them from unnecessary harm IN the military. There is, no doubt, hazing aboard ships. No sailor will admit to it, but does anyone think that hazing is truly a thing of the past? We don't believe fraternities have abolished hazing, why would we believe otherwise for the military? What if this law is in place to keep someone--who is being hazed--safe? Maybe the law was intended to give them an escape route. But, if that's the case, what about straight service members? They would get hazed too, right?
So, this story from the AP said that this particular Airman wished to be discharged "expeditiously." Let me repeat that: "The airman in the case asked to be separated expeditiously," USAF Spokesman Lt. Col. (Lieutenant Colonel, for those non-military savvy folk) Todd Vician said.
The airman requested separation from the military, but it's not clear (from this story) why he wished to be separated. Perhaps he knew this was his last chance to be legally discharged without going UA or without being considered a deserter.
We currently have over 1.4 million boys and girls who wear our nation's uniforms. A report says that over 40,000 troops have deserted their post (left without intent to return) since the year 2000. Why would this particular airman not just desert his post like these others? Why choose to go out with a dying piece of legislation? Was he being hazed? Did he just disagree with current military engagements enough to wish to be separated, and if so, why enlist in the first place?
Some say that this shows the flaws in the legislation. Alexander Nicholson says this airman could be using the 'law is still on the books' excuse to get out of current obligations. "It shows why the DADT law is flawed and harms the military--it can also be abused to allow someone to receive expensive training and then skip out on their commitment to serve, or it can simply be used to quit the military early by forcing an early separation."
Is this what happened here? Was he overwhelmed with his commitment? Was he hazed? Was he seeking the military training then ditching on his service obligation?
This story leaves too many questions unanswered.
This is something that has marred military society since the 1990s, a Clinton-era policy. Perhaps it's not meant to keep gays out of the military, what if it is designed as a safeguard to keep them from unnecessary harm IN the military. There is, no doubt, hazing aboard ships. No sailor will admit to it, but does anyone think that hazing is truly a thing of the past? We don't believe fraternities have abolished hazing, why would we believe otherwise for the military? What if this law is in place to keep someone--who is being hazed--safe? Maybe the law was intended to give them an escape route. But, if that's the case, what about straight service members? They would get hazed too, right?
So, this story from the AP said that this particular Airman wished to be discharged "expeditiously." Let me repeat that: "The airman in the case asked to be separated expeditiously," USAF Spokesman Lt. Col. (Lieutenant Colonel, for those non-military savvy folk) Todd Vician said.
The airman requested separation from the military, but it's not clear (from this story) why he wished to be separated. Perhaps he knew this was his last chance to be legally discharged without going UA or without being considered a deserter.
We currently have over 1.4 million boys and girls who wear our nation's uniforms. A report says that over 40,000 troops have deserted their post (left without intent to return) since the year 2000. Why would this particular airman not just desert his post like these others? Why choose to go out with a dying piece of legislation? Was he being hazed? Did he just disagree with current military engagements enough to wish to be separated, and if so, why enlist in the first place?
Some say that this shows the flaws in the legislation. Alexander Nicholson says this airman could be using the 'law is still on the books' excuse to get out of current obligations. "It shows why the DADT law is flawed and harms the military--it can also be abused to allow someone to receive expensive training and then skip out on their commitment to serve, or it can simply be used to quit the military early by forcing an early separation."
Is this what happened here? Was he overwhelmed with his commitment? Was he hazed? Was he seeking the military training then ditching on his service obligation?
This story leaves too many questions unanswered.
24 May 2011
So fast, so fast
Looking back now it makes me laugh: we were growing our hair; we were cutting class.
Great words by singer Kenny Chesney, they describe the feelings I've been having as I grow toward my last year of college. It's hard to believe that it was three years ago that I was first heading to Florida State University. Fresh out of high school, I thought I was all that. Oh how wrong I was. At a fresh 17-years-old I was heading to college, not knowing what to expect, what changes I would go through, what experiences were about to be had.
Looking back, I can easily say that my time (so far; remember I'm only three fourths done) at Florida State has been the best time of my life. I've grown in so many ways. I've learned about myself, learned about life, learned about love, learned about truth, lies, friendship, and so many other things. It's hard to adequately explain all that I've learned in the last three years at FSU.
I started in June of 2008. It's not June of 2011 and I am looking forward to going back as an RA (Resident Assistant/babysitter) for the CARE program. I'll be in Landis Hall--one building and three floors away from where I began my collegiate career three years earlier. Gilchrist 101. Those six weeks held memories that have partially shaped my times at FSU. I met people I would lose touch with, I met some of my best friends. I grew as a person. I learned what it meant to truly have freedom: the ability to go out and come back home as you please without answering to anyone.
I thought I knew freedom back in high school; my parents were very relaxed and open, while being very strict and parental at the same time. It's hard to explain my relationship with my parents, save to say it's the best relationship I think parents and their son can have. I learned at college that it's my life, compiled of my decisions (good, bad and ugly), my thoughts, my emotions. MY life. That's the crucial part that far too few people understand. It's your life. The only person you have the ability to make happy is you. I know too many people who live their lives to please those around them.
