Pompeii Revamped

I read an article a few months back regarding a recent initiative for the archaeological site at Pompeii, requiring them to make the site more open to the public to draw more tourists. When I last visited the site, there was not much for us to do but wander the streets and take photographs. Many of the homes were closed, and we could only peer into the gates to see where the doomed redsidents used to live.
But in recent months, Pompeii had really stepped up in their tourism activities and I must say I am very impressed. They opened a bike route through the site, and they will soon opena new visitors center.
But most recently, they're hosting this special senses tour of teh final moments in the city, and I wish I was there to experience it.
Here's the article for more information:
http://www.lifeinitaly.com/news/pompeii-house-offers-sensory-reconstruction-eruption

Read It

So I recently finished reading The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi, a non-fiction novel about the series of murders that took place in Florence starting in the 1960s. It's a great read, and a fast read (despite the 300 plus pages it took less than a week to zip through).

Why I loved it? It was well written, first, and the way Preston spun the tale, it was more of a suspense novel. I had to constantly remind myself thatn this actually did happen, just the way it was written. It brought fear into me as I thought about my future trip to Florence in April, which then caused me to remiond myself that this happened years ago. (They never cuaght the monster however).

The beginning caught my attention because of the tales of the murders, but what made the second half even better was the corruptness of the Italian judiciary system. Cops in the region can start an investigation based off a radical blog accusing a dead cult for the murders (which happens all the time in Dan Brown Novels). They can also kick start an investigation based mainly on one cop's undying hatred for a journalist, with which fuels the cop's need to see the innocent behind bars. Criticism of an investigation, as in the case of the book, is almost fearful because of what the police would do.

It made me angry to think that these journalists had to deal with this. In the United States, a journalist accused of assisting in a murder case becuase of his critical articles of the investigation would be shot down almost immediately by the American Journalist Association, along with other organizations designed to protect the freedom of the press. But in Italy, the police force has a higher power, and journalists find themselves in constant fear of losing their job or worse for simply writing the facts.

I respect Mario Spezi tremendously for his work, especially for not backing down when he was arrested for fabricating evidence and tampering with a police investigation. As a journalist, I know it can be difficult to write articles that are negative, but it's part of the job. We are watch dogs, and our purpose is to make sure the public knows about everythign going on in thier world, no matter how small or large of a town they live in. We keep up with the events and discussions that happen throghout the government to be sure the public knows what's going on, and knows that everything is done fairly and in their best interest (which never happens).

So that's my two cents for the day. I highly recommend the book to anyone, especially journalists, looking for a good read and a different one. If you are venturing to Florence, however, maybe wait until after your trip to read it. Although you really only need to worry about "Il Monstro" if you are having sex in a car in countryside.

For more information, go to the author's website:

http://www.mosterofflorence.co.uk/

Food Network Adventures

So remember that great show we know and love as Double Dare? Or Family Double Dare? It was the show of my childhood. Every kid ages five to twelve wanted nothing more than to run through a giant ear to grab a flag or slide down an ooze-covered slide into a pit of pudding, but more than anything else, they wanted to be SLIMED.

Alas, times change, and even though Retro TV will air early episodes of our childhood gameshow, the studio is gone, and those dreams are only just a memory.

Now remember the host, Marc Sommers, the personable and witty yougn man with a rumored OCD problem that could shock and awe?

Well, I met him! Yup, I met Marc Sommers this past weekend while helping out at a shooting of the new Food Network show Restaurant: Impossible. Sommers is the executive producer, while the famous Robert Irvine is the show's host.

So dear Charles Shaunessy of the 90's TV show The Nanny, you are no longer the most famous person I've ever met.

So let's recap, how did I meet these two television celebs? I took a chance.

My school's career center sent out an e-mail a few weeks back advertising a need for volunteers for this show. It was unpaid, but when I saw "Food Network" in the description, I felt this could be a good opportunity to meet people in my field and to network a bit.

So I placed the call. Originally, they only had spots left for extras, which sounded less appealing than the nothing I had planned for that weekend. I said thanks, gave the contact my phone number, and hung up with disappointment.

Then, the Wednesday before the shoot, I got a call saying they needed more volunteers. My job would be simple: be the bitch, and do whatever I was told. Easy.

On the day of the shoot, I got up early (5:00 a.m. to be exact), showered, and hopped into my car. I had to be in Providence at 7:00 a.m., so I stayed at a friend's house that night to get teh most sleep possible, even though we stayed up until about 3:00 a.m. I had a minor mishap with my GPS, which resulted in my purchase of a map of Providence.

I showed up late (7:30 a.m.) and jumped right into work. I won't go into too much detail, but it was tiring. I ahd to lay out hundreds of ceiling tiles to later repaint, touched up on wall painting, cleaned the floors of teh restaurant, and cut the worst paper table cloths anyone could ever see.

