Before this class, the thought of blogging had never really occurred to me. To be honest, I just thought the blogging world was meant for spoiled, angst-y teenagers who used blogging as a venting outlet, complaining about how life isn't fair, all the while sipping on their mocha lattes and typing on $2000 macs.
However, since this class, I have realized that blogging is so much more than that. It is a way to connect, a way to get relevant information, and (my favorite) a way to be creative.
A person who is all about the details in writing, I love the fact that blogs allow writers to fully express the scene so that many times, I feel like I am right there with the writer. I also love being able to read classmates' takes on current issues and hot topics, and being able to connect with the 'universal' undertone that is present in so many peoples' blogs.
Therefore, I think that blogging is a good component to this class; not only because of its relevancy, connectivity and creativity, but also because it is the way in which the world is moving: towards the age of ever-increasing technology.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Excuse me, Sir, Please Let me Walk in Peace
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| Photo of Cat Callers. Image taken from thefeministwire.com |
"Mmm...baby, where you goin' with that hot lil' bod?"--This is what one man thought was OK to leer at me at three o' clock on a Tuesday afternoon, with three little kids in tow, I might add.
Lips smacking and eyes scanning every part of me--except for my face, of course--this man succeeded in making me feel extremely self-conscious and humiliated--two feelings that NO ONE should have to endure at any time, let alone while walking home from class in the middle of the afternoon.
After the humiliation had worn off, I become infuriated. What gives anyone the right to comment about my body, objectifying me and making me feel like less of a person? And furthermore, what is he teaching the three little boys that he had presumably just picked up from the bus stop? That is is OK to objectify women? That it is OK to humiliate women for your own self-gratification?
Some might say, well, what's the big deal? Its not like he touched you or anything. You just need to not be so sensitive and have thicker skin; others might say, well, what were you wearing? You were probably 'workin' it.
Such thought-processes, such frames of mind: these are a problem. A Big One.
It is a problem that this wasn't the first time that something like this has happened to me. It is a problem that some people don't find this offensive behavior to be harassment and it is a problem that this type of thing seems to be becoming the norm, a problem that this type of behavior is "OK."
Yes, women have made tremendous strides in overcoming inequality and gaining equal rights, but shouldn't those rights include the right to walk down the street without being harassed?
Apparently, they don't.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Boots on the Beach
Boots on the beach? Barefoot on the beach seems like a more likely combination, especially for anyone (like me) who only has the opportunity to enjoy the ocean one week out of the year.
And yet, this time at the ocean was different. I had traded bare feet for boots, a bikini for a blanket and sunglasses for a scarf. While it did feel a bit bizarre at first, I did feel like I was able to fully appreciate Mother Nature's beauty just a little bit more than when hordes of bikini-wearers and swim trunk-bearers infiltrate the beach.
Looking left, looking right, looking straight ahead, not a human soul, although the sea gulls were a different story. The whole atmosphere had taken on a different aura, transitioning from a place of socializing to a place of solitude.
And this was Long Island--Southampton to be exact. This was a place where all the celebs are supposed to lavishly love out their summers, shopping at Dolce and J. Crew to escape the "harsh" demands of the NYC summer life. A place where people swarm in the warm summer months.
But somehow the salty air tasted just a little bit sweeter; the unwavering breeze smelled a little bit fresher; and being alone on the beach didn't seem quite so lonely.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Beautifully Chaotic; Chaotically Beautiful
My senses were inundated. I couldn't seem to take it all in fast enough. The scene--the one at the Yellow Springs Street Fair--is one that will last in my memory bank for a very long time.
Indeed a sight for the eyes--muted grays and charcoals of drawings gave way to the blend of turquoise, royal purple and sea-foam green of crocheted berets, which bled into the crimson-y red and blood-orange of the delicate, handmade leaf jewlery.
A musical cacophony for the ears--the sweet tinkling of the tambourines melded into the melodious timbre of the street performer's husky voice and his harmonious acoustic guitar; all of which was somehow united with the deep thud thud of the drums that pulsated along with the heart.
A tingling sensation for the nose--powdery funnel cake mingled with caramelized kettle corn, which was fused with the fragrance of strawberry-scented candles and the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread.
And the people--some clad in long prairie skirts and flowery hair pieces, others donned dreadlocks and "Legalize It!" buttons, and still others sported muted bandanas and faded blue jeans.
At first glance, it all appeared to be a mess, but somehow it all fit together. Piece by Piece.
All at once it was beautifully chaotic and chaotically beautiful.
Indeed a sight for the eyes--muted grays and charcoals of drawings gave way to the blend of turquoise, royal purple and sea-foam green of crocheted berets, which bled into the crimson-y red and blood-orange of the delicate, handmade leaf jewlery.
A musical cacophony for the ears--the sweet tinkling of the tambourines melded into the melodious timbre of the street performer's husky voice and his harmonious acoustic guitar; all of which was somehow united with the deep thud thud of the drums that pulsated along with the heart.
A tingling sensation for the nose--powdery funnel cake mingled with caramelized kettle corn, which was fused with the fragrance of strawberry-scented candles and the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread.
And the people--some clad in long prairie skirts and flowery hair pieces, others donned dreadlocks and "Legalize It!" buttons, and still others sported muted bandanas and faded blue jeans.
At first glance, it all appeared to be a mess, but somehow it all fit together. Piece by Piece.
All at once it was beautifully chaotic and chaotically beautiful.