Forget that. A poet, who happens to be my grandfather -- the man I get all of my writing ability from -- once said that this life "is about all said and done. I realize it won't be my only one." This life isn't our only one, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend this one working for someone else.
Back to the point. I've come so far in the last three years. June 2008--I had no idea what I was going to study in college. If even then you had told me I'd be an English major I'd have told you that you're nuts. That being said, here I am writing my thoughts. I even got an "A" in my advanced writing course. There are so many things that can be learned in college.
As many before me have said, "you learn more in college outside of the classroom than you do in the classroom." This is absolutely true. While colleges focus you on taking this class or that class, or what your major is and your GPA, they all realize that you're going to learn more about yourself than you could ever learn about biology or chemistry or psychology or any other -ology.
Selfology. That's what any college really sells. The learning of your self. You can learn how you think politically, socially, emotionally, psychologically and methodically. People think in different ways. Some like it blunt; some like it to be sugar-coated. Your parents can only do so much molding of your character. It's up to you, who you become. You can follow the rules, dot all of your i's, cross all of your t's. Or you can rebel and be that which all parents fear: the free-spirited thinker. Know this though, society never progresses without rebels at the head. Do you think Martin Luther King, Jr. crossed his t's? Do you think Maya Angelou dotted all of her i's (metaphorically of course. She's a writer so she dotted her i's literally)? Do you think John Fitzgerald Kennedy just followed the status quo?
I'm not telling you to be the change you see in the world, but be the change you see in your world, that's all you can do.
Great words by singer Kenny Chesney, they describe the feelings I've been having as I grow toward my last year of college. It's hard to believe that it was three years ago that I was first heading to Florida State University. Fresh out of high school, I thought I was all that. Oh how wrong I was. At a fresh 17-years-old I was heading to college, not knowing what to expect, what changes I would go through, what experiences were about to be had.
Looking back, I can easily say that my time (so far; remember I'm only three fourths done) at Florida State has been the best time of my life. I've grown in so many ways. I've learned about myself, learned about life, learned about love, learned about truth, lies, friendship, and so many other things. It's hard to adequately explain all that I've learned in the last three years at FSU.
I started in June of 2008. It's not June of 2011 and I am looking forward to going back as an RA (Resident Assistant/babysitter) for the CARE program. I'll be in Landis Hall--one building and three floors away from where I began my collegiate career three years earlier. Gilchrist 101. Those six weeks held memories that have partially shaped my times at FSU. I met people I would lose touch with, I met some of my best friends. I grew as a person. I learned what it meant to truly have freedom: the ability to go out and come back home as you please without answering to anyone.
I thought I knew freedom back in high school; my parents were very relaxed and open, while being very strict and parental at the same time. It's hard to explain my relationship with my parents, save to say it's the best relationship I think parents and their son can have. I learned at college that it's my life, compiled of my decisions (good, bad and ugly), my thoughts, my emotions. MY life. That's the crucial part that far too few people understand. It's your life. The only person you have the ability to make happy is you. I know too many people who live their lives to please those around them.
Forget that. A poet, who happens to be my grandfather -- the man I get all of my writing ability from -- once said that this life "is about all said and done. I realize it won't be my only one." This life isn't our only one, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend this one working for someone else.
Back to the point. I've come so far in the last three years. June 2008--I had no idea what I was going to study in college. If even then you had told me I'd be an English major I'd have told you that you're nuts. That being said, here I am writing my thoughts. I even got an "A" in my advanced writing course. There are so many things that can be learned in college.
As many before me have said, "you learn more in college outside of the classroom than you do in the classroom." This is absolutely true. While colleges focus you on taking this class or that class, or what your major is and your GPA, they all realize that you're going to learn more about yourself than you could ever learn about biology or chemistry or psychology or any other -ology.
Selfology. That's what any college really sells. The learning of your self. You can learn how you think politically, socially, emotionally, psychologically and methodically. People think in different ways. Some like it blunt; some like it to be sugar-coated. Your parents can only do so much molding of your character. It's up to you, who you become. You can follow the rules, dot all of your i's, cross all of your t's. Or you can rebel and be that which all parents fear: the free-spirited thinker. Know this though, society never progresses without rebels at the head. Do you think Martin Luther King, Jr. crossed his t's? Do you think Maya Angelou dotted all of her i's (metaphorically of course. She's a writer so she dotted her i's literally)? Do you think John Fitzgerald Kennedy just followed the status quo?
I'm not telling you to be the change you see in the world, but be the change you see in your world, that's all you can do.
29 April 2011
A bit of Pingüi
So, as a reporter I very rarely take part in any publication of a "cause," but in light of the recent twister devastation that hit much of the American South, it's hard for me to let it just pass me by. The best way I know to help is to tell the story; what can I say, I'm a story teller at heart.
This disaster hit FAR too close to home. Tuscaloosa, Alabama is the town where my little sister goes to school. There is video on the web of a tornado hitting Bryant-Denny Stadium at the University of Alabama. After seeing that video, I realized that she lives in Ridgecrest South, a mere 3/4 mile away from the stadium.
This supercell thunderstorm spawned over 173 tornadoes in one night. Over 300 people in five states are dead, and at least three 'Bama students are dead. 87 people are dead in Tuscaloosa alone.
