Winter Term. Wow. Where to begin? Perhaps with the monstrous work-load I've taken on over the past two weeks. Perhaps with my ever waining desire to work while it's 20 degrees outside. Or perhaps with my inability to keep in touch with my out-of-state friends due to my monstrous work-load.
That being said, my class is fantastic. I'm learning more than I could have ever hoped about Flash and interactive media. I find our class discussions so fascinating, and I'm really starting to feel like I can use my creativity to create something both functionally and aesthetically interesting and innovative. I'll have to figure out a way to post my projects for viewing. I'm not sure if I can do it here, but I'll figure it out.
In my class we've been viewing a lot of online interactive content. There's this Web site, which is essentially the Web site for an annual Flash convention, that has lists of award-winning Flash animated Web pages. It's mind-boggling and totally worth a visit. Look at the Ikea Dream Kitchen in the 2006 winners. It's amazing. I love the 3D elements and the musical accompaniment - the integration is so seamless and so perfect for their product. I love it! I've been "dorking out" pretty hard core the last week and a half or so, going through tons of YouTube videos and awesome Web sites for class.
My professor is big on breaking up monotony with fun YouTube videos, many of which I've been passing on to my friends. Please go watch David Blaine Street Magic. It's a bit vulgar, but oh so hilarious if you understand the context. We've been seriously discussing YouTube as well as this sort of new wave, or Web 2.0, of how people use the internet.
YouTube has become my savior. Sad, I know. But true. Mindless entertainment has become my vice. And to some extent, I'm really okay with that. There's a ton of stuff, good and bad out there, that can be used educationally and to just break up the day.
That said, I'm going to leave you with an embed of something I found quite amusing, albeit a bit odd...
cheers!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
breathe out
The holiday season is always hectic for everyone. I don't think I'd ever experienced, or truly understood that until this year. I was home in Maryland for about 10 days total; the whole time rushing around running errands, seeing friends or just being occupied by something.
My family spent about a week in Arizona, like we do every year. This was the first year without my grandmother. It's funny how when someone leaves us, everyone else sort of scoots in to fill the space they left behind. It's like when you have birds on a wire, and one flies off, all the rest shove down. But we can only fill so much, there will always be a void, I think. My aunts, my mother, my cousins and I can make the cookies, the salad dressing, the mashed potatoes and do the wrapping, the cleaning and the laundry. But Christmas just didn't feel like Christmas this year.
New traditions must be forged, though in the company of ones still in tact. We did our annual cousins movie trip and our big family party. But they were held at my aunt Suzy's house instead of Grandma's. Oh that's another thing, it will always be Grandma's house. I mean no disrespect to Grandpa, but that's just how it's always been.
She's everywhere in that house on 44th Lane in Glendale. Her scent is still on her clothes, and her touch still lingers on the pots and pans and the candy dish that sits on top of the clothes dryer.
It was a very bittersweet Christmas, but I'm glad to be back at school. It's not that I'm an escapist, I am perfectly happy to face sadness and grief, but there are moments when you're ready to just breathe out and let the sadness disappear, surrounded by friends and family.
I'm excited about winter term this year. I'm taking a class about interactive and new media. Essentially, it's a class about Internet publishing and digital imaging. We had our first class yesterday (they started school on a Friday, I know, I'm taking it up with the proper authorities) and I think the class shows a lot of promise to be something both informative and engaging in terms of artistic growth and thought development.
I'm going to try to blog more this month. I've fallen off the wagon a bit. I'm going to be heavily engrossed in my search for an internship. So, if anyone knows anyone in the art publishing industry who's looking for an eager student to fill an internship position. Call me.
My family spent about a week in Arizona, like we do every year. This was the first year without my grandmother. It's funny how when someone leaves us, everyone else sort of scoots in to fill the space they left behind. It's like when you have birds on a wire, and one flies off, all the rest shove down. But we can only fill so much, there will always be a void, I think. My aunts, my mother, my cousins and I can make the cookies, the salad dressing, the mashed potatoes and do the wrapping, the cleaning and the laundry. But Christmas just didn't feel like Christmas this year.