A Sad Sight
A young couple, still damp from the Boston evening's torrential downpour duck into a local tavern in Allston (a neighborhood in Boston). Cheeks rosy, eyes glinting, faces glowing from--enthrallment in one another's company? Exhilaration of having escaped the surprise rainstorm? Nope, rather from the artificial light, eerily gleaming from their phones. To me, this is one of the saddest sights in modern-day America. And yet, its occurrence is becoming the norm.
For at least fifteen minutes, the couple did not speak two words to one another as they continued to absently stare at the glowing boxes in their palms. Only when the gooping-hot nacho cheese appetizer had lost its goopy did the couple finally take a break from the 'priorities in life'--Facebook, Instagram, ScoreCenter.
Now, before I sound like a crotchety old curmudgeon (and maybe, I already do), let me say that I do believe that technologies like smart phones do have their perks. Such devices have allowed us to get information faster and easier casting us forward years; however, devices such as these have also inhibited our human interaction skills jolting us backward centuries.
I try to imagine a much different dinner scene of the young couple:
The woman smiles shyly as she glances at the smattering of freckles on the man's hairline instead of at the glowing screen with the hairline crack in the corner.
The man inwardly sighs at the sassy gleam in her emerald eyes instead of at the glint of light emanating from his device.
A shiver of electric anticipation runs up the woman's spine as the man reaches across the table with his calloused hands, instead of an artificial buzz that sends tremors through the woman's fingertips from the rough surface of the keyboard.
In all of this, they could've reveled in their shared experience, their shared adventure in the city, a shared secret perhaps--instead they basked in a shared emptiness.
For at least fifteen minutes, the couple did not speak two words to one another as they continued to absently stare at the glowing boxes in their palms. Only when the gooping-hot nacho cheese appetizer had lost its goopy did the couple finally take a break from the 'priorities in life'--Facebook, Instagram, ScoreCenter.
Now, before I sound like a crotchety old curmudgeon (and maybe, I already do), let me say that I do believe that technologies like smart phones do have their perks. Such devices have allowed us to get information faster and easier casting us forward years; however, devices such as these have also inhibited our human interaction skills jolting us backward centuries.
I try to imagine a much different dinner scene of the young couple:
The woman smiles shyly as she glances at the smattering of freckles on the man's hairline instead of at the glowing screen with the hairline crack in the corner.
The man inwardly sighs at the sassy gleam in her emerald eyes instead of at the glint of light emanating from his device.
A shiver of electric anticipation runs up the woman's spine as the man reaches across the table with his calloused hands, instead of an artificial buzz that sends tremors through the woman's fingertips from the rough surface of the keyboard.
In all of this, they could've reveled in their shared experience, their shared adventure in the city, a shared secret perhaps--instead they basked in a shared emptiness.
On the Scene: Regatta on the Charles
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| Photo of Rowers on the Charles River in Boston from the BU Bridge. |
Currently on the scene: Hundreds of rowers in boats currently cutting through the surface of the glassy, Saturday morning surface of the Charles River in Boston, MA.
The rowers--ranging from Boston University alumni to Olympic class rowers--are all in town for the 51st annual Head of the Charles Regatta. Each crew is dressed in uniform, whether that be Breast-Cancer-Awareness pink, neon green, or solid black.
Flocks of people are gathered above the river on the BU Bridge, squinting in the Saturday morning sun at the rowers--each crew perfectly in sync--no matter if that crew is two people or eight. Bulging arms circling around and around, calf muscles straining back and forth, tight core muscles tightening and releasing--all in one fluid motion.
They make it look so easy, as if only to mock the sedentary spectators above, as if only to say, what are you doing with your Saturday morning...?
For more info about what the Head of the Charles Regatta:
http://www.hocr.org/the-regatta/2014-regatta-news/
*This blog was written on the scene (Saturday morning), but I couldn't post until now because of a faulty phone connection.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Response to "Is the HPER doing too much?"
Is the HPER center doing too much in regard to all of the new rules and procedures? I think that yes, absolutely yes they are.
In her blog, I believe that Ciara brought up a lot of good points. The main new procedure that I have an issue with is that all people need to present an ID upon entering the building. I do understand the thought process behind this new rule--safety and all that.
But, as a student athlete who regularly uses the HPER center (sometimes multiple times a day), I really do resent this new rule. A lot of times, coming back from a workout I do not have my ID on me and other times I have honestly just forgotten it (I'll be the first to admit that I tend to be absent minded on occasion). Because of my failure to present my ID I actually have been turned away on more than one occasion, by a person whom I know personally.
Additionally, I think that students (if there is no other work to be done, which from what it looks like in the HPER, there usually isn't) should be able to do some light reading or studying, instead of having to sit at a desk for mind-numbing hours at a time, twiddling their thumbs, wasting time.
Honestly, I don't think that there was much wrong with the procedures that were in place to begin with, and so to revert back to the old saying: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
In her blog, I believe that Ciara brought up a lot of good points. The main new procedure that I have an issue with is that all people need to present an ID upon entering the building. I do understand the thought process behind this new rule--safety and all that.
But, as a student athlete who regularly uses the HPER center (sometimes multiple times a day), I really do resent this new rule. A lot of times, coming back from a workout I do not have my ID on me and other times I have honestly just forgotten it (I'll be the first to admit that I tend to be absent minded on occasion). Because of my failure to present my ID I actually have been turned away on more than one occasion, by a person whom I know personally.