This is one of the deadliest storms in Southern history. This supercell is compared to a storm that hit back in the 1930s that killed 332 people. There are bodies still missing, which could make this storm even more deadly than the 1932 storm.
Finals at 'Bama were canceled and students were told to head home if they can. My parents and I are heading up there this weekend to pack my little sister's things up to bring her home. We'll stay for a few days to help wherever we can, knowing that we truly dodged a bullet.
Prayers are being ferociously sent to this part of the country and to all of those affected by this horrifying tragedy.
This disaster hit FAR too close to home. Tuscaloosa, Alabama is the town where my little sister goes to school. There is video on the web of a tornado hitting Bryant-Denny Stadium at the University of Alabama. After seeing that video, I realized that she lives in Ridgecrest South, a mere 3/4 mile away from the stadium.
This supercell thunderstorm spawned over 173 tornadoes in one night. Over 300 people in five states are dead, and at least three 'Bama students are dead. 87 people are dead in Tuscaloosa alone.
This is one of the deadliest storms in Southern history. This supercell is compared to a storm that hit back in the 1930s that killed 332 people. There are bodies still missing, which could make this storm even more deadly than the 1932 storm.
Finals at 'Bama were canceled and students were told to head home if they can. My parents and I are heading up there this weekend to pack my little sister's things up to bring her home. We'll stay for a few days to help wherever we can, knowing that we truly dodged a bullet.
Prayers are being ferociously sent to this part of the country and to all of those affected by this horrifying tragedy.
27 April 2011
Life
The other day I got a text message from my mom:
This got me to thinking. Life has ups, downs, lefts and rights. Life has loops, twists, curves, tunnels and bridges. There's no denying that life is hard. As my little sister says "Life is a bitch because if it was a whore it'd be too easy." Ain't that the truth? I'll be the first to admit that life has its challenges, but I'll be damned if it's not worth every single struggle. Life has its way of teaching you exactly what it wanted to. Something my mom told me on a different occasion is that you need the downs to truly appreciate the ups. Without the sad we wouldn't know the happy.
Learning this wasn't easy to do. It took some failures; it took some pain; most of all it took some triumph. That sweet, sweet taste of self-pride. Knowing that someone saying "I'm proud of you" can't even hold a candle to the pride you feel in yourself is one of the greatest feelings you can ever feel.
Pride may be a sin, but it's a necessary one. We must take pride in the work we do. If my dad didn't take pride in his (what he calls) "grease-job landings," all the passengers would readily know it. Having the pride in his work shows in the work he does. The same holds true for a writer. If a writer doesn't take pride in their work then the reader can tell. You get writing that's unpleasant or hard to read. When a writer takes pride in their writing they will put their heart and soul into the work, and (as with the prideless writer) the reader can tell.
If life gets you in a funk, don't worry. It happens to the best of us. It happens to presidents; it happens to CEOs; it happens to poets; it happens to parents. There is no one who can avoid a funk once in a while. As bizarre as it sounds, enjoy your funk.
You'll come out on top in the end, but learn the lessons that you're meant to while you are at rock bottom.
"Life is great, ain't it?"
"Every second of it," I replied.
"Every damn one," she said.
This got me to thinking. Life has ups, downs, lefts and rights. Life has loops, twists, curves, tunnels and bridges. There's no denying that life is hard. As my little sister says "Life is a bitch because if it was a whore it'd be too easy." Ain't that the truth? I'll be the first to admit that life has its challenges, but I'll be damned if it's not worth every single struggle. Life has its way of teaching you exactly what it wanted to. Something my mom told me on a different occasion is that you need the downs to truly appreciate the ups. Without the sad we wouldn't know the happy.
Learning this wasn't easy to do. It took some failures; it took some pain; most of all it took some triumph. That sweet, sweet taste of self-pride. Knowing that someone saying "I'm proud of you" can't even hold a candle to the pride you feel in yourself is one of the greatest feelings you can ever feel.
Pride may be a sin, but it's a necessary one. We must take pride in the work we do. If my dad didn't take pride in his (what he calls) "grease-job landings," all the passengers would readily know it. Having the pride in his work shows in the work he does. The same holds true for a writer. If a writer doesn't take pride in their work then the reader can tell. You get writing that's unpleasant or hard to read. When a writer takes pride in their writing they will put their heart and soul into the work, and (as with the prideless writer) the reader can tell.
If life gets you in a funk, don't worry. It happens to the best of us. It happens to presidents; it happens to CEOs; it happens to poets; it happens to parents. There is no one who can avoid a funk once in a while. As bizarre as it sounds, enjoy your funk.
You'll come out on top in the end, but learn the lessons that you're meant to while you are at rock bottom.
02 April 2011
Award
Yesterday I received my first of (hopefully) many awards for my work. I was invited to the Society of Professional Journalists' Mark of Excellence award luncheon in Birmingham. This luncheon started the SPJ Region 3 conference. Of course, I went. I drove from Tallahassee to Tuscaloosa -- where my little sister goes to school. My mom, dad and grandmother were there visiting her. The four of us (everyone minus my sister) drove the next day to Birmingham for the luncheon. On our way there, I was thinking about this award and what it might mean... I knew I had received an award, but wasn't sure what place I got.