I even gave attitude to Irvine a little, when he kept refusing to deal with my issue, and when he told me the paper looked like crap, I told him to try to cut a hundred tablecloths with a heavy roll of paper, an incline on the table, and wind. Later he said I was tough for doing that. Respect, thank you very much.

By the end of the day I was exhausted. It was so hot and sunny that I drank five giant waterbottles and didn't pee once. I'm pretty sure I burned too because my skin was a pinky color the next few days after.

But I did what I went to do, and I think I did it well. I met the camera crew, shot the shit with them, and got to see what they do at a reality TV show. It was fun, and despite the fact I fell asleep at 8:00 p.m. that night, it was worth it.

Dragonflies

Yesterday was one of the worst, most upsetting, and most inspiring days in my life.

I could even call it an epiphany, a life changing day in my life. Whatever it was, I feel compelled now to record it before the emotion is taken over, before the memory is just a memory.

My dog is going to die this week. I know that for most people, an event like this is not as upsetting as a human dying, but when you treat your dogs like a member of family, share your bed, your food, show them unconditional love, death can be the worst experience.

I got home from errands around 11. Indy was sitting in his puppy bed, cooling himself down from the heat by the fan, and Raisin was nowhere in sight. I knew immediately, she may never come back.

I texted my parents: they found another mass cell. This time it was on her lymph node, and once the cancer hits there, it spreads fast. My dad said she may not come home, they were waiting to see what the doctor said.

Upon receiving this message, I collapsed. I broke down into tears, fell to the floor and sobbed. I love that dog, she's like a sister to me. To even consider walking around my house without tripping over her, or watching her try to chase the cat outside through the window glass, to no longer pass food to her under the table, or brush the mysterious amount of hair from her back, was just to much.

I tried to not think about it as I waited for my parents to call back with news. I tried cleaning my room, my car, listening to the radio, cooking, anything to take my mind off of what was to come. But I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about her, about what life after her would be like. I cried, and cried and cried.

When I was living in Rhode Island, whenever there was a moment when I couldn't control my emotions, when I was sad or angry or confused, I always went to a place where I felt God's presence. I always drove to the beach, put my feet in water, and just silently prayed. Something about being alone and focusing on a wonder that God created always calmed me, made me realize that life wasn't as difficult as I made it and that no matter what, everything would be ok. I would be calm, and I always knew that when I didn't know what was going to happen, that God would be sure that everything was ok in the end. And that's always how I've gotten through things. But now, I don't live twenty minutes from a beach, I can't jump in my car and drive to the ocean and be home within the hour.

So there I was sitting, crying, unable to calm myself, and all the time wishing there was a place I could drive to in order to calm myself.

And then it hit me, and just like that, I was driving. I was driving, crying, blasting my music, and heading to the only place that would comfort me, that would always welcome me and would show me that everything would be ok.

Bement Camp and Conference Center closed two summers ago because the Episcopal Diocese of Central Mass. could no longer maintain it. When I was young, I was a devoted camper to the place, spending a week each summer for ten years singing and boating and swimming and enjoying life when it was simple.

When I got older, I accomplished my dream of becoming a counselor there. I spent two amazing summers working there. I met some of my closest friends there, and actually created a family that I can never forget. That camp was my home, I was safe there, safe  from sadness, safe from death.

In 2004 the camp went through a rough patch with new management after the director died, and by 2005 the place wasn't what it once was. I realized it was my time to move on, and I said goodbye to my home. The first night away from the camp I cried myself to sleep. And the worst part is, I never went back. I never went back, until it was too late.

But, for whatever reason, maybe it was God pushing me, in my time of pain, Bement Camp was the only place I wanted to be. And so I drove there.

When I arrived it was like nothing had changed. The boats were still docked on the beach. The life jackets were still hung. The grass was mowed, the flowers were in bloom, and there was not a soul in sight. I found a bench by Jones pond and I decided to sit there. As I approached this bench, I noticed an inscription on it:

All shall be well

And all shall be well

And all manner of things

Shall be well

- Julian of Norwich

I sat on the bench, and cried. I cried more than I've ever cried in my entire life. I cursed God for taking my dog from me, begged him to save her, tried to bargain, told him I'd start going to church more. Anything to sooth my pain, to show me that everything will be alright.

And from across the pond, a dragonfly flew, and landed on my knee. I smiled, gently stroked its wings, and smiled. Everything would be ok. Raisin would be ok.

When Mark died, the camp's director, we lived on a philosophy of dragonflies. I forget who told me originally, but whenever you come across a dragonfly, it means that someone you loved who has passed is happy and watching over you. A dragonfly is a sign that after death, everything is ok, and that those who are still on earth, can go on and live our lives, knowing that our loved ones are ok.

Having that dragonfly sit on my knee was a reassurance not initially from God, but from Mark, telling me  that he would take care of my little girl for me. 

And then there was silence. 

The dragonfly caught a gust of wind and continued his flight. I took a photo of the bench and of the pond, and got back in my car and drove home. I knew that no matter what, my dog would be in heaven soon, and she would be the most spoiled dog there.