Additionally, I think that students (if there is no other work to be done, which from what it looks like in the HPER, there usually isn't) should be able to do some light reading or studying, instead of having to sit at a desk for mind-numbing hours at a time, twiddling their thumbs, wasting time.
Honestly, I don't think that there was much wrong with the procedures that were in place to begin with, and so to revert back to the old saying: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Food Trucks: They're a Thing
Oozing hot ham and cheese on toast hot enough to warm chilled fingers, greasy fries smothered with melt-y cheese, crumbly biscuits with gravy that melt upon tongues first touch--all are probably a heart attack in tin foil, but at 2:20 AM on a brisk Saturday morning at the University of Dayton, that risk was one that I was willing to take.
Being from a small(er) town in the Cleveland area, I didn't even know that food trucks (and their greasy goods galore) were a thing (even though I am a self-proclaimed 'foodie').
I was first introduced to the concept at the Springfield food truck festival in early August when many Witt students were finding their ways back to campus. Absolutely in awe of the rows on rows on rows of essentially, mini kitchens on wheels, I had the hardest time choosing into what I wanted to sink my teeth.
Having forgotten mostly about the festival (it being just a blurb in the whirring first half of the semester), I found myself on the University of Dayton's campus this past Friday night visiting some high school friends. Having taken advantage of all the night had to offer and after trekking (what seemed) like miles in the frigid sub-45 degree night, the soft glow and gentle whirring of that beautiful food truck was a godsend. So much so that it was even worth the 25 minute wait.
We--seven of us in all--scarfed down our savory finds before we even got back to the apartment, burning our tongues in the process. But again, it was so worth it.
That all being said, I wonder what having a food truck at Wittenberg would be like? If people were willing to wait in the unseasonably chilly night in Dayton, would students at Witt do the same?
The gooey ham and cheese still haunting my thoughts...these are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night....
Being from a small(er) town in the Cleveland area, I didn't even know that food trucks (and their greasy goods galore) were a thing (even though I am a self-proclaimed 'foodie').
I was first introduced to the concept at the Springfield food truck festival in early August when many Witt students were finding their ways back to campus. Absolutely in awe of the rows on rows on rows of essentially, mini kitchens on wheels, I had the hardest time choosing into what I wanted to sink my teeth.
Having forgotten mostly about the festival (it being just a blurb in the whirring first half of the semester), I found myself on the University of Dayton's campus this past Friday night visiting some high school friends. Having taken advantage of all the night had to offer and after trekking (what seemed) like miles in the frigid sub-45 degree night, the soft glow and gentle whirring of that beautiful food truck was a godsend. So much so that it was even worth the 25 minute wait.
We--seven of us in all--scarfed down our savory finds before we even got back to the apartment, burning our tongues in the process. But again, it was so worth it.
That all being said, I wonder what having a food truck at Wittenberg would be like? If people were willing to wait in the unseasonably chilly night in Dayton, would students at Witt do the same?
The gooey ham and cheese still haunting my thoughts...these are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night....
To the Girl With the Black French Braid
To the girl with the black French braid: I don't know anything about you; I can't remember what school you are from; and quite frankly I didn't even catch your name. But I do want to say thank you. Because of you, I was able to finally break my cross country 6k PR and keep my sanity in the process.
OK, let me set the scene:
Mason, Ohio Kings Island [cross country] golf course: teams from all over the nation flocked to the gentle, rolling hills of the course that criss-crossed around fairways, tidy greens and splotches of trees--trees that were dripping fiery crimson and blood-orange so that it looked like someone had half dipped the fading green into paint buckets and forgotten about it. The pale blue sky was dotted with remnants of rain clouds, but the sun managed to filter through, allowing for the 'sunny and seventy-five' kind of day. All in all, a gorgeous day, especially for a race.
The plump Mr. starter raised his gun in the air, his beer belly protruding from underneath his shirt. And bang we were off. The first three k's passed by rather uneventfully; I let the momentum of the hundreds of girls pull me through. And then, panic set in. Straight panic.
Can't. Breathe. Where's coach. Need. Inhal-inhaler. Crap. Can't get. Air in. C'mon Sarah, calm down, dammit why can't. I get this. Then, a soft touch on my forearm.
"C'mon girl, you can do this. You have asthma?"
"Yuh" (I somehow managed to choke out)
"Me too; I know, I know. In through your nose."--a gentle tug on my forearm--"C'mon if I can do it, you can do it. Let's do this."
***
We did manage to do it. Both of us. Within two seconds of one another. And while I was overwhelmed to near tears at her act of kindness, I am more struck my the comradie that seems to accompany cross country.
While yes, we are all racing each other, we are all racing the same clock, all trying to do our very best, no matter how trying, how unbearable (at times) that may be.
And it is for that reason, and that reason alone why I can't envision myself on Saturday mornings not surrounded by 300 girls all racing that clock, all trying to break through the mental and physical barriers that embody cross country.
OK, let me set the scene:
Mason, Ohio Kings Island [cross country] golf course: teams from all over the nation flocked to the gentle, rolling hills of the course that criss-crossed around fairways, tidy greens and splotches of trees--trees that were dripping fiery crimson and blood-orange so that it looked like someone had half dipped the fading green into paint buckets and forgotten about it. The pale blue sky was dotted with remnants of rain clouds, but the sun managed to filter through, allowing for the 'sunny and seventy-five' kind of day. All in all, a gorgeous day, especially for a race.