I found out that I got first place in the radio in-depth award reporting category. This means that I will continue onto the national competition. I have a hard time believing that my story received first place. I'm amazed and awestruck. I was proud of that work when I submitted, but I had no idea that it might actually win.
The piece was about the transfer of authority between two college presidents: one past, one present. Dr. Thomas Kent (TK) Wetherell retired and allowed Dr. Eric Barron to assume responsibility of FSU President. I interviewed both men and compiled bits and pieces of the interviews into one long (15 minutes long) piece for the radio.
This Mark of Excellence award has only deepened my passion for journalism. This is just affirmation that I'm actually GOOD at what I do. That's a good feeling. It only pushes me to do better work, find deeper meaning in stories and work harder.
I found out that I got first place in the radio in-depth award reporting category. This means that I will continue onto the national competition. I have a hard time believing that my story received first place. I'm amazed and awestruck. I was proud of that work when I submitted, but I had no idea that it might actually win.
The piece was about the transfer of authority between two college presidents: one past, one present. Dr. Thomas Kent (TK) Wetherell retired and allowed Dr. Eric Barron to assume responsibility of FSU President. I interviewed both men and compiled bits and pieces of the interviews into one long (15 minutes long) piece for the radio.
This Mark of Excellence award has only deepened my passion for journalism. This is just affirmation that I'm actually GOOD at what I do. That's a good feeling. It only pushes me to do better work, find deeper meaning in stories and work harder.
05 March 2011
Poetry
I knew poetry could be moving; I really did. I've never been an extreme fan of poetry. In fact, I rather disliked it back in high school. However, I know that there can be real meaning behind the words of a poem.
I may have just learned this first-hand from longhand. I decided I wanted to write -- copy, rather -- Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise" poem. It is, without question, my favorite poem of all time. It's much longer than most people realize. I got out an unlined piece of printer paper, took my pad of lined paper and set it underneath, and began to write.
The very first stanza, complete with 26 words, ties words together in a formula that produces extreme results. Without reading the rest of the poem, you still understand what is going on.
These next two stanzas compliment each other.
Skipping ahead a bit, we reach my favorite stanza in the entire poem.
Never before have I cried while I wrote something. It was not a sad cry -- no, not at all. It was more of crying because I thought of how powerful -- really powerful those words were. Those words, as they flowed out of my hand, hit me. Not like a high school bully punch, but like a freight train barreling down the tracks. As Maya herself says, words are things. They can get into your wallpaper, underneath your rugs and deep in your skin. Be careful the words you use, and make sure they're the words you mean to use.
I may have just learned this first-hand from longhand. I decided I wanted to write -- copy, rather -- Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise" poem. It is, without question, my favorite poem of all time. It's much longer than most people realize. I got out an unlined piece of printer paper, took my pad of lined paper and set it underneath, and began to write.
"You may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies.
You may trod me in the very dirt,
but just like dust, I'll rise."
The very first stanza, complete with 26 words, ties words together in a formula that produces extreme results. Without reading the rest of the poem, you still understand what is going on.
"Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom,
just 'cause I walk as if I have oil wells
pumping in my living room?
Just like suns and like moons,
with the certainty of tides,
just like hope springing high,
still I'll rise."
These next two stanzas compliment each other.
Skipping ahead a bit, we reach my favorite stanza in the entire poem.
"You can shoot me with your words.
You can cut me with your lies.
You can kill me with your hatefulness,
but just like life, I'll rise!"
This stanza, to me, has some of the most powerful language in the entire poem. What it says, to me, is that no matter what you try to do to me, no matter how much you bring me down, no matter how cruel you can be, I'll still rise. I'll still be me and I'll still be the person I've always been and the person I'll always be.
As I was writing, I was learning. I could hear the words spoken in my own head. I had heard the words pass over my lips, through my teeth and over my tongue before, but never had I felt them through my hands and out of my fingertips. As I reached the following stanza (I'll underline the particular line), I began to tear up.
"Out of the huts of history's shame,
I rise.
Up from a past rooted in pain,
I rise.
A black ocean leaping and wide,
welling and swelling, I bear in the tide."
Never before have I cried while I wrote something. It was not a sad cry -- no, not at all. It was more of crying because I thought of how powerful -- really powerful those words were. Those words, as they flowed out of my hand, hit me. Not like a high school bully punch, but like a freight train barreling down the tracks. As Maya herself says, words are things. They can get into your wallpaper, underneath your rugs and deep in your skin. Be careful the words you use, and make sure they're the words you mean to use.
02 March 2011
View of Self
I talk a lot in Pingüi's Caja about this idea that the you should be the main point in your life. I say that no one can live your life but you. So now I'm curious. I know what I live MY life for; what do you live for?
28 February 2011
Dr. Seuss
I would like to start off this post with a quote.
"Today you are you; that is truer than true. There's no one alive who is youer than you." -- Dr. Seuss
This quote represents the uniqueness that we all inherently have. It's not an option to be unique. No two people -- not even twins -- are exactly alike in every way. I have quirks; there's no doubt about that. I wouldn't be me without all of my quirks. I'm loud; I'm goofy; I'm sarcastic; I'm a news-junkie; I've got a million and one quirks. So do you. These tiny differences are what make the world such an amazing place. If every animal were exactly the same, how boring would that be? If every person had the same view and the same personality, would anyone be attracted to anyone else? It's hard to find an argument that says yes to that question.
