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.

My New Best Friend

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/72e5Ih/moneyning.com/video/coupon-lady-money-saving-madness/

Click on the link, and check this out. This woman is my new hero. Not only should we be best friends, but she needs to teach me the art of coupon clipping, it could really save my butt in the future when I'm a poor graduate.

Man, that was fast.

Mere hours following my last post, God answered my prayers. Maybe it was my plea in the shower, or my desperate attempt to destress through yoga, or possibly the silent wish made at 11:11, but I officially have an interview.

Cue overly excited cat.

So everything is moving forward again. This is exciting, I'm nervous, because now I have to prove to this newspaper why I am their girl. But if I get the job, this means moving to Boston, with lots of friends, and starting my life! O boy, I can't wait.

So when can I use my karma chips?

Dear Life,

I am writing in regards to your mandatory movement forward, and your demand for me to get a job. Although college was a great experience, I fully understand that good things must come to an end, and that we all must grow up. However, I would like to point out that although you have thrown me into a position where I must get a job to survive, it is almost impossible to actually get one. I am inquiring a break, if possible, some sort of divine intervention to give me the kick start I need to move on in my life.

Much appreciated,

Kelleigh

Yup, this real world thing is killing me. I want a job, and lord knows I've been searching for one, but the truth is no one is hiring! Either that, or every writing position involves a minimum of five years experience something I do NOT have. And clearly, that is not my fault, because if i could have five years experience, I would. i would have just had to either been born earlier, or skipped out on the college thing.

I'm going crazy here at home. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, they are some of the most wonderful people in my life, but I need my own place, I need my own routine, i need to be out on my own.

What frustrates me is that I have nothing to do. Last week I spent half of my graduation money buying outfits for job interviews (and I still have yet to wear them.) I need a hobby, something to do that is not only cheap, but time consuming and rewarding. The yoga thing is getting better. I managed to complete a full 60 minute work out with little space out moments and only minor discomfort from my lack of flexibility. 

My mom suggested I decoupage a table with all my photos. So that may be my project for next week: find a table and decorate it. But then what? Maybe I'll decoupage my entire room. Maybe I'll take a class. I've always wanted to learn how to fence, or play guitar. I could finally use my free six weeks of guitar lessons I got when my parents bought me a guitar at 16. Maybe I'll apply for a part time job. I need money, and writing for the Landmark is more career-oriented, but at $36 an hour it doesn't pay the bills. I'm sure I could get a job at a deli again. Or waitress. 

I'm rambling, my apologies. This is just so frustrating. I've been gone a week and some change, and I feel like I've failed because I don't have a job yet. I hate this. But maybe this struggle will build character. Maybe this is part of the plan, of how I will rise to become a famous writer. Or maybe I'm destined to work a million jobs for little to no pay. 

I have the karma chips saved up for something good to happen, so let's cash them in.

Yoga is not as easy as it looks.....

The majority of the books I read and enjoy for pleasure, are typically stories about women breaking from the norm and going out into the world to find themselves. My favorite book of all time is She's Come Undone, by Wally Lamb, which in my spare time I've been reading again. 

Last summer, I read Eat, Pray, Love, which featured three sections about three countries the writer visited to find herself. One of the main themes, was yoga, and the art of calming your mind. Now, for people who know me, they know that I can't stay quiet, and I can't calm myself, which may be a burden in my own life story. 

So, I dug up my old yoga book and DVD (which I had purchased back in 2008 when I went through a "I want to be a hippie" stage) and started a hopefully daily routine. I chose a wake-up routine, which wasn't as bad as expected. I did, however, learn that I am not only out of shape, but my flexibility is close to nothing. I can't even touch my elbows to the ground while sitting. Pathetic. So, goal number one for my new-found hobby: Become more flexible.

Because the first exercise was not very long in comparison to other workouts, I selected a short breathing exercise to work on. This was one of the hardest things I've had to do. It was not that the exercises were challenging, or that I didn't understand the purpose of what I was doing, but instead it took every bit of my energy to keep my mind from wandering. As I was being told to listen and concentrate on the rise and fall of my chest as I breathed, I was thinking about what jobs I should be applying for. What part of the country would I want to live in, or maybe I should blog about my routines daily, keep a record. I was also thinking about other lifestyle changes, getting out of my house in general, my upcoming events, whatever. To be short, I thought about everything EXCEPT my breathing. So goal number two: Learn to calm my mind and clear my head.

