maynard house.

My newest multimedia project can be seen at:
http://student.elon.edu/oallen/blee/Maynard/home2.html

It is about the Maynard House, a historic home with a rich history where Elon University's President lives. One of the most unique things about the house is that it is where Elon hosts famous speakers who come to campus. Desmond Tutu, George H.W. Bush, Queen Noor of Jordan and Anna Quindlen have all shared the same mattress. So cool! Definitely check out the flash presentation to learn more.

This piece was done for The Pendulum.

somber senioritis.

Senioritis is not as fun in college as it was in high school.

High school was full of laziness, early releases and nostalgia. Lunch periods were brimming with optimistic talk about college and the future. I remember walking around campus with a pride as I thought about the college life that awaited me. Though we might now have known where we would soon be headed, we did know that it was going to be some place great. Or at least some place better than high school ...

But being a senior in college -- is not fun.

A gathering with friends for lunch feels more like a wake than a celebration. Phrases like "The Dow fell another 400 points today," "The (insert almost any newspaper in America here) cut 10% of its newsroom today," or "Nope, I can't find any job postings for the tri-state area in my field..." fly across the table as quickly as snippets of gossip used to be traded.

It's November. Relatively early for sure. But neither myself, nor any of my friends, have any idea where we are headed next year.

We gaze at our plates in despair, wondering if being a 2009 graduate will be something we boast to our grandchildren about 40 years from now. "You think your life is hard? Well I graduated in 2009..."

I suppose all of us are just anxious ... worried ... and fragile.

Our entire lives to this point have been dedicated to setting ourselves up to take flight after college. We're ready to make our mark on this world. We want to change the things we don't like and push our respective industries further. We are wide-eyed, full of inspiration and highly capable...

but

We are graduating in 2009.

We do not know where we will go. If we will have health care. If we will make a livable wage. If we will actually (*shudder*) have to move back in with our parents. Or sleep in a tent. We are stocking up on health services now, just in case, and saving our pennies for a few extra months survival if jobs aren't immediate.

And though being a member of the class of 2009, I can only feel pity and frustration with the deck of cards I've been dealt, all it takes is a look around to realize that it is not just the class of 2009 that is worried. Everyone is worried. Everyone is anxious. We are all fragile.

We are living through 2009.

(Though I do think well make it. And be OK. Eventually.)

speaking of letters.

I recently received a letter to the editor that reads as follows:

The Alamance County Republican Party would like to welcome back the students of Elon University to a very interesting and important election year.

For those of you who prefer the Palin Power energy drink of less taxes, less government, and more freedom, our headquarters is located at 16 N.E. Court Square in Graham, NC, and is open from 1-6pm Monday-Friday. The phone number is (336) 222-8289.

To those of you who want to sip the Obama koolaid (flavor of your choice) of higher taxes, big brother government, and socialism, the Democrats will gladly serve you up!

I did not publish it because I see it as an advertisement -- something people pay a nice penny to do in our paper -- and something that we prohibit in Letters to the Editor. I also thought the letter lacked any opinion, seeing as it doesn't actually approach any of the issues that separate the parties (aside from the surface propaganda that is...)

After not printing this letter I received a very severe phone call from the author that I suspect was meant to intimidate me. I explained our policies, and that we have refused similar letters from the Democratic party, but this person continued to say that we were editorializing, Obama-loving liberals.

Now I know most of you who read my blog are media people so I want to know: What would you do? To print or not to print? Did I make the right decision or was my refusal to print this letter an unjustified act of editorializing?

harvard psa.

I was at a conference at Harvard this past weekend where we talked about political engagement among students. I'll go into more detail later, but for now I wanted to share our PSA which we threw together in, oh, about 15 minutes from beginning to end. I really like the script so am hoping we can recreate it back on campus with a higher quality.

Campus Voices | View Content

happy birthday cakes.

I, like many people in this world, don't always love my job.

Scooping ice cream. Getting dirty. Washing dishes. Mopping floors. It's the perfect job for a student, I suppose. The kind of job that gives you a reason to study hard and dream big.

However, there is one thing about working at an ice cream store that I absolutely LOVE. (And no, the novelty of free ice cream wore off four years ago...)