The art of humanity lies deep within each and every human being. We all have unquestionable similarities: physical needs, physical construction, emotional needs, and many others. These are all, however, part of a much larger view of humanity. We all need air to breath, food to eat, water to drink, shelter to protect us, and someone else to entertain us. The last in that list is possible the most important. We can have all of the physical necessities of life, but without the emotional connection that we feel with others, many people would go insane -- myself included. I use another quote, this one from my favorite musical artist. "If we weren't all crazy, we'd all go insane." To me, in this quote, craziness is really quirkiness. When you get past the broad view of humanity -- the larger necessities like air, food and water -- and you look down at the emotional needs and the little things that make each of us happy, you find vast differences. Some people are happiest when writing or painting; some are happiest when solving puzzles; some are even happiest when sleeping. Everyone, when it comes to the smaller things in likes different things. Some love country music; some hate it. Some love television dramas; others hate them.
When it comes to differences like these, the petty and unimportant ones, it is important for each and every person to embrace themselves as who they really are, and acknowledge what they really like. Not who others want them to be or what others want them to like. If you love Gavin Degraw, love him. If you love Taylor Swift, lover her. If you love NCIS, love it. Don't be afraid to admit to enjoying things just because they're not the norm. I work at a radio station full of hipsters who dislike Nickelback. I happen to like Nickelback; so what?
I guess what I'm getting at here is that everyone needs to embrace who they really are. If who they are isn't who they want to be, they're the only ones who can change it. You're the only person who can be you.
If you're not going to be you, who is?
"Today you are you; that is truer than true. There's no one alive who is youer than you." -- Dr. Seuss
This quote represents the uniqueness that we all inherently have. It's not an option to be unique. No two people -- not even twins -- are exactly alike in every way. I have quirks; there's no doubt about that. I wouldn't be me without all of my quirks. I'm loud; I'm goofy; I'm sarcastic; I'm a news-junkie; I've got a million and one quirks. So do you. These tiny differences are what make the world such an amazing place. If every animal were exactly the same, how boring would that be? If every person had the same view and the same personality, would anyone be attracted to anyone else? It's hard to find an argument that says yes to that question.
The art of humanity lies deep within each and every human being. We all have unquestionable similarities: physical needs, physical construction, emotional needs, and many others. These are all, however, part of a much larger view of humanity. We all need air to breath, food to eat, water to drink, shelter to protect us, and someone else to entertain us. The last in that list is possible the most important. We can have all of the physical necessities of life, but without the emotional connection that we feel with others, many people would go insane -- myself included. I use another quote, this one from my favorite musical artist. "If we weren't all crazy, we'd all go insane." To me, in this quote, craziness is really quirkiness. When you get past the broad view of humanity -- the larger necessities like air, food and water -- and you look down at the emotional needs and the little things that make each of us happy, you find vast differences. Some people are happiest when writing or painting; some are happiest when solving puzzles; some are even happiest when sleeping. Everyone, when it comes to the smaller things in likes different things. Some love country music; some hate it. Some love television dramas; others hate them.
When it comes to differences like these, the petty and unimportant ones, it is important for each and every person to embrace themselves as who they really are, and acknowledge what they really like. Not who others want them to be or what others want them to like. If you love Gavin Degraw, love him. If you love Taylor Swift, lover her. If you love NCIS, love it. Don't be afraid to admit to enjoying things just because they're not the norm. I work at a radio station full of hipsters who dislike Nickelback. I happen to like Nickelback; so what?
I guess what I'm getting at here is that everyone needs to embrace who they really are. If who they are isn't who they want to be, they're the only ones who can change it. You're the only person who can be you.
If you're not going to be you, who is?
21 February 2011
What have you done today to make you feel proud?
This morning, as I sat in my room at FSU, Switchfoot's "This is your life" came onto my music player. It made me think. Who am I? Am I who I want to be? This is my life. And the conclusion I came to is: Yes. I am who I want to be. I am extremely proud of myself and what I have accomplished this far in my life. I'm twenty-years-old and have many published articles in the college newspaper, many broadcast radio articles and I've got a great GPA. Life has been great to me. I've been in some ruts; I've been through some stuff I wouldn't wish on anyone, but overall I think that I've grown into a very strong individual.
I'm proud to say that I'm me. I'm not what someone else wants me to be; I am who I want me to be. I expect no less from myself. Who I am may be too brash, too outspoken, too loud for some people. That doesn't bother me. I've been told countless times how loud I am. Every time I'm told as if it might come as a surprise. Nope. I know it. I'm loud. I've accepted it. I've grown to love it. My voice carries -- it's a gift, really. I don't need a microphone. I don't need a loud-speaker. I have a voice that can project without any extra effort. It's hard for me to be quiet. This is a part of me.
I do things that make me feel proud about myself because that's all that really matters, isn't it? When you learn to let go of what others think about you, you learn that the only person's whose approval and pride matters is your own. My parents can tell me over and over again how proud they are of me, but it doesn't mean half as much as being able to say, "This is my work, and I'm proud of it."
This is your life. Are you who you want to be? I know I sure am. I hope you are too.