The plump Mr. starter raised his gun in the air, his beer belly protruding from underneath his shirt. And bang we were off. The first three k's passed by rather uneventfully; I let the momentum of the hundreds of girls pull me through. And then, panic set in. Straight panic.
Can't. Breathe. Where's coach. Need. Inhal-inhaler. Crap. Can't get. Air in. C'mon Sarah, calm down, dammit why can't. I get this. Then, a soft touch on my forearm.
"C'mon girl, you can do this. You have asthma?"
"Yuh" (I somehow managed to choke out)
"Me too; I know, I know. In through your nose."--a gentle tug on my forearm--"C'mon if I can do it, you can do it. Let's do this."
***
We did manage to do it. Both of us. Within two seconds of one another. And while I was overwhelmed to near tears at her act of kindness, I am more struck my the comradie that seems to accompany cross country.
While yes, we are all racing each other, we are all racing the same clock, all trying to do our very best, no matter how trying, how unbearable (at times) that may be.
And it is for that reason, and that reason alone why I can't envision myself on Saturday mornings not surrounded by 300 girls all racing that clock, all trying to break through the mental and physical barriers that embody cross country.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Embarrassed
Joyce Carol Oates--this slight-framed seventy six year old with the somewhat wild curls has done a lot in her lifetime. And I mean A LOT.
A novelist, playwright, poet, short story writer and professor--she has had dozens upon dozens of works published, including over 40 novels!
So why is it then, that when this world-renowned genius graces Wittenberg's campus with her presence, many Wittenberg students can't even muster up enough respect to glance away from their phones for more than thirty seconds at a time, and what's more, can't even exhibit enough respect and human decency to stay the extra fifteen minutes for the Q&A session?!
Now, before anyone takes up the defensive, I understand that the lecture/topic didn't appeal to everyone, I understand that some students have other commitments that require them to dip out early, and I understand that yes, it is hard to pay attention to someone--particularly someone with a quiet, lulling voice--read from a story for about a half an hour.
But, that being said I still think that it is a matter of basic human etiquette and therefore inexcusable for students resort to 'passing the time' on yik yak or Twitter before Oates had even gotten two minutes in to her reading. (And don't even get me started on some of the comments on yik yak--ranging from cruel and vulgar to just downright disgusting).
Wittenberg--the dear university that we call home--was able to snag such a prolific author to be a speaker at our event at our tiny campus, probably in hopes that she could pass some of her light and extensive knowledge onto us. And yet, many extinguished that potential passing of light by reverting instead to the artificial light emanating from their phone screens.
A novelist, playwright, poet, short story writer and professor--she has had dozens upon dozens of works published, including over 40 novels!
So why is it then, that when this world-renowned genius graces Wittenberg's campus with her presence, many Wittenberg students can't even muster up enough respect to glance away from their phones for more than thirty seconds at a time, and what's more, can't even exhibit enough respect and human decency to stay the extra fifteen minutes for the Q&A session?!
Now, before anyone takes up the defensive, I understand that the lecture/topic didn't appeal to everyone, I understand that some students have other commitments that require them to dip out early, and I understand that yes, it is hard to pay attention to someone--particularly someone with a quiet, lulling voice--read from a story for about a half an hour.
But, that being said I still think that it is a matter of basic human etiquette and therefore inexcusable for students resort to 'passing the time' on yik yak or Twitter before Oates had even gotten two minutes in to her reading. (And don't even get me started on some of the comments on yik yak--ranging from cruel and vulgar to just downright disgusting).
Wittenberg--the dear university that we call home--was able to snag such a prolific author to be a speaker at our event at our tiny campus, probably in hopes that she could pass some of her light and extensive knowledge onto us. And yet, many extinguished that potential passing of light by reverting instead to the artificial light emanating from their phone screens.
Greek Gives Back
Currently happening in Benham Pence Student Center: Wittenberg Greek life students are hosting a Philanthropy Fair and Ice Cream Social for 2014 Greek Week--"Greek gives Back."
Dozens of students, many donning sweatshirts, hats and jackets--have flocked into the basement of the student center, many shedding their multiple layers as they step out of the sleety, sub-45 day and into the toasty warm building.
Milling around the different tables, some students have opted to chat and enjoy their ice cream (somewhat ironic on this brisk October afternoon), while others are playing minute to win it games, taking pictures with the sleepy golden pup, Cricket, and playing a game that somewhat resembles a mini-corn hole match.
Students--Greek and non-Greek alike--are encouraged to check out the different philanthropy tables of each sorority/fraternity Greek Week pairing in order to learn about how each chapter gives back through service and philanthropies.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Response to Re-definition of Family
I really appreciated Lauren Swanson's blog about the 're-definition' of her own family, and with many of her points, I agree. The 'modern day' family image has completely transformed from the black-and-white T.V. shows of two loving parents, a couple o' kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. I think that this change is for the better...I think it is good to mix things up every once in a while. It keeps things fresh.
The show that particularly comes to my mind as a new take on family is ABC Family's "Modern Family." The show depicts the 'everyday' lives of one family, split into three different intermediate families.
Although one of the three immediate families is more traditional, with two parents and three kids, the other two families stray far from what would have been considered the norm in the "Honey, I'm home" era. One of the non-traditional families consists of two homosexual men who together, are raising children that they adopted. The other non-traditional intermediate family consists of an attractive Colombian woman married to a man that is probably twenty years her senior, and together the two are raising the Colombian woman's son from another marriage, along with a baby that the two had together.