New traditions must be forged, though in the company of ones still in tact. We did our annual cousins movie trip and our big family party. But they were held at my aunt Suzy's house instead of Grandma's. Oh that's another thing, it will always be Grandma's house. I mean no disrespect to Grandpa, but that's just how it's always been.
She's everywhere in that house on 44th Lane in Glendale. Her scent is still on her clothes, and her touch still lingers on the pots and pans and the candy dish that sits on top of the clothes dryer.
It was a very bittersweet Christmas, but I'm glad to be back at school. It's not that I'm an escapist, I am perfectly happy to face sadness and grief, but there are moments when you're ready to just breathe out and let the sadness disappear, surrounded by friends and family.
I'm excited about winter term this year. I'm taking a class about interactive and new media. Essentially, it's a class about Internet publishing and digital imaging. We had our first class yesterday (they started school on a Friday, I know, I'm taking it up with the proper authorities) and I think the class shows a lot of promise to be something both informative and engaging in terms of artistic growth and thought development.
I'm going to try to blog more this month. I've fallen off the wagon a bit. I'm going to be heavily engrossed in my search for an internship. So, if anyone knows anyone in the art publishing industry who's looking for an eager student to fill an internship position. Call me.
Monday, December 17, 2007
successes big and small
My grandmother will turn 90 in a week. Not many people ever get the chance to say that. I tell people my grandmother is 90 and they all congratulate me, as if I had something to do with it. They say, "You're lucky you've got good genes," or it's just a, "wow."
We had a surprise party for her on Saturday, and as I looked across the dinner table, I realized that it's not her good genes I'm so lucky to have, but her in general.
My grandmother is Armenian. When she was three years old, she and her sister came through Ellis Island to escape persecution in their home country. My great great uncle was drawn and quartered and left on a doorstep. They had to get out. They left for America seeking a better life, bringing with them very little and setting out to meet the rest of their family, a few siblings and a couple cousins and uncles who had come before them.
To say it wasn't easy is a great understatement. I don't actually know how they did it, but they did. And their posterity thanks them immensely. But through it all, growing up in a new, strange place, living with adversity because of their race both in their homeland and in America, some how, my grandmother turned out to be one of the most fantastically optimistic people I've ever met. Nothing gets her down.
It's funny when you look at your parents and grandparents and realize where your traits and attributes come from. I have my dad's eyes and hair, my mom's smile and cheek bones. I have my dad's laugh, and his habit of eating everyone else's food. And I have my mom's sensitivity and talkative nature.
But then I look at my grandparents. All of those traits come from them. My maternal grandmother was about 5 feet tall had the same blue eyes that I have; she was just as stubborn, and just as gossip-prone as I am. My paternal grandmother is the same, about 4' 9", stubborn and sure, but still sweet, that is until you give her a juicy story. I was doomed to be a little person with a big mouth. It's in my heritage.
As I watched my grandmother this weekend, and thought about all she's done in her life, all the people she's met and all the things she's seen. I became more and more proud of myself. At the age of 20, things are really coming together for me.
I was just named Managing Editor for Elon's student newspaper, The Pendulum. I had an article published on the front page of the Burlington Times-News. And over the past few weeks, I have sort of mapped out the rest of my life. I've decided to go to grad school for art history or art criticism, something I've always loved but just never thought I could do.
I still miss London every day, but I think my life is slowly leading me back there. We'll see.
We had a surprise party for her on Saturday, and as I looked across the dinner table, I realized that it's not her good genes I'm so lucky to have, but her in general.