I'm proud to say that I'm me. I'm not what someone else wants me to be; I am who I want me to be. I expect no less from myself. Who I am may be too brash, too outspoken, too loud for some people. That doesn't bother me. I've been told countless times how loud I am. Every time I'm told as if it might come as a surprise. Nope. I know it. I'm loud. I've accepted it. I've grown to love it. My voice carries -- it's a gift, really. I don't need a microphone. I don't need a loud-speaker. I have a voice that can project without any extra effort. It's hard for me to be quiet. This is a part of me.
I do things that make me feel proud about myself because that's all that really matters, isn't it? When you learn to let go of what others think about you, you learn that the only person's whose approval and pride matters is your own. My parents can tell me over and over again how proud they are of me, but it doesn't mean half as much as being able to say, "This is my work, and I'm proud of it."
This is your life. Are you who you want to be? I know I sure am. I hope you are too.
20 February 2011
Writing
The ability to write is not a genetic trait, nor is it something that just anyone can pick up. That leaves it in a class all it's own. Who can write? And what does it mean to write something effectively?
Writing is something that comes deep from within the wrinkles and crevices of our brains. Writing comes from the valves pumping blood through our hearts. Writing comes from the acids in our stomachs and intestines. Writing comes from within a person. Writing comes from us physically and mentally. There are synapses that are fired while writing, as there are synapses that are fired during every second of every day. Why are the synapses from writing different?
For some people it's a feeling of euphoria, for others it's a feeling of despair. For me, writing is almost second-nature. Does that mean it's easy? Absolutely not. There are times that I write and delete, rewrite and then redelete. Other times I can sit down and just let my fingers type magical things into the computer's text box. The most revealing pieces of writing are those that don't use the backspace key. The stream of consciousness that forms on the paper (or in this case on the screen) can reveal some crazy things that exists between our ears.
How does one become an effective writer? Well, some say to read and read a lot. "The more you read, the more good writing you'll read and the more you'll want to emulate that," some say. I don't know how accurate that really is. Sometimes it depends on how well formed your brain is, and how good of a grasp on the language you're writing in you have. For example, if I wrote in Spanish (algo que puedo hacer), the stream would flow much differently than when I write in English. The more immersed in a language you are, the more mastery of it you will acquire.
If in middle school someone had told me that I would eventually begin to enjoy writing, no, that I would begin to love writing, I would have told them that they were insane. I'd have directed them to the nearest mental institution because they needed to check themselves in. Here I am, more than six years after leaving middle school, loving writing. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't write out my thoughts. I may not have gotten involved with the newspaper. I may not have decided to minor in journalism. I might not have become a news junkie. This isn't a case of the what-ifs. This is self-reflection and thanking. I am extremely thankful for every opportunity I have been given. Some opportunities I found for myself; some were given to me on a silver platter. I am thankful for all of them. Most of the opportunities have been extremely rewarding opportunities.
Writing well means to write deep from within. I just let the words come out of my fingertips onto the page. I'll reread them a few times, but usually -- when it comes to a blog -- I just let them sit as they've come out.
Writing is something that comes deep from within the wrinkles and crevices of our brains. Writing comes from the valves pumping blood through our hearts. Writing comes from the acids in our stomachs and intestines. Writing comes from within a person. Writing comes from us physically and mentally. There are synapses that are fired while writing, as there are synapses that are fired during every second of every day. Why are the synapses from writing different?
For some people it's a feeling of euphoria, for others it's a feeling of despair. For me, writing is almost second-nature. Does that mean it's easy? Absolutely not. There are times that I write and delete, rewrite and then redelete. Other times I can sit down and just let my fingers type magical things into the computer's text box. The most revealing pieces of writing are those that don't use the backspace key. The stream of consciousness that forms on the paper (or in this case on the screen) can reveal some crazy things that exists between our ears.
How does one become an effective writer? Well, some say to read and read a lot. "The more you read, the more good writing you'll read and the more you'll want to emulate that," some say. I don't know how accurate that really is. Sometimes it depends on how well formed your brain is, and how good of a grasp on the language you're writing in you have. For example, if I wrote in Spanish (algo que puedo hacer), the stream would flow much differently than when I write in English. The more immersed in a language you are, the more mastery of it you will acquire.
If in middle school someone had told me that I would eventually begin to enjoy writing, no, that I would begin to love writing, I would have told them that they were insane. I'd have directed them to the nearest mental institution because they needed to check themselves in. Here I am, more than six years after leaving middle school, loving writing. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't write out my thoughts. I may not have gotten involved with the newspaper. I may not have decided to minor in journalism. I might not have become a news junkie. This isn't a case of the what-ifs. This is self-reflection and thanking. I am extremely thankful for every opportunity I have been given. Some opportunities I found for myself; some were given to me on a silver platter. I am thankful for all of them. Most of the opportunities have been extremely rewarding opportunities.
Writing well means to write deep from within. I just let the words come out of my fingertips onto the page. I'll reread them a few times, but usually -- when it comes to a blog -- I just let them sit as they've come out.
02 February 2011
The "Race Card"
Why is this a card anyone ever put in the deck of life? I don't understand when someone says "I don't mean to play the race card..." Well, if you don't mean to, then why are you?!