Following these exercises, my legs felt like jello. Clearly I still have a lot of work to do. But, one of the benefits is after spending your morning following this practice, you suddenly want to change other parts of your lifestyle. So instead of skipping breakfast, I ate a peach, and switched from coffee to tea. Hopefully the combination of the three will keep me more awake and alert throughout my day, and give me the energy I need.

My book says yoga is journey. It is not meant to be something you can master in a day, and every person has a different experience. So, naturally, I feel my journey is going to be hilarious. 

Peace.

Gaga

The Beginning of a New Life

So I realize that I haven't posted anything in a really, really long time.

Here's my excuse: Graduation. 

Yes friends, I did it. Four years of tests, quizzes, papers, late nights, laughs, adventures, editing, dance parties, wine and cheese nights, (the list could go on for days), I FINALLY graduated from college.

Got a BA in Communications (although I prefer to say Journalism) and got whatever the school gives to double majors for Art and Architectural HIstory. Dear RWU, you should probably re-explain that one to freshman when they arrive.

The ceremony was wonderful. However, I did spend more of my time trying to find the most comfortable position to avoid vomiting from my hangover than anything else (typical Gaga fashion), but I managed to make it through. I received the President's Core Values Medallion, which is the most prestigious award you can get at RWU. It is given to 12 seniors, one from each school and three "at large" who exemplify all the Core Values of the University. Pretty much the ultimate RWU student. Before I got that award, the University's President Nirschel gave his speech. If you've read up on RWU traditions, you already know that each year Nirsch selects a popular song and sings it. A few weeks prior, I interviewed Nirsch for the school paper, and had mentioned that it would make me so happy if he sang "Bad Romance." He did better. He sang a mash up of "Bad Romance," Poker Face," AND "Just Dance!" I was so proud.

But when I went up to get my Core Medallion, Nirsch shook my hand and said, "You got two awards today. This thing, and I sang Gaga because you asked nicely."

Score! Left my legacy.

When I got my diploma, in typical Gaga fashion, I wore no shoes, and moon walked across the stage. I don't think an IVY League school would let me do that.

So here I am now, not even a week into being a college graduate, and I'm dying. I spent four days writing a cover letter for one job. ONE JOB! I keep telling myself that I need to find a job so I can move out (because as much as I love my family, I HATE Holden), but I'm just not ready to do it. I still want to go out with my friends, I still want the dance parties, to go out knowing that it's ok if I spend tomorrow in bed with a hangover. I want to spend my graduation money on a trip to Europe, I want to drive cross country. I don't want to be a real person, with bills and responsibilities. 

Something tells me this summer i going to be an adventure. Trying to balance my college mentality with finding a job, and trying to become a real person when all I want to do is enjoy the world without me. Sometimes I wish money didn't matter, that you could do what you want, whenever you want. Clearly this is not the case. Maybe the guy in Into the Wild had it right. Burn all my possessions and go. Or maybe not.

Big Fish in a Small Pond

"Y'see, most men, they'll tell a story straight through— it won't be complicated, but it won't be interesting either."

A quote from Big Fish, one of my favorite movies of all time. 

Whenever I feel like my life is sinning out of control, that I can't seem to comprehend anything anymore and I can't function, can't think, can't breathe, I turn to a film that I relate to so much. In one scene, Edward Bloom compares himself to his son, saying they both storytellers. His sons writes them down, while he speaks them. I am a story teller.

I love writing, and I love sharing my stories with people. If you're my friend, you know this to be true. I find some of my stories so entertaining, and I am always talking about my experiences. I think that's why I love this movie. I exaggerate, yes, but only for the good of the story. I want a life worth speaking about, worth writing about. I want to be known for what I've done, and Iw ant people to enjoy my stories, and to crave more.

As I watch this, I relate to so many quotes in the story, but one in particular stands out to me right now. 

"And if I were to end up here, I'd consider myself lucky. But the truth is, I'm not ready to end up anywhere."

As my time in college comes to an end, I find myself staring at multiple roads and can envision multiple futures I could have. Some involve a life settled down, another involves a life of travel and ambition and never being in the same place twice. I have decisions to make, and I know they can change, but right now I feel so much pressure in my life. Truth be told, I'm not ready to end up anywhere, or with anyone. I am me, and right now I'm content with my life and I'm really looking forward to my future.