As the show follows the different story lines of the family members, I can't help but realize that while yes, the show is meant to be a sitcom, 'Modern Family' is also a commentary on how the family dynamic does not have to be 'traditional' in order to work.
Families come in so many different shapes, sizes, and dynamics, and honestly, as long as from each family unit there is an outpouring of love (even though sometimes the love doesn't always seem to be there), then really, who cares if the family is not 'traditional'?
The show that particularly comes to my mind as a new take on family is ABC Family's "Modern Family." The show depicts the 'everyday' lives of one family, split into three different intermediate families.
Although one of the three immediate families is more traditional, with two parents and three kids, the other two families stray far from what would have been considered the norm in the "Honey, I'm home" era. One of the non-traditional families consists of two homosexual men who together, are raising children that they adopted. The other non-traditional intermediate family consists of an attractive Colombian woman married to a man that is probably twenty years her senior, and together the two are raising the Colombian woman's son from another marriage, along with a baby that the two had together.
As the show follows the different story lines of the family members, I can't help but realize that while yes, the show is meant to be a sitcom, 'Modern Family' is also a commentary on how the family dynamic does not have to be 'traditional' in order to work.
Families come in so many different shapes, sizes, and dynamics, and honestly, as long as from each family unit there is an outpouring of love (even though sometimes the love doesn't always seem to be there), then really, who cares if the family is not 'traditional'?
We're Gonna Make This Place Your Home
Bid Day: Black and Crimson streamers hanging from the banister, pearl-white balloons littering the carpet, gaggles of giggling girls 'crafting' signs--if there was ever a time for be to embrace my inner sorority girl, today was it. Because today, the women of Alpha Delta Pi welcomed 11 new members into the sisterhood.
Amid the incessant chants of "Boom-boom I wanna go ADPi" and the squeals of delight at having captured the perfect picture on the steps of the house, we all waited in anticipation for the calls of new members accepting their bids.
Not even two years ago, I would have mocked all of this. I considered myself to be more of a tomboy, an introvert, an athlete: the antithesis of a 'sorority girl.' Honestly, if someone had told me in high school that I would be into the sorority life, I probably would have laughed in that person's face. But indeed, that sorority world has become my own. Not my entire world, maybe just a hemisphere, but nevertheless, it is still there.Always.
And that's the thing: my sorority and the 80-something new sisters that I have gained are always there, even in times when I don't think that I need them.
They were there at the finish line of the sweltering-hot All-Ohio Cross country meet, toting 'Go Sarah!' posters along with their totes. They were there with words of encouragement when my fingers and my mind were at a disconnect and I couldn't seem to play the piano to save my life. They were there with chocolate and chick flicks when my heart was torn out of my chest and smashed on the cold, hard ground.
And I know that some would scoff at that statement. I mean, really. How can a group of sorority girls really ALWAYS be there? Aren't sorority girls supposed to be catty? And I will tell you that yes, collectively and individually, we have had our problems, but somehow we manage to work through them.
And that is why no matter how tired and worn out all of the bid day festivities had me, by eight o' clock, I felt like I was just riding a wave of energy as I thought about welcoming home 11 new women into our supportive sisterhood.
Amid the incessant chants of "Boom-boom I wanna go ADPi" and the squeals of delight at having captured the perfect picture on the steps of the house, we all waited in anticipation for the calls of new members accepting their bids.
Not even two years ago, I would have mocked all of this. I considered myself to be more of a tomboy, an introvert, an athlete: the antithesis of a 'sorority girl.' Honestly, if someone had told me in high school that I would be into the sorority life, I probably would have laughed in that person's face. But indeed, that sorority world has become my own. Not my entire world, maybe just a hemisphere, but nevertheless, it is still there.Always.
And that's the thing: my sorority and the 80-something new sisters that I have gained are always there, even in times when I don't think that I need them.
They were there at the finish line of the sweltering-hot All-Ohio Cross country meet, toting 'Go Sarah!' posters along with their totes. They were there with words of encouragement when my fingers and my mind were at a disconnect and I couldn't seem to play the piano to save my life. They were there with chocolate and chick flicks when my heart was torn out of my chest and smashed on the cold, hard ground.
And I know that some would scoff at that statement. I mean, really. How can a group of sorority girls really ALWAYS be there? Aren't sorority girls supposed to be catty? And I will tell you that yes, collectively and individually, we have had our problems, but somehow we manage to work through them.
And that is why no matter how tired and worn out all of the bid day festivities had me, by eight o' clock, I felt like I was just riding a wave of energy as I thought about welcoming home 11 new women into our supportive sisterhood.
Adpi karaoke
Currently on the scene at founders: wittenberg female students of all origins, backgrounds and interests, all joined together making fools of themselves for some bid day karaoke.
There are dancers, rugby players; there are English majors, math and biology majors, there are sophomores and seniors. And all have come together to momentarily take their eyes of their newsfeeds of constant bid day photos to laugh at our fellow sisters as they belt out sweet Caroline.
And as I glance around, I remember why I have joined this Amazing group of women. We can put aside our differences and belt out the lyrics because "good times never seemed so good. So good! So good!"
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Blank Slates Marked with Scribbles
Blonde hair, blue eyes, white skin complete with a sprinkling of freckles--what could I possibly add to the conversation about race relations and racial profiling? For that reason, I have been very hesitant to write this blog, but the more I think about it, the more I feel that I need to confirm the obvious: racial profiling is a very real thing. A very real, terrible thing.