Race, as I've stated before, is a social institution. Why have a race card if so many people claim that "we [as a country and/or society] have moved past race." This is clearly not the case. It still matters to far too many people. As long as someone thinks about race -- as long as they're thinking about it, they don't necessarily have to speak it or write it -- then there is still an issue with race. America, come on. We're better than this. If you think you can joke about race but that you don't have an issue with it, you're wrong. Race doesn't matter. It's not something worth joking about, laughing about, talking about or even thinking about, let alone "pulling the race card."
Something I said in a previous post that I feel is still worth saying now:
"Black people like fried chicken." Well, I guarantee, I can eat just as much fried chicken as a black man. I adore fried chicken.
"Asian people love rice." Again, I could eat you out of house and home when it comes to rice. I love it; I eat it more than once a day.
I hate racism. I hate social institutions. It doesn't matter! Move past it. Sheesh.
Race, as I've stated before, is a social institution. Why have a race card if so many people claim that "we [as a country and/or society] have moved past race." This is clearly not the case. It still matters to far too many people. As long as someone thinks about race -- as long as they're thinking about it, they don't necessarily have to speak it or write it -- then there is still an issue with race. America, come on. We're better than this. If you think you can joke about race but that you don't have an issue with it, you're wrong. Race doesn't matter. It's not something worth joking about, laughing about, talking about or even thinking about, let alone "pulling the race card."
Something I said in a previous post that I feel is still worth saying now:
Race DOES NOT MATTER. I don't know how else to say that. I don't know how I'm supposed to help society move past this horrible notion. I don't see color; I have friends who are black, white, yellow and purple. It doesn't matter to me. When I'm describing someone I don't say they're "black, tall, fat and bald." I say they're "tall, fat and bald." Why? Because it doesn't register in my brain that they're black. I don't care... it's not only that I don't care, it's that I don't even think about it. My brain is so inclined to not care that I legitimately don't see it anymore.
Race is a touchy subject in America. For example, as long as Barack Obama is the "first black president" instead of the "44th President of the United State of America," race will still be a problem. All of this notion that we've "moved past race" as a culture is clearly hogwash. As long as FSU students remain afraid to go south of Gaines St. or go out on the FAMU homecoming weekend, we clearly still have an issue with racism. There may scientifically be three races (Mongoloid, Negroid and Caucasoid) but all three are still human beings. Every person on this earth bleeds the same color: red. That is something that won't change no matter what color skin we might have, what socioeconomic class we might fall under, who we go to sleep with at night, or what gender we identify with. We all need food, water, shelter, compassion and most importantly, we need each other.
"Black people like fried chicken." Well, I guarantee, I can eat just as much fried chicken as a black man. I adore fried chicken.
"Asian people love rice." Again, I could eat you out of house and home when it comes to rice. I love it; I eat it more than once a day.
I hate racism. I hate social institutions. It doesn't matter! Move past it. Sheesh.
23 January 2011
Give it a rest, already!
Some have told me to "Give the Maya Angelou thing a rest, already." It may sound strange, but after reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I feel like I've known Maya for my entire life. For a book to impact me like that is amazing. It was like someone really knew and understood my soul. Not my feelings, not my emotions -- my soul.
That kind of a connection through text, and text alone, does not come easily. I, too, know why the caged bird sings. There is a feeling of entrapment, of a shadowy cloud that cannot and will not stop hovering just over your head. Seeing the stories that such a phenomenal woman went through on paper in front of me not only showed themselves to my eyes, they spoke to me. The words were more than just mere words on that page -- they were Maya's soul poured into the binding of that book. Maya's soul, my mother's soul, my father's soul, my sister's soul, my brother's soul, my friend's soul, your soul and everyone's soul.
Words on a page can have a far deeper impact than just passing a story along. But having the ability to talk to the woman behind the voice on that page was the most... liberating experience. Hearing Dr. Angelou explain the process of Caged Bird to ME -- not explaining it to Larry King, or Oprah but to me: Turner G Cowles -- was absolutely amazing. Amazing, frankly, doesn't do that situation justice. There really are no words to adequately describe how it felt to hear her say "Hello, good morning. Is this Mr. Cowles?" Here is a woman who has, not only talked about doing, but done things in her life that so many people never even dream of: working with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, studying in Africa, learning six languages, teaching at Wake Forest, and writing poetry and books galore. And from all of this, she was talking to me. Now, I may have been just one interview on that particular day, but for those minutes, she was talking with me. ME. Lowly little college journalist at FSU.
So, to "give it a rest" would be a horrible injustice to Ms. Angelou and to her legacy. I will forever cherish those minutes with her forever.
That kind of a connection through text, and text alone, does not come easily. I, too, know why the caged bird sings. There is a feeling of entrapment, of a shadowy cloud that cannot and will not stop hovering just over your head. Seeing the stories that such a phenomenal woman went through on paper in front of me not only showed themselves to my eyes, they spoke to me. The words were more than just mere words on that page -- they were Maya's soul poured into the binding of that book. Maya's soul, my mother's soul, my father's soul, my sister's soul, my brother's soul, my friend's soul, your soul and everyone's soul.