I'll admit, I'm a hopeless romantic, but I know in time I'll find love, and I know in time that my life will play out in exactly the way I intended it to. I'm leaving things up to fate, and just hope that everything turns out great in the end. It's time for me to write more stories, to experience more things to write about. I need to be comfortable with myself before i can be comfortable with anyone else, and I'm looking forward to that. And when I'm old, I can look back on my life and smile, and know that I did everything right.

"The man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him. And in that way, he becomes immortal."

Anger and Frustration

This is a vent session. 

Whenever I get angry, I find it best to sit back and write vigorously about everything that frustrates me. It is a personal therapy, and gives me a moment to relax. This is one of those times.

I am sick of people harassing me about useless bullshit. I said it, bullshit. At this current moment in my life, and in the lives of all the seniors here at my school, the main priority is to pass classes and to get a job. So why, instead, am I spending my nights arguing with my peers over opinion articles and ad pricing? It's ridiculous. I want to be able to go through a week, where I can complete all my work, put out a paper without worrying that someone is going to get all frustrated over an article that isn't that bad, and then end up looking like the bad guy. I'm sick of being hated for doing my job. I feel as though I'm constantly fighting to defend myself and my friends, and the decisions I make in my VOLUNTARY positions here on campus.

And that's what kills me. This is all voluntary. I have a strong personality, and am one who is not willing to back down without a fight. But why am I stressing myself over such foolish and irrelevant things? When I graduate in a month, and look back on my years at RWU, the last thing I want to remember is that people were angry at me for doing my job. and doing it well.

This is my statement: I am a reporter. I am the editor in chief. My only dedication lies with my newspaper. I want to be known as one of the best editors in the history of my school, and to report on what I feel is important. I want to print the opinions that matter, and I don't care who they anger. In the real world, what I'm doing is so minor, and no one is going to care about what I did on a daily basis at RWU. I'm proud of myself, and if I angered people, so what. 

But the stress kills me. Maybe I'm cut out for this. Maybe Archaeology is my future. Everyone I work with for that is already dead. And their lives are so much more important. 

My point: What you do in college is only a small part in your life story. No one will care about how popular you were in high school, and no one will care how much you did for your organization in the future. So get over yourself. Shut down your ego, and start caring about something meaningful.

The List

So over the weekend, while hanging out with my wonderful family in Cape Cod, I realized that I had a list of things that I need to research, not for school, not for a job, but simply for the soul purpose of increasing my knowledge of the world. 

So, for the first time, I'm going to begin my list. It's like a bucket list, of everything I want to read about and everything I want to learn how to do. I want to be able to talk about the oddest things, and know something about it. I will be the ultimate conversation starter, or the ultimate conversation piece. 

This would also be a great list to go off of for future gifts.

So, voila! The List.

1. I want to learn more about rock operas. I want to know how they started, why they exist, and I want to watch them.

2. Rock climbing. I already know how to do this, I just want to do more of it.

3. I want to read more of the Bible in a historical context. how much came true? And how does it relate to today?

4. I want to become a wine connoisseur. I want to know types of wines, the best years, and what foods go well with what wines.

5. Cooking. I want to master Italian flavors, then following with japanese. I want to be able to know how to sue certain spices and certain oils. I also want to be able to cook some of the dishes I always crave but could never make.

6. I want to learn an instrument. I have a guitar, so I could do that. Or go back to piano. I'm sure after some practice I could pock that up again.

7. Photography. I want to get more into this, as well as filming. I know the basics, but I want to cover more and experiment more.

8. I want to learn more about American history and travel around the country. Since I live here, I should be able to talk about all the aspects of my home.

9. I want to learn everything I can about archaeology. This is a perspective career for me, so why not, right?

10. I want to learn more about Tibet and the conflicts there. I bought prayer flags on a whim last year, but I want to learn more about them.

Ok, that's it for now. Let's see how long it takes me to do this. I feel it might be a life goal.

Peace!

Gaga

Photoshoped! I caught you!

Check out this photo:

Seems like a nice photo of the President of RWU shaking hands with a Bristol official, commemorating the wonderful gift of a water tower from RWU to the town. Everybody say awwwwwwww.

But look closer. This said Bristol official appears to have an odd outline, one that seems a bit unnatural.

Now look closer. Nirschel has a shadow, the other man does not. At first, I thought that maybe his body was blocking the shadow, but no. If this was a real picture, his shadow would be right in that god damned open area.

So ha RWU, we caught you! Lying to your campus and to the world! What gives man, what gives? Hire a better photographer!

Peace!