I know this because I myself have been guilty of it.
I am not going to devote this blog to statistics and my poorly-crafted interpretations of those statistics. Instead, let me tell you a story:
Three girls not yet eighteen amble through the historic streets of 'old Pari', completely enraptured by the ornate cathedrals glinting in the sun, enthralled by the old time-y vendors dotting the banks of the Seine, charmed by the old French man smiling as he sells his delicious masterpieces: nutella crepes.
Then, jolting them out of their 'I-love-Paris' reveries--a (peaceful) protest of some sort, consisting of twenty or so men of color. The trio quickly crosses to the other side of the street, eyes downcast and satchels clutched tightly to their sides. They exchange furtive glances, as they scurry away to the metro, despite the obvious lack of danger.
The protest is soon forgotten as the three marvel at the day's purchases: a painting of the Seine, kitsch-y figurines of the Eiffel Tower, a true 'parisian' baret. The dank metro car is crowded, mostly with work-weary Parisians, and the three giggle at one woman's complete lack of regard for personal space. Oh well, it must be a Paris thing, they thought; she's harmless, she basically looks just like us, right? Wrong.
Turns out the woman was a thief, and while the girls were completely unaware of their surroundings (lulled into a sense of security while surrounded people that 'look just like us'), the woman was in fact, cutting the straps to one of the girl's satchels, which the girl had carelessly flung over her shoulder, in spite of the crowded metro.
It is probably not hard to figure out that one of the girls in the story is me, but allow me to get to the bigger picture: I do not consider myself a racist; I do not think that any race is inferior to any other, and yet why am I guilty of racial profiling? I wasn't born thinking 'black is bad' or dangerous. So why?
As a firm believer of John Locke's 'blank slate' theory, I believe that throughout my socialization process, society has scribbled my 'slate' with racism. A racial slur here. One scribble. A racist comment there. Two scribbles. And so it went for 18 years until my slate was so messed up that little high-schooler me thought it was OK to make judgments about one group of people based on the color of their skin.
And so, in order to fix this 'very real, very terrible' thing, I think that the first step is that people (like myself) need to be made aware of this issue at hand. And not just made aware of the unnecessary police brutality against people of color (because honestly, we can condemn and condemn those officers all we want), but rather, people need to be aware of their own subconscious thoughts, and how society may have influenced those very thoughts.
Until this awareness of subconscious is universal, I do not think that a change can truly be made. One the surface, yes, but deep down, no. To bring about a change, society really needs to work on erasing those scribbles of racism that are ingrained on the subconscious of so many.
I know this because I myself have been guilty of it.
I am not going to devote this blog to statistics and my poorly-crafted interpretations of those statistics. Instead, let me tell you a story:
Three girls not yet eighteen amble through the historic streets of 'old Pari', completely enraptured by the ornate cathedrals glinting in the sun, enthralled by the old time-y vendors dotting the banks of the Seine, charmed by the old French man smiling as he sells his delicious masterpieces: nutella crepes.
Then, jolting them out of their 'I-love-Paris' reveries--a (peaceful) protest of some sort, consisting of twenty or so men of color. The trio quickly crosses to the other side of the street, eyes downcast and satchels clutched tightly to their sides. They exchange furtive glances, as they scurry away to the metro, despite the obvious lack of danger.
The protest is soon forgotten as the three marvel at the day's purchases: a painting of the Seine, kitsch-y figurines of the Eiffel Tower, a true 'parisian' baret. The dank metro car is crowded, mostly with work-weary Parisians, and the three giggle at one woman's complete lack of regard for personal space. Oh well, it must be a Paris thing, they thought; she's harmless, she basically looks just like us, right? Wrong.
Turns out the woman was a thief, and while the girls were completely unaware of their surroundings (lulled into a sense of security while surrounded people that 'look just like us'), the woman was in fact, cutting the straps to one of the girl's satchels, which the girl had carelessly flung over her shoulder, in spite of the crowded metro.
It is probably not hard to figure out that one of the girls in the story is me, but allow me to get to the bigger picture: I do not consider myself a racist; I do not think that any race is inferior to any other, and yet why am I guilty of racial profiling? I wasn't born thinking 'black is bad' or dangerous. So why?
As a firm believer of John Locke's 'blank slate' theory, I believe that throughout my socialization process, society has scribbled my 'slate' with racism. A racial slur here. One scribble. A racist comment there. Two scribbles. And so it went for 18 years until my slate was so messed up that little high-schooler me thought it was OK to make judgments about one group of people based on the color of their skin.
And so, in order to fix this 'very real, very terrible' thing, I think that the first step is that people (like myself) need to be made aware of this issue at hand. And not just made aware of the unnecessary police brutality against people of color (because honestly, we can condemn and condemn those officers all we want), but rather, people need to be aware of their own subconscious thoughts, and how society may have influenced those very thoughts.
Until this awareness of subconscious is universal, I do not think that a change can truly be made. One the surface, yes, but deep down, no. To bring about a change, society really needs to work on erasing those scribbles of racism that are ingrained on the subconscious of so many.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Die-hard Dedication to Disheartening Disappointment: The life of a Cleveland Sports fan
For me, the team that particularly pulls at my heartstrings are my beloved Cleveland Indians. Every year, no matter how mediocre-at-best the future seems, I await the first day of baseball like its Christmas morning. Because for me, a game at "the Jake" (ok, Progressive field) is like Christmas morning: the booming sound of Tommy Hamilton's voice equivalent to Santa's cheery "ho, ho, ho!"; fans joyously singing "Take me out to the ballgame" equivalent to Christmas carols; even the rubbery taste of dollar dogs equivalent to warm Christmas cookies.