My grandmother is Armenian. When she was three years old, she and her sister came through Ellis Island to escape persecution in their home country. My great great uncle was drawn and quartered and left on a doorstep. They had to get out. They left for America seeking a better life, bringing with them very little and setting out to meet the rest of their family, a few siblings and a couple cousins and uncles who had come before them.
To say it wasn't easy is a great understatement. I don't actually know how they did it, but they did. And their posterity thanks them immensely. But through it all, growing up in a new, strange place, living with adversity because of their race both in their homeland and in America, some how, my grandmother turned out to be one of the most fantastically optimistic people I've ever met. Nothing gets her down.
It's funny when you look at your parents and grandparents and realize where your traits and attributes come from. I have my dad's eyes and hair, my mom's smile and cheek bones. I have my dad's laugh, and his habit of eating everyone else's food. And I have my mom's sensitivity and talkative nature.
But then I look at my grandparents. All of those traits come from them. My maternal grandmother was about 5 feet tall had the same blue eyes that I have; she was just as stubborn, and just as gossip-prone as I am. My paternal grandmother is the same, about 4' 9", stubborn and sure, but still sweet, that is until you give her a juicy story. I was doomed to be a little person with a big mouth. It's in my heritage.
As I watched my grandmother this weekend, and thought about all she's done in her life, all the people she's met and all the things she's seen. I became more and more proud of myself. At the age of 20, things are really coming together for me.
I was just named Managing Editor for Elon's student newspaper, The Pendulum. I had an article published on the front page of the Burlington Times-News. And over the past few weeks, I have sort of mapped out the rest of my life. I've decided to go to grad school for art history or art criticism, something I've always loved but just never thought I could do.
I still miss London every day, but I think my life is slowly leading me back there. We'll see.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
the age of internships
I started looking for summer internships yesterday. Yes. You read that right. Summer internships. It’s October 23. I’ve been called a serial over-achiever before. Nothing new, nothing different and definitely nothing surprising. Yet, even I, in reflecting on yesterday’s activities had to see this as being just a little bit ridiculous. Perhaps my actions were less a reflection of my personality type (read, disorder…) and more a symptom of a far more interesting and somewhat distressing and puzzling change in our society.
The question must be asked though: just how insane was I being? Ask most university students, especially journalism majors, and they’ll explain that they too have already started thinking about next summer, and for those who are really on the ball, have actually sent out a few applications. I have a friend who has six applications due Nov. 1. For me, as a junior, this summer stands as one of the most important internships I will have as a college student. This internship opens the door to possible future hiring situations.
Fifteen, even 10 years ago, no one really put a premium on internships the way we do now. Journalism has always used the experience index as a way to determine hire-ability. Our clips, or writing samples, are our lifeline. The better your clips are, and the more you have, the more likely you are to land that primo job.
So what happened? My only thought is that as more and more people have started to attend college, there needs to be a new standard set for what makes someone more desirable as a new hire over someone else. They could have the same degree, the same GPA, the same extracurricular activities, and yet one of them has done an internship. They have experience. Right there, the company is going to save valuable time and money training the person to do the job.
There’s another side to the internship coin, to be sure. Taking on an internship provides students with the invaluable opportunity to test-drive their career choice. It happens, more often than not, that a student accepts an internship, completes it and then changes their major. The job wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, and now the student has saved themselves the trouble of graduating with that degree and getting stuck with something they’d rather not be stuck with.
Other countries have only just started to understand the internship craze sweeping America. The organization I worked for in London had only just started accepting interns a few years prior, and my supervisor admitted she thought it all sounded a bit like slavery. She had to be convinced to hire me, not because my credentials weren’t stellar, but because she just didn’t get it. Why would someone want to work for free? It wasn’t until I got there and explained to her how important job placements like this are in the United States did she start to understand, however minimally.
It’s an odd phenomenon that we’re being forced so quickly to face the future and determine our career paths. Granted, that is what college is about for the most part. But it’s a startling call to reality when two months after one summer has just ended you’re forced to occupy yourself with planning for the next or be left out in the cold, er, heat?
