Yeah, It's Been Forever

I know, I know. Don't hate me!

There's quite a bit to cover. You see, I've actually been doing things, as well as heavily concentrating on not doing things. 

I started at the Women's Institute for Freedom of the Press.  It's a pretty awesome set-up, and I'm enjoying taking the metro back and forth because of the amazing people-watching it provides. If you are looking for crazy, your first stop should be the red line. Really. At WIFP, One other intern started with me, and three more will join us on Wednesday. I'll be able to contribute to the quarterly newsletter, and I can hardly wait to start digging into articles. For now, however, we're doing a lot of book keeping and updating of the website. 

The fam, plus one, headed up to Otis to kick off the summer. The weather? Warm! The water? Freezing. Because of this I decided to dedicate the majority of my time to my friends Phillip Roth and Harlan Coben, supported by the hammock. I was very loyal the whole weekend. I did, however, get to reunite with my favorite man-made object of all time, the jet-ski. Because Claire is far more brave than I am, I got the opportunity to take her disking and skiing. When you operate three different water-crafts in a long weekend, you know summer has officially begun. 

Oh, and it also helps if you have really strange tan lines. Then summer has REALLY begun. 

Start to Summer

It's summer. It may not feel that way, because pants are occasionally necessary for warmth purposes...but all the same, I have no school. 

So it's summer. 

As usual I'm going through the motions of reacquainting myself to the lavish home lifestyle, which includes showering without shoes on and sleeping a whole heck of a lot. Yesterday, however, I hopped (slunk) out of bed at 6:30 and metro-ed down to D.C. to attend a panel on the future of the profit structure for newspapers hosted by the New America Foundation and the Washington Monthly. It was interesting to see seasoned newspaper men clash with independent media champions and business people throw in their two cents about the funding and collapse of newspapers. Senator Ben Cardin talked a bit about his newspaper revitalization bill.  I'm not sure about how effective it will be, but at least the sentiment is there. 

I felt a little out of my league. But it was kind of awesome. I should take advantage of the city like this more often. 

ALSO

I don't think the college is ever going to post my final grades, because they want to wait as lonngggg as possible and torture me into certain insanity. 

My application for my politics double major was approved. However, it appears that I will have to take 6 credits of a science to fulfill the liberal arts requirement. 

WAIT WHAT?!

Oh dear God. This could get ugly. 

Uncool. 

I think I'm going to go watch some mindless television and avoid thinking about the horror that would be me actually taking two science courses during my undergraduate career. 

I thought the whole point of this "liberal arts" deal was the avoidance of any sort of science. Screw well-roundedness. I'd rather be wholly limited in my knowledge scope, thank you very much. 

At least I satisfied all my 6 math credits through AP courses. 

I would have a heart attack if someone told me I had to take Calculus II. 

Last Night In Ithaca

I started this blog a few days before I, well, shipped off to college for the first time. I had no real idea what to expect. Movie images and publicity pamphlets danced in my head and a nauseating but exciting uncertainty churned in my stomach. What I knew of Ithaca was tour rhetoric and curriculum details. What I found upon my arrival was much more. 

In Ithaca I've found a home tucked between rolling hills and plunging gorges.  It's a little enclave of liberalism in the midst of an area full of crazy and intelligent people.  I'm farther away from the center of things--Washington D.C.-- than I've ever been but by being here I've connected far more to the outside world than ever before. From the familiar comfort of our little basement radio newsroom I've reported on countless suicide bombings, Somali pirates, twisted Illinois politics, and Taliban insurgency in Pakistan. I walk into a room and laugh with the sports guys and chat with the DJs, and at the same time I'm entering a world far beyond Ithaca College. How cool is that?

In high school I preferred to succeed at a quieter level. I thought, you work hard, you get good grades, you build a successful profile and hopefully have some fun along the way. I've always been reserved with people I don't know well. My level of chattiness and general obnoxiousness increases in proportion to my comfort level. This school year I've chased down coaches on the sideline of a field, on the pool deck, and on the banks of an inlet. I've called website founders in different time-zones and scheduled interviews with people who have better things to do with their time. I've been published. I've learned that you have to do the grunt work before you can imagine tackling the creative, and I've started to find how I can weave my love of writing into my pursuit of a journalism degree. 

I've written a lot about learning to fail. But what I'm realizing now is that a level of dissatisfaction is necessary to reach any sort of worthwhile success no matter what. Otherwise, we're passive. That's not acceptable at a school where protests are common and "WE ARE EQUAL" banners are thrown across the front of buildings in the middle of the night during exam week. 

College is learning that you actually have to dress yourself to accommodate the weather outside. It's sitting cross-legged at the Boothroyd kitchen table with a mug of tea in your hands and friends surrounding you that make you laugh until tears spring from your eyes. It's outdoor adventures and crowded houses. It's learning that a deadline is a deadline. It's the blissful uncertainty of starting something new and the awesome comfort of new friends. It's a 5:30 wake up call when everyone else is sleeping till 10. 

It's getting to know the janitor at Park because he unlocks the door for you at 5:45 in the morning and doesn't think you're crazy. It's the thoughts and expletives that run through your head when it's negative four degrees and pitch black outside, and you're walking across campus. But then, all of a sudden, the fountains are on again, and you're seeing friends run bases across striking green fields. It's appreciating Margaret Atwood for the first time and considering global trade in a new light. It's paper upon paper upon exam upon quiz. It's the stress and the fear and the worry.