Why all this excitement if every year, the Tribe falls (sometimes) heart-breakingly short of even a Wild Card spot? Even this year, as the days of September slowly trickle by, I haven't let myself give up hope. You see, they have me caught. Kluber will pitch an amazing game and they will win five or six in a row, finally breaking through the 500 mark, and then come back and lose the next four. Or Chisenhall will come through with an ungodly amount of RBI's, and then they will get swept by the damn Detroit Tigers. One step forward, two steps back.
Why do I let myself get so invested if year after year I am just left with disappointment? Is it because that is the Cleveland way: to dust yourself off and through the rubble of another butchered season look, with fresh faced optimism, at the glimpse of hope that lies just on the horizon of next April?
I honestly couldn't tell you. What I can tell you is this: I am one Tribe fan who is tired of defending mediocrity, sick of checking my ESPN app only to see a toppling loss, and most of all, I am one Indians fan who is dying to see the Tribe win a World Series in my lifetime. Just one.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Sunshine, Sunflowers and Sisters: A Place Where Nothing Else Matters
 |
| Picture of sunflowers at the sunflower field |
As several other Wittenberg students this weekend, I found myself meandering through the chaotic, yet beautiful patch of sunflowers. Hundreds of them.
I don't know if words can do the scene justice but let me give it a try: The colors, vivid and vibrant, looked straight out of an camera filter. The golden flower heads, some tattered and some in full blossom, all faced toward the sun. The green stalks twined throughout the field, their rough textures snaking underfoot. And all of this under the canopy of an impossible blue sky, with a few puffy clouds occasionally interrupting the sun's warm, gentle, touch.
I went with a couple of my sisters, and of course we had to take the obligatory group pictures, each of us squatting in our much-rehearsed sorority squats.
But after the pictures, we each kind of went our separate ways and I found myself in a world where nothing else really seemed to matter. I could no longer hear the cars whooshing by right next to the field, or the other people squealing in delight as they captured the moment with dozens of selfies. Instead, I heard the rhythmic hum of the bees, the slight rustle of the nearby trees, and the sweet melodic whistling of the tiny birds; it was nature's symphony, and I was the audience of one.
And in this moment, my mind was solely focused in the present. The here and the now. And afterwards, I realized what a rarity that is: for a college girl with a billion different preoccupations to be truly aware of her surroundings, and to be enraptured by everything around her.
It was so pleasant, refreshing even, to have a few minutes of solitude to be away from the constant buzzing of my phone, which as of late seems to be glued to my hand. I really wonder what the world would be like without instagram, Facebook, snap chat, and the nagging desire to always be connected. Would people be nicer? Less dismissive? Would they have more time for what truly mattered? Would they appreciate a sunflower for more than just the amount of instagram likes they can get? Hmm…I wonder.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
3 going on 30
Giggling girls, roaring hairdryers, cries of despair at the broken coffee maker: this is currently the scene at the ADPi house. Not unlike this morning, the house, between the hours of 8AM and 1AM (sometimes even later), becomes a whir of activity. Sometimes sisters move so fast on their way out the door, that only the Vera Bradley backpack pattern can confirm who it is.
As I walk downstairs, bleary-eyed to (not) make my coffee, I am struck by how different this scene is to the one that I had become very accustomed to for the past three months: me and my three roommates, living in a spacious house built for five.
The scene at that house was very different indeed, with some mornings not even starting until 11AM, and even then, the majority of the days (while we weren't at work) were spent lazing around in the hazy Hollow, trying not to die of heat stroke.
And the quiet...oh my...if you have never stayed on a college campus in the summer, then you wouldn't know of the eerie, lethargic hush that seems to blanket everything--even the trees couldn't be bothered to rustle their leaves. At the beginning of the summer this sort of quiet was so tranquil, therapeutic even, but towards the end of the summer, I would have given almost anything to be surrounded by even a fraction of the activity that goes on in the ADPi house.
And so, walking back to the five-man (the room that I share with four other girls) amid frenzied sorority girls getting ready for class, I can't help but acknowledge the difference between living with 3 and living with 30.
As I walk downstairs, bleary-eyed to (not) make my coffee, I am struck by how different this scene is to the one that I had become very accustomed to for the past three months: me and my three roommates, living in a spacious house built for five.
The scene at that house was very different indeed, with some mornings not even starting until 11AM, and even then, the majority of the days (while we weren't at work) were spent lazing around in the hazy Hollow, trying not to die of heat stroke.
And the quiet...oh my...if you have never stayed on a college campus in the summer, then you wouldn't know of the eerie, lethargic hush that seems to blanket everything--even the trees couldn't be bothered to rustle their leaves. At the beginning of the summer this sort of quiet was so tranquil, therapeutic even, but towards the end of the summer, I would have given almost anything to be surrounded by even a fraction of the activity that goes on in the ADPi house.