Cross posted to Reporting to the Public Good (JCM 300 class blog)
Monday, October 15, 2007
transition mettle
Most of you who know me know that my grandmother passed away last Wednesday, Oct. 3. This is not meant to be a sad post, nor is it meant to glean a wave of sympathy. I simply see it as an important piece of background knowledge necessary to approach this post.
As with any life there is death, obviously. But it is the nature of that life that determines the nature of the death. A happy life filled with friendships and love seems to recall a death shrouded in sadness and mourning. Conversely, a sad life filled with spite, anger and misery seems to welcome and accept a timely death.
After spending so many days of this past week filled to the brim with such sadness, I find myself wondering how it is that the above statement makes so much sense. All death should be a celebration of life. Regardless of the condition of that life.
I've spent hours and hours of the last week talking about my grandmother and her vivacious spirit and her love. And her cooking. And every time I begin, I fill up. For selfish reasons yes, but also for the sense of loss I feel for those who missed out on knowing her. My true sadness comes on their behalf.
Death should not be so sad, someone once told me. Death should not be so miserable. Funerals are for the living, and grief is transient.
Existentialism has never been my thing. But the more I "deal" with death, the more I come to understand its purpose. Truly, death is just another part of the cycle. Life is not linear, there is a beginning and an end, to be sure, but who's to say that there is only one of each. But the more I deal with death, the more I understand that while we are "required" to be born, live, and then die, the process serves a greater purpose.
It is the purpose of hope and understanding for those you leave behind. The death of loved ones should stand as a reminder of the evanescence of life. There is tragedy in death, yes, but there is also great hope. The hope is the legacy of those still living.
As with any life there is death, obviously. But it is the nature of that life that determines the nature of the death. A happy life filled with friendships and love seems to recall a death shrouded in sadness and mourning. Conversely, a sad life filled with spite, anger and misery seems to welcome and accept a timely death.
After spending so many days of this past week filled to the brim with such sadness, I find myself wondering how it is that the above statement makes so much sense. All death should be a celebration of life. Regardless of the condition of that life.
I've spent hours and hours of the last week talking about my grandmother and her vivacious spirit and her love. And her cooking. And every time I begin, I fill up. For selfish reasons yes, but also for the sense of loss I feel for those who missed out on knowing her. My true sadness comes on their behalf.
Death should not be so sad, someone once told me. Death should not be so miserable. Funerals are for the living, and grief is transient.
Existentialism has never been my thing. But the more I "deal" with death, the more I come to understand its purpose. Truly, death is just another part of the cycle. Life is not linear, there is a beginning and an end, to be sure, but who's to say that there is only one of each. But the more I deal with death, the more I understand that while we are "required" to be born, live, and then die, the process serves a greater purpose.
It is the purpose of hope and understanding for those you leave behind. The death of loved ones should stand as a reminder of the evanescence of life. There is tragedy in death, yes, but there is also great hope. The hope is the legacy of those still living.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
a lost "wrinkle"
Madeleine L'Engle died last Thursday, and with her passing, the world lost perhaps one of the best novelists of modern times.
Now, I may be exaggerating a little, but this is my blog, so deal with it.
For those for whom the name does not ring a bell, L'Engle was the author of "A Wrinkle in Time."
As a journalism student, I feel like I'm constantly being told by professors that the only way to become a good journalist is to read good journalism. I think it needs to go one step further. Journalism is storytelling. To be a good journalist, you must surround yourself with good storytelling.
L'Engle's writing is recognized for its impeccable storytelling: clean, easy work that not only superficially engages the reader, but that also challenges thought on a more mature level, introducing scientific and political ideas. As a child reading the novel, I loved Meg and Charles Wallace, they were my best friends. But upon revisiting the story in my late-teens, I realized that the book is not only the story of the Murray children, but is also a cleverly disguised criticism of communism and other social systems.