Ice Cream Birthday Cakes.

On nights that I'm lucky, I can occupy my time filling cake orders. I think that there is something really special about being able to make someone's birthday cake. Not only is it a cake for celebration, but it is one that they will remember all year. It is usually a gift -- so somehow, for making it, I feel like I am giving too. Ice cream cakes are particularly memorable because they break the mold of the everyday boring grocery store sheet cakes that have become the staple at children's birthday parties.

As I ice the frozen confection, I imagine what the recipient of the cake is like. Did the person who filled the cake order choose the right flavor of ice cream? Ohh... what if they don't like ice cream? Or worse ... a lactose-intolerant!

By the time I get to choosing the color for the trim, I check the name that the cake is for. Typical but nice names, like John, Sarah and David, get the Electric Blue. Traditional girls names like Susan, Ashley or Wendy get the Baby Pink. Names that sound like they are of old people -- Wallace, Marie, Bob and Fred -- Asparagus Green. If I like the name, like Lily, Hannah, Landon or Beckett -- I give them my favorite color, Golden Yellow.

The inscribing is the best part. With a big, fat circle tip I write HAPPY BIRTHDAY in uppercase block letters. By this time I've usually gone on to dreaming of what the person will think when they are presented with my cake. I always hope for, "Wow! How lovely!" and wish not "Hmm... looks a little rough around the edges..."

After the sprinkles have been artfully strewn and the box assembled, I place my work of art back in the freezer where it will wait until it's picked up. As I set the cake down I always think to myself, "Happy Birthday John! I hope it's a good one..."

Really. I do.

a relationship with joy.

And life is eternal;
and love is immortal;
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

On Tuesday I attended the memorial service of my last grandparent, my mother’s mother – Joyce Barbara Harris Hubert Sexton. It was held in Denver, Colorado – a beautiful and free spirited place, that truly suited the kind of person she was.

It is odd to me that through her death, I feel closer to her than I ever felt to her during her life. Somehow, as my family members sat around drinking beer and telling the many wild stories about my grandmother, I was able to derive an image of her that I have been seeking for many years.

Throughout my life, I have always felt slightly gypped in the grandparent department. To start with, both of my grandfathers passed before my birth. My grandmothers were always in states so distant, that trips were rare. Phone calls also were infrequent, and generally only consisted of the kinds of surface level questions that grandparents always ask – how is school? What did you do yesterday? What’s your favorite subject?

As I entered college I started to feel as though I was missing out on something in having such a small relationship with my grandmother. Knowing that phone calls would never really let us get to know each other, I wrote her a letter. It was a long letter, that said more than I normally would tell. I signed it “Write Back! Olivia.”

I don’t know why, but my grandmother never did. I assume she just read my plea as just another way to sign a letter. I know that her non-response was not intentional. But – I decided that I had tried, and perhaps Joy and I weren’t destined to be best friends.

This past Tuesday, as I heard stories about her, I couldn’t help but to learn how much we had in common all along. She was so interesting, and had so many stories to tell. Though she was always reserved to tell them – I can’t help but wish I had tried harder.

my place in the sun.

Good Morning August.

Happy Birthday Mom.

It is hard to believe that the last of the summer months has come. It feels like only days ago that I arrived in Stroudsburg in my Honda – the trunk and backseat brimming with whatever I could get to fit. Hauling my laundry baskets and boxes up into the corner bedroom of Turning Point made me reminisce about moving into a dorm. My first night was lonely. I took to the back porch to admire the view, and ended up plowing through the new David Sedaris book in short time.

But now, just weeks later, I feel at home in this strange place. For the first time in a long time I’ve taken time to be by myself. Though I’ve made friends here, I still spend most of my evenings reading, writing, dancing, cooking or – when I’m feeling just so – watching a movie. In a way, my time here has been like a private retreat. I’ve made progress on my personal journey to wherever it is I’m heading. Happiness? Success? Death? Nobody really knows. But we’ve all got our eyes on the horizon in preparation for what’s next.