And so, walking back to the five-man (the room that I share with four other girls) amid frenzied sorority girls getting ready for class, I can't help but acknowledge the difference between living with 3 and living with 30.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Heat, Humidity, and Hannah
Picture this: Lush, green grass tall enough to brush the backs of your knees, a blue canopy of sky with a few pillow-y clouds, the perfume of wildflowers thick enough to tickle the back of your throat. Sounds perfect, right? Ha, I wish.
Now, just add 85 degrees, 95% humidity, and 7 half mile repeats and there you have it: a typical cross country workout day.
The girls team had an unexpected afternoon practice after lightening streaked through the sky at the original practice time of 6:15 AM. As my roommate and I walked to the HPER center at 4 o' clock for round 2, the skies opened up yet again. Secretly, I was kind of hoping for a random lightening strike to send me to bed for an afternoon nap.
However, as typically happens with Ohio weather, the storm came and went in a matter of fifteen minutes. And so, off to Ferncliff cemetery we went. Trying to keep an open mind and positive attitude, we embarked on our journey of repeat after repeat; each repeat bringing heavier legs, more blisters, depleted lungs and a desperate hope that it was the last.
The only thing keeping us going was one another; the girls in "equal fitness groups" are like each other's safety nets: dragging one another along when we need an extra push and reeling each other in when the other gets a little too far out of reach. For this workout, my main safety net was my teammate, Hannah, and man, would I need her.
First repeat: breathing ragged but OK. Stay up with Hannah. Third repeat: Sweat stinging eyes. Losing Hannah, crap. Fourth repeat: need inhaler. Sixth repeat: Just keep slogging through. You can do it. Catch Hannah up ahead. Seventh repeat: You've got this. You and Hannah both. Finally, done.
In the end, I am overflowing with pride for myself, yes, for finishing yet another brutal cross country workout, but more importantly for my team. We ran together. We sweat together. We even bled together (yes, blood blisters are a real thing). And I am a firm believer that teams that run, sweat, and bleed together, stay together.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Skipping the Small Talk
It is truly amazing how much you can get to know about a person by skipping the small, often obligatory task that so many seem to despise: small talk.
Today, in my sociology class the professor, a fairly radical guy, had the class do a "get-to-know-you" exercise. Almost as soon as he said "get-to-know-you", the inward grumbling and general sense of disdain was palpable. However, as he explained it, the class realized that it wasn't just the typical, turn to your partner and ask their major, hometown, and favorite color. No, it was seemingly a lot more complicated than that; he wanted us to skip the superficial stuff and delve right into the nitty gritty of our new acquaintance's hopes, dreams and aspirations.
And yet, as I turned to the girl next to me (whose last name I still don't know), I learned so much more about her than I probably would have sitting next to her all semester: she loves books that make her cry, she dreams of being able to join the Peace Corps, and if she could do nothing else, she would want to play the Bari-sax.
Even more, as we went down the rows of new acquaintance after new acquaintance introducing one another, I got little snippets of each person's personality that went beyond what he was wearing or what her hair looked like.
I got a true snapshot of my partner's personality (as well as a glimpse at what makes my other classmates tick) in a matter of mere seconds, and I really can't say that I have ever gotten that before.
Today, in my sociology class the professor, a fairly radical guy, had the class do a "get-to-know-you" exercise. Almost as soon as he said "get-to-know-you", the inward grumbling and general sense of disdain was palpable. However, as he explained it, the class realized that it wasn't just the typical, turn to your partner and ask their major, hometown, and favorite color. No, it was seemingly a lot more complicated than that; he wanted us to skip the superficial stuff and delve right into the nitty gritty of our new acquaintance's hopes, dreams and aspirations.
And yet, as I turned to the girl next to me (whose last name I still don't know), I learned so much more about her than I probably would have sitting next to her all semester: she loves books that make her cry, she dreams of being able to join the Peace Corps, and if she could do nothing else, she would want to play the Bari-sax.
Even more, as we went down the rows of new acquaintance after new acquaintance introducing one another, I got little snippets of each person's personality that went beyond what he was wearing or what her hair looked like.
I got a true snapshot of my partner's personality (as well as a glimpse at what makes my other classmates tick) in a matter of mere seconds, and I really can't say that I have ever gotten that before.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Expectations
Ever since I was young, I have always known that I want to pursue a career in writing. In what capacity, I didn't know--that changed daily, just like my favorite ice cream flavor. (Making decisions was never my forte.)
Anyway, I never truly considered the journalism avenue until signing up for Intro to Journalism my sophomore year; I had always thought that new writing was stuffy, bland, uncreative. However, after being exposed to various styles of journalistic writing, I realized that the journalist must be very creative indeed: posing the right questions, coming up with an enticing lead, and deciding how to organize the article.
And so, I decided to join The Torch. I've been writing for The Torch for two semester now, and while I feel that I have learned a lot about feature writing, I am really looking forward to learning the ins and outs of news writing. Also, I am interested in exploring the different technologies that have come to be so prominent in the journalism world.
Anyway, I never truly considered the journalism avenue until signing up for Intro to Journalism my sophomore year; I had always thought that new writing was stuffy, bland, uncreative. However, after being exposed to various styles of journalistic writing, I realized that the journalist must be very creative indeed: posing the right questions, coming up with an enticing lead, and deciding how to organize the article.
And so, I decided to join The Torch. I've been writing for The Torch for two semester now, and while I feel that I have learned a lot about feature writing, I am really looking forward to learning the ins and outs of news writing. Also, I am interested in exploring the different technologies that have come to be so prominent in the journalism world.
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