The Washington Post recently published an article of appreciation. The reporter, Monica Hesse, completely captured my sentiment about the novel and L'Engle's brilliant writing.
I think her final graf sums up the affect L'Engle's writing had on so many awkward, uncomfortable teens and then the later discovery of a club of-sorts, of avid "Wrinkle" fans, "All those years ago, with your patchwork quilt and your instant hot chocolate and your despairing belief in your own monstrosity, you hadn't been alone after all."
Madeleine L'Engle's writing is storytelling in its most accelerated form. She adeptly transcended the "children's novel" category of literature and pushed cunningly past to a realm of classicism, punctuated by layers of meaning, beautifully crafted characters and just a good story.
Now, I may be exaggerating a little, but this is my blog, so deal with it.
For those for whom the name does not ring a bell, L'Engle was the author of "A Wrinkle in Time."
As a journalism student, I feel like I'm constantly being told by professors that the only way to become a good journalist is to read good journalism. I think it needs to go one step further. Journalism is storytelling. To be a good journalist, you must surround yourself with good storytelling.
L'Engle's writing is recognized for its impeccable storytelling: clean, easy work that not only superficially engages the reader, but that also challenges thought on a more mature level, introducing scientific and political ideas. As a child reading the novel, I loved Meg and Charles Wallace, they were my best friends. But upon revisiting the story in my late-teens, I realized that the book is not only the story of the Murray children, but is also a cleverly disguised criticism of communism and other social systems.
The Washington Post recently published an article of appreciation. The reporter, Monica Hesse, completely captured my sentiment about the novel and L'Engle's brilliant writing.
I think her final graf sums up the affect L'Engle's writing had on so many awkward, uncomfortable teens and then the later discovery of a club of-sorts, of avid "Wrinkle" fans, "All those years ago, with your patchwork quilt and your instant hot chocolate and your despairing belief in your own monstrosity, you hadn't been alone after all."
Madeleine L'Engle's writing is storytelling in its most accelerated form. She adeptly transcended the "children's novel" category of literature and pushed cunningly past to a realm of classicism, punctuated by layers of meaning, beautifully crafted characters and just a good story.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
to begin again
I noticed the other day a quote on a friend's Web site, saying something about "Can a change of address change your life?" It's strange when you realize you've done something to alter your life completely. In a good way, to be sure. But forever different my life will be after being away for so long.
Upon returning to campus I've noticed that in most ways, I'm beginning again here. I walk around and run into a few people I know, but not many. I've reached the point at Elon where most of my friends are leaving at the end of the year, and since being gone, I have very few who are younger than me.
In addition to the metamorphosis of friendships, I've returned to a school that looks strikingly different from the one I left. Buildings are popping up everywhere. Fountains, trees and pathways have materialized over a six-month stretch of absence. It's disconcerting, really, to find my old haunts re-purposed and left behind in favor of newer, more modern things.
I've decided to do some re-purposing of my own. I kept this blog during my semester abroad as a way to stay in touch with my friends and family in the U.S., and as a way to document my experiences and musings on cultural differences. I've found myself lacking that outlet, and have decided to begin again.
Upon returning to campus I've noticed that in most ways, I'm beginning again here. I walk around and run into a few people I know, but not many. I've reached the point at Elon where most of my friends are leaving at the end of the year, and since being gone, I have very few who are younger than me.
In addition to the metamorphosis of friendships, I've returned to a school that looks strikingly different from the one I left. Buildings are popping up everywhere. Fountains, trees and pathways have materialized over a six-month stretch of absence. It's disconcerting, really, to find my old haunts re-purposed and left behind in favor of newer, more modern things.
I've decided to do some re-purposing of my own. I kept this blog during my semester abroad as a way to stay in touch with my friends and family in the U.S., and as a way to document my experiences and musings on cultural differences. I've found myself lacking that outlet, and have decided to begin again.
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