I’ve learned that I am the type of person who gets attached to the experiences I encounter. I think back to the days of summer camp, when my ride home was full of tears and throat clenching pains. I suppose not much has changed, because I’ve never met an experience I didn’t like. Well… OK … I guess I would have been happy missing out on that awful haircut. But when it comes to the places I go, and the people I meet, I’m hooked. I feel as though I could fit in just about anywhere – which really, ultimately, makes me feel like I may never find that one place where things are perfect enough to stop.

storm sleep.

I was awoken last night around 4 a.m. to bolts of lighting crossing the sky and the crack and growl of thunder so loud I could feel it. Looking out my window, over the valley below was the darkest of nights that I've seen here so far. Yet, when the lightning flashed, the entire valley was illuminated in neon white. It almost had a heavenly glow.

I closed my windows. I put on a pair of socks. Tucking myself into bed I thought of how lovely it is to be able to sleep while such chaos unravels beyond my window. In the earth's most violent moments, I enjoyed the most peaceful of mine. And yet, when the sun came up today, long after the storm had passed, my violence returns and our turbulent lives march on.

how to make cupcakes.

In anticipation for one of my co-workers birthday's, I decided to bake some cupcakes as a gesture of friendship, and to show off my awesome baking skills. After a few minutes in the cake mix aisle at Mr. Z's, I settled on "Golden Vanilla" cake with "Original Chocolate" Icing. You can't really go wrong right?

Well, all was going well until I got home and found that the kitchen in which I'm living has few of the necessary cupcake baking supplies. And so, a how to guide for you.

HOW TO BAKE CUPCAKES IN AN UNDER-EQUIPPED KITCHEN.

STEP 1. Get creative and find a container large enough to hold your batter. A Coffee pot. A sauce pan. A metal flour container. Or even a pitcher ... these are all legitimate options.





Step 2. I know you might be used to an electric mixer, but you're roughing it, so you're going to have to suck it up without it. Grab a spoon and stir like you've never stirred before. And get rid of those clumps now, nobody wants a lumpy cake.


Step 3. Quality control. Take a little taste and make sure everything has come out right. Remember that wine tasting course you took. Consider the texture, the sweetness, where the cake hits your tongue. You might want to rake air over the cake to allow its natural flavors to be released. And whatever you do, do not swallow. That's just tacky.


Step 4. Now is the part where your container selection plays a vital role. Pitcher & Coffee Pot > Sauce pan & Flour container. If your container has a handle, get to pouring. If it doesn't, you made some bad choices along the way -- wash that spoon to get rid of your germs and start ladling.

Oh, and in case you were wondering. Your kitchen definitely does not have cupcake pans. Make sure you buy some aluminum ones at the store. You get 15 cents off if you choose ones decorated with an American Flag.


Step 5. Bake. But watch your cupcakes constantly. You set the temperature to 350, but you never really know how hot this oven is. It's burned your popadums before.






Now stop reading, and start baking!

personality paradox.

Last year I posted this…

February 24, 2007

I believe that everybody has a couple adjectives by which they can be defined. These words weave together to paint a loose picture of the person – something like a poorly contrived watercolor painting. Though details are indefinite, shapes and figures can still be perceived. Picture a Matisse painting that has been sitting in the rain for a few hours ... or stare at a bright light for 10 seconds then close your eyes – paying close attention to the floating neon shapes. Yes, somehow in my imagination these blurry images can represent the foundation of a personality. Don't ask me how. Just go with it.

I don’t know if it is my time here in London, or the natural growth of self – but I am beginning to wonder if the adjectives that I had chosen as mine are still valid. Is my definition of self supposed to be the true person I am, or an idealistic person I aspire to be? One one hand I want to pursue an idealistic sense of self. But on the other hand, I wonder if I am neglecting parts of my personality that I should be embracing. Is “me” good enough? Or should I keep working at being “better than me”?

I realize that this is not the most interesting post. In fact, no matter how I phrase my sentences, it really is quite confusing. But here is the carry-home message: I am thinking... a lot... about who I am and what I want to be. I am at an extraordinary point in my life where I have an incredible amount of control over my future. If I wanted to, I could change my major and alter where I will be in 5 years completely. It is an uncomfortable amount of power that I’m not quite sure what to do with.

In short, every decision that I make today will