Gaga

Trainride from Hell

The morning was so peaceful. I took the metro, the nice, clean metro to Union Station, where I picked up my ticket and a cup of cheap coffee before hopping onto the amtrak train to go home to Providence.

I finished my book, ate my lunch, and then we stopped at Newark. It was so peaceful until then. Now, I'm heading into Connecticut with a group of I think military men, all from New York, and I want to kill myself.

They remind me of the bros at my school. They can't function without eachother, to the point where they called eachother and made them all come to my car. Fml.

Now they are buying beers (because naturally these type of men can't handle going more than a few hours without beer) and are involved in discussions about which bars would be best to go to once they arrive in Boston. One guy complained that he is still hungover from St. Patrick's day, while the only woman in the group announced she brought her camera (no surprise). Needless to say, I might throw myself out the emergency exit. I thought that these kind of people only exisited in college, that eventually they grow up and realize that life is more than just being sent on trips by your job to get drunk. Talk about a downside to the realworld. Here I was thinking that upon graduating the men would mature. False. They don't change.

I have to admit, a beer would be great right now. At least I could relax. But it's funny how now I'm sitting here thinking 'is this what my life would be like if I had stayed with my ex? Thank god I'm broke away from that.'

Maybe it's a bias against new york. For whatever reason, despite the number of times I've visited New York and tried to like it, so far it is my least favorite city in the United States. Sorry world, but NYC is overrated. I like the Met, and the Cloister Museum, but that's it. Every other city I've been to in the US I've loved, but not NYC. I'd take Naples over New York anyday.

DC Travels I forgot to mention....

So I never blogged yesterday. I meant to (and actually did upon my return to the apartment, but deleted as it was a drunken blog), so here's my second entry, acting as yesterday's entry.

I awoke at 8, showered and packed my things before the rest of the kids staying at Amanda's even woke up. They were just hopping in the shower as I was walking out the door, which made me glad I was doing the day alone. I had a set agenda, and no one was screwing it up.

I took a wrong turn on my way to the metro, and ended up walking the entire distance of one stop to Dupont Circle. I didn't mind it though because the weather was perfect out and the scenery was beautiful. All the apartments had this old feel to them, and it reminded me of walking through the streets of London (or Amsterdam). I was loving every moment of the walk, as it was quiet and relaxing, perfect for the morning. I caught the metro at Dupont Circle, and headed to the Mall.

My plan was to spend the morning at the Holocaust Museum, but they issue timed tickets (for crowd control) and mine didn't let me into the exhibit until 11:15. So I changed my plans, and spent my morning wandering monuments in the warm sun, then headed to the museum.

Even though I've seen the monuments before, there's something so surreal about walking through them all. I can't decide which are my favorite. It comes down to three: the FDR Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Vietnam Memorial.

I started at the Washington Memorial, which is kind of boring. It just reminds me of a giant phalis sticking into the sky, showing male dominance over the country. Not very appealing to a woman if you ask me.

I then walked over to the WW2 Memorial, shot a few photos, then walked along the edge of the reflecting pool to the Lincoln Memorial. It was so hard to prevent myself from running into the pool screaming 'forrest! Forrest!' But I knew Tom Hanks wasn't in town, so it would be a waste. I loved the Lincoln Memorial, probably because it reminds me of the Parthenon, equipted with a giant statue. I sat against one of the columns for a bit too, pretending to be Owen Wilson in Wedding Crashers and reminiscing about the crazy wedding season I just experienced. Oooo if only.

Called my mom next, letting her know I was having a wonderful time in DC and that I was alive. I did forget to ask her the name of my dad's uncle, who's on the Vietnam Memorial, but didn't feel like calling back. I walked along the granite scar in the ground, stopping to read names and the notes left by school groups. One woman found a name and broke down crying. Her husband comforted her and the two hugged for a while. I should have photographed it, that could have been a great moment, but I felt bad. I need to be more aggressive with my photography.

I popped by the Korean War Memorial, eavesdropping in on a few tours, and then ate my lunch before circling the pond. I did the FDR memorial, being sure to photograph the dog, and then went to the Jefferson Memorial. I had to laugh there, because the memorial itself is a sad excuse for the Pantheon. It would be so much more effective with an occulus. Pfff, trying to copy the Romans always fails.

At this point it was only 1, and since I have an early morning, I will stop here and continue on my trip to Providence.