Raisin is set to be put to sleep on Wednesday. I haven't decided if I want to go or not. Work may be easier for me. Right now, we're all in limbo. My tears come in waves, mostly because I see her suffering, I want so bad to help her, to make everything better, but I can't. 

But every time I start to cry, I remind myself that she will be ok, and that she has a place in heaven all set for her. She'll meet my pekinese, she'll meet my relatives, she'll meet other dogs.

And every time I see a dragonfly, I'll think of her, and of how happy she is, and how she will always be with me.

Reasons why I love journalists

Ok, I'll admit it. I have a thing for journalists. I don't know what it is, but something about a guy who spends his entire day researching and making phone calls to write a thousand word story about some small town government scandal that people will forget by next week just turns me on.

I love it when they find that exciting bit of information that brings their story together, and would rather spend the rest of their afternoon telling people about the story than actually writing it. And as always, I will gladly listen.

But it's not just that aspect of journalists that I love, but also the fact that journalists have a secret hidden code, or club even, where we all understand exactly why we act the way we do, why we choose to stay late at the office to write that mediocre story, because we all know our night either consists of a lonely glass of wine on the couch or another meeting we have to cover. We make jokes about grammar, throw in puns that only a reporter would know, and when all else fails, we bang our heads against the desk until our head stops hurting.

Today was one of those days where everything fell into place. I was finally realizing that in this 'real world' reporting job, I actually have the time to do proper research and call the people I need to call in a time-efficient manner. 

No stories were written today, but I got some sweet leads on a shopping complex and an insane asylum (can we say ghost hunt?) I'm sure no one reading this blog will actually care, but it's what I do every day. The real world isn't as glamourous as everyone thinks, but I'm sure it will get better. Just wait.

"Jump in! The Water's fine!"

Day one of my job began today, and holy shit do they throw you into the this job head first.

I mean, I show up at 10, expecting to sign some paperwork, get a tour of the newsroom, maybe decorate my desk a bit. But no, my editor wasn't in today, so I was handed a sheet of paper explaining how to log onto my new e-mail account, so then I could access a list of story ideas.

Welcome to the real world Kelleigh, we don't hold your hand. You already had four years of training, and now you have to show us what you learned. 

Now, this whole aspect was bit scary. It took me about an hour to build up the confidence to actually make a phone call (something I should have done within the first ten minutes). But I did it, I started getting accustomed to the area, outlined all the stories I wanted to write for this week's issue of the paper, and got to work.

Everything went smoothly until a reporter's nightmare began: no one was answering their phones, I mean NO ONE! On a typical day, I usually have to leave at least one message with a source, but they usually call me back within an hour or two. Instead, every person I called sent me straight to voicemail, and half of my day was spent doing background research for these mediocre stories that I may not even get published because my editor isn't even there to introduce me to the reporter I will be working with, and she or he may have already started working on the pieces I was planning on doing.

But by the end of the day I had it all figured out. Working for a newspaper, a real newspaper, is not a glamorous as the movies make it out to be. No, you don't spend your entire day running around chasing after one story. Instead, you have between five to eight stories a week that you need to write, and are required to produce that amount before your deadline. People don't always cooperate either, so half of your day is spent trying to get in contact with your sources while the other half is spent writing the 500 word article. By the end of the day you find yourself editing and re-editing your work in order to NOT look like an asshole, and hiding the fact that you've been Facebook chatting your friends since lunch. 

In the real world, you are required to produce a large quantity of articles, with some quality, and you have a lot of downtime. If I was still in college, that would be the time to sit and relax with a movie, or get a head start on my homework, but in the real world, you get paid for what you do during those hours, and with that you spend a lot of time twiddling your thumbs and waiting for something exciting to occur.

So be ready for it, because of everything college did for me, it never prepared me for the amount of downtime I would have. I think it's about time I get a hobby.

Employment......already?

Three weeks out of school and I have a job. 

WHAAAAAAT???

Apparently all of those reassuring comments that friends and family made about how "one out of four college grads are going to have jobs right after college" and Scully constantly telling me that because it's intern season I won't get a job until September, were all wrong. I am the exception. I have a job, with a salary and benefits!

The crazy thing is, everything seems to be coming together. My life is actually starting. I'm writing for two papers, one full time the other part time, I'm making money, and I'm doing something I love. This is going to work, I'm going to be ok. 

All of those thoughts of dying in a box, never having a job, failing at life, are gone. I haven't failed, I won't disappear into nothing and be forgotten. I know I've been hard on myself for the past few weeks, and lord knows I punished myself by not going out on the weekends, but it's paid off. Life is starting, and I can't wait. It's going to be amazing, i'm going to be a reporter, I'm going to be doing what I love. 

I'm a new person, I'm ready to start my life, and this really marks it. I'm on my way to a new future, and one day I will be a travel writer, I will publish books, I will travel. I can't wait.