Words on a page can have a far deeper impact than just passing a story along. But having the ability to talk to the woman behind the voice on that page was the most... liberating experience. Hearing Dr. Angelou explain the process of Caged Bird to ME -- not explaining it to Larry King, or Oprah but to me: Turner G Cowles -- was absolutely amazing. Amazing, frankly, doesn't do that situation justice. There really are no words to adequately describe how it felt to hear her say "Hello, good morning. Is this Mr. Cowles?" Here is a woman who has, not only talked about doing, but done things in her life that so many people never even dream of: working with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, studying in Africa, learning six languages, teaching at Wake Forest, and writing poetry and books galore. And from all of this, she was talking to me. Now, I may have been just one interview on that particular day, but for those minutes, she was talking with me. ME. Lowly little college journalist at FSU.
So, to "give it a rest" would be a horrible injustice to Ms. Angelou and to her legacy. I will forever cherish those minutes with her forever.
15 January 2011
Maya Angelou
Here I am, at twenty years of age, and I have the opportunity of a lifetime sitting there on my Google Calendars. This coming Friday I will be speaking with Dr. Maya Angelou. The Maya Angelou.
Born in 1928, Angelou has been a poet, playwright, author, singer, dancer and role model for many generations. How did a twenty-year-old kid get the opportunity to interview such an important member of our society? Does it matter? The possibility is there, and I'm going to take full advantage of it. Maya Angelou's book I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings has changed the way I look at many things about life.
What should I ask her? What will I ask first? Again, does it really even matter? She is a woman who has worked with Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bill Clinton. Needless to say, she has some weight in her words. In her poem "And Still I Rise" she talks about how no matter what happens to her she will "still rise." I believe that she's saying that no matter what she is put through in life, whatever trials and tribulations, she will still be able to enjoy her life.
I have an email full of questions ready to go. What an opportunity. Updates to come after the interview!
Born in 1928, Angelou has been a poet, playwright, author, singer, dancer and role model for many generations. How did a twenty-year-old kid get the opportunity to interview such an important member of our society? Does it matter? The possibility is there, and I'm going to take full advantage of it. Maya Angelou's book I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings has changed the way I look at many things about life.
What should I ask her? What will I ask first? Again, does it really even matter? She is a woman who has worked with Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bill Clinton. Needless to say, she has some weight in her words. In her poem "And Still I Rise" she talks about how no matter what happens to her she will "still rise." I believe that she's saying that no matter what she is put through in life, whatever trials and tribulations, she will still be able to enjoy her life.
I have an email full of questions ready to go. What an opportunity. Updates to come after the interview!
03 January 2011
Medal of Honor
Today, January 3rd, 2010, I had the most amazing opportunity of my journalism career to date. I had the opportunity to meet one of this country's greatest heroes. His name is Colonel Retired George "Bud" Day. He received the Congressional Medal of Honor in 1976; President Gerald Ford presented the medal.
The Congressional Medal of Honor is presented to those who show extreme bravery and valor in the line of duty. Colonel Day showed this when his F100 fighter plane was shot down during the Vietnam War. He was a prisoner of war at the same camp and at the same time as current Arizona Senator John McCain.
The Department of Defense keeps this citation in their records for Colonel Day:
Citation: On 26 August 1967, Col. Day was forced to eject from his aircraft over North Vietnam when it was hit by ground fire. His right arm was broken in 3 places, and his left knee was badly sprained. He was immediately captured by hostile forces and taken to a prison camp where he was interrogated and severely tortured. After causing the guards to relax their vigilance, Col. Day escaped into the jungle and began the trek toward South Vietnam. Despite injuries inflicted by fragments of a bomb or rocket, he continued southward surviving only on a few berries and uncooked frogs. He successfully evaded enemy patrols and reached the Ben Hai River, where he encountered U.S. artillery barrages. With the aid of a bamboo log float, Col. Day swam across the river and entered the demilitarized zone. Due to delirium, he lost his sense of direction and wandered aimlessly for several days. After several unsuccessful attempts to signal U.S. aircraft, he was ambushed and recaptured by the Viet Cong, sustaining gunshot wounds to his left hand and thigh. He was returned to the prison from which he had escaped and later was moved to Hanoi after giving his captors false information to questions put before him. Physically, Col. Day was totally debilitated and unable to perform even the simplest task for himself. Despite his many injuries, he continued to offer maximum resistance. His personal bravery in the face of deadly enemy pressure was significant in saving the lives of fellow aviators who were still flying against the enemy. Col. Day's conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Air Force and reflect great credit upon himself and the U.S. Armed Forces.[19]
Colonel Day was invited on behalf of the Scott-Carroll Inaugural team to attend the Military Appreciation: Honoring Those Who Serve event. The event featured renowned country artists John Michael Montgomery, Aaron Tippin and even Lee Greenwood.
The ability to meet and talk to one of this country's greatest warriors is a truly humbling experience. Here is a man who has given far more to this country than any of my generation's "heroes" like movie stars or singers. Here is a man who was willing to -- in the face of imminent death -- defy his captors and hold true to his values of Americanism and keep this country above and beyond himself.
Here is a man who was willing to break out of a prisoner camp to seek American help, only to be recaptured and tortured even further and yet not let his spirit break. A man who not only earned but deserves the salutes of all of those who have served, and the thanks of every single person in this great country of ours.
Here's to Colonel Day, a modern day hero in a post-modern day society.
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