Peace for now
-Gaga

Cuz every little thing, is gunna be alright

So in the past week, I've gone full circle. Without realizing it, I've gained more from this trip than I had ever intended.

As I lie here, getting ready to go to sleep, I realized that I'm ready. Graduation is upon me, and now that I've been here, and did this trip, I know that I don't have to worry, because as Bob Marley would say, 'every little thing's gunna be alright.'

I started my journey in Philly, where I visited my sister and got relive freshman year. I got to sleep in a dorm again and to enjoy the lifestyle of sharing bathrooms and dealing with kids running up and down the halls at all hours. The issues Shannon dealt with, like picking housing or deciding what to major in, are things of the past for me, but I found it wonderful to relive those moments with Shannon as she makes her decisions. I also got to spend quality time with my sister, and I was so proud to see her growing up. I'm excited to see her grow over the next three years as she experiences college.

My second stop brought me to a city I want to live in one day. I got to see my friend Amanda, who is doing so well on her own after graduating from RWU, and it reassurred me that life after college isn'ty scary, but instead exciting. I learned a lot about how to get a job here. The biggest piece of advice: be sure you know someone in the field. By having an 'in,' you are more likely to get a job there. This is exciting, because I never realized that me living in DC could be a real possibility. I knew already that I loved it here, but now I know that one day I have to live here, and when is a better time than now?

Seeing Amanda living in DC also made me realize how fun life after college can be. You have a steady job, you can get paid, rent an apartment, and still be able to have fun. There's a lot of young people here, and I could see myself being very happy.

My final stop brings me outside DC to my friend Kate's house. She graduated from UMass, and now works in National Geographic. Hearing her story, and how she landed a job, reassurred me again that everything will be fine. Not only this, but she is at a point where she could really start making a name for herself here. She explained that there are jobs out in the journalism world, and that I can get one. And she can help.

So this trip has brought me a sense of calm. I'm ready to graduate, hell, I'm excited to graduate. If these women can do it, then so can I. Life has only just begun, and it is worth it.

This is where I want to be

Today could have not gone more smoothly than I expected. After taking the train to Philly and being able to go to the museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, and then catching the Amtrack to D.C., I literally had the most amazing day ever. I wandered the streets of D.C. to the Newseum, right off of Pennsylvania Avenue (hmmmm, ironic) and spent 20 dollars for a ticket, which at first I found to be outrageous, but realized it was worth every penny.

The entire display was incredible. I only made it through half the exhibit, catching the FBI display where we learned about the coverage of criminals over history, the Berlin Wall, the display of famous front pages in history (capturing rare photos of the 'Dewey beats Truman' newspaper), and the 4-D movie that took you through famous events in Journalistic history.

The entire museum made me proud to be a part of Journalism. It reassured that this is what I should be doing and that I would love every second of my career.

But there were two exhibits that moved me to tears. The first was the Pulitzer Prize display, which captured photos from crisies from around the world. The emotion these photographs conveyed were overwhelming, and I found myself wiping my eyes when no one was looking. I love it when museums do this, because it assures me that this exhibit is a good work of art.

The second exhibit that made me cry was the September 11th display. The room itself was small, as it had a wall devoted to front pages from that day, as well as in the center the broadcast tower that was once on one of the buildings. But what killed me was the video they put together. It was a documentary about journalists who were there that day, and how they covered the story and how they reacted. One group got an interview with a woman before the second tower fell, and she was describing how people were jumping and was just crying. And on film, the journalist cried too.

Watching this footage brought me back to that day. I can still remember every moment. I was in 8th grade, and right after the first tower was hit, a message over the intercom came on. My friend Kiersten's face turned a milky white and her jaw dropped. I missed the announcement, as I rarely paid attention to anything, and ended up being sent downstairs to watch the live broadcast from a small TV in the cafeteria. I saw the second tower get hit live, and saw them both collapse before my very eyes. Parents later complained about letting us watch this, but I was glad I did.

When I got home I watched the footage all night. It was addicting, I wanted updates. I think it was then that I realized that I could make a profession out of this.

With all this emotion running through me, I had to leave. I cried, composed myself, and headed back onto the streets to meet up with my friends.

There is a large group of RWU kids staying with Amanda, so we went out for drinks and dinner. It was nice to see everyone, and the dinner was not too bad in price. After, we stopped at the store to get food for the next few days, and then headed back to Amanda's apartment, where I spent the rest of my night.

I'd write more, but my arm hurts, so I will leave my writing for the morning.

Peace and love,
Gaga