What it comes down to is this:

It's my last night in Ithaca. The end of my freshman year. I've finished the first step in the process of shipping off. I've got a summer ahead of me with enough crazy to last me the four months or so I've got for break. But even so...

I can't wait for next year. 

Just a Few Points

1. I just finished classes. Completely. Done with freshman year classes. Eeep!

2. Saturday was the radio vs. tv annual softball game. I went to watch, and left early because I was confident that my radio boys had it locked up, 11-1. Then I found out we lost, 17-14.  I don't know how that is possible.  If you want to see how epic it was, or the shiny back of my head, check out my dean's blog.

3. Six more pages to go on j-research.  I can do it!

4. Tonight, radio and t.v join once more in our "Just Desserts" celebration. Which is exactly what it sounds like, plus awards and death tapes. Oh no. 

For those unaware, death tapes are like bloopers.  Things caught on camera that you didn't think were caught on camera. They're generally hilarious and wildly inappropriate. 

5.  I'm getting there. 

6. According to the 10-day weather forecast here, the next time I'll see sun, I'll be in Maryland. 

Oh, Ithaca. I'll still miss you despite your crappy weather patterns. 

I am a zombie

You know you don't get enough sleep when you're walking through a propped-open door and shriek loudly when it starts to close on you...because it's actually an automatic door...and always has been. 

That was embarrassing. 

I just choose not to sleep. After radio this morning, instead of going back to sleep at 7 a.m, I went to the gym and then did nothing productive until my 11 o'clock class. I also do not take naps. I am physically unable. So, while my peers sometimes sleep through their 11 o'clock classes, I am usually up before 6, and spend my potential nap time staring at my journalism research paper or thinking about what to do with the numerous packages of Peeps that I've acquired but do not eat. 

I will probably try to get my friends to eat them, or we'll just stick them in a microwave tonight. 

Waaaayyyy better than studying. 

There's also a food drive going in my dorm, but I'm not sure if they'd appreciate receiving sugar covered marshmallow peeps. Other people are giving things like soup. You know, things with nutrition. 

Yeah, I don't know what that is either. I'm a college student. My two most highly consumed food groups are labeled "peanut butter sandwich," "noodle," and "non-sketchy grilled chicken."

I'm Pretty Sure SI Loves Me

Okay, so because of the stupid mail system here, my Sports Illustrated is always a little outdated. Seeing as I picked up the draft preview....yesterday. 

I don't mind that much. But I'm pretty sure Sports Illustrated keeps a close monitor on my stress levels, and that's why they publish ads on the opening page like this strategically around exam season. 

Win. 

I don't care if everyone at my school hates the Patriots with the very fiber of their being or if he's married to a super model or if he has an illegitimate child. Every feminist inclination I have tells me NO NO NO NO. 

But I still maintain that Tom Brady is the most physically attractive human being on the planet.  And that makes me happy. 

Thank you, Sports Illustrated advertising department. I appreciate your concern for my well-being.

Hey! Honesty

This evening I was running on the treadmill, with all the enthusiasm with which I usually run on the treadmill (meaning, none) and as I was sprinting towards the end of my mile I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. An erg, also known as a type of rowing machine. I hopped off the treadmill and did some of my lifting, still eyeing that foreign contraption. 

Finally, I decided, what the heck. All the crew kids are at practice right now, there's no one who could possibly make fun of my weakness and/or lack of skill. Claire can make fun of me after the fact. 

So I hopped on, strapped my feet in, and tried it out. I employed all the technique I could remember from our sculling class, so as not to paralyze myself and/or destroy my knees for good.  It was a good workout.  I liked the combination of cardio and strength.  In that way it reminded me of swimming, in the way my mind drifts as the minutes tick by. It was fun. 

Then, I struggled for like 2 minutes trying to figure out how to UNstrap my feet from the erg. I kind of ended up trying to wiggle my feet out of it while pulling like crazy. It was graceful. I told myself no one saw.

But here's the thing. I got up from my desk chair a few minutes ago and began to hop down the stairs. 

Ow.

OW

OW OW OW

MY THIGHS

NOT COOL

So there's my most recent run-in with rowing. 

Otherwise, I'm finishing up classes. I had my last official journalism research class today, which felt strangely sad. Even though I still have the 20 pager looming over my head, I was sad to see it end. 

With said 20-pager, I've been writing a lot about blogging, and how much it means to people.  How blogging is helping people through disease and daily life.  Sure, I love blogging. But I'm not sure that's as much about therapy for me as it is about self-centeredness. Mainly blogging helps me organize my thoughts.  Putting failure and success into blog posts makes it all manageable and palatable. A deadline looms less darkly when it's being complained about on the Internet. 

There's no cause to my blog.  I'm not a mother, a cancer patient, an activist, or a personality.  I wonder what I'm contributing. I'm a college student. While I talk about laundry and getting my feet stuck in ergs, other bloggers are providing insight into the fabric of humanity. 

I'm not sure what I'm getting at here, but I think it's that I'm accepting that things don't always have to matter.  I can write just to write. I can write to assure my family members and friends that I actually haven't disappeared off the face of the earth.  

That being said, I can also write to procrastinate. And if I look deeply inside myself, and at the minimized windows on my computer screen, I can tell that that's exactly what I'm doing. 

Hey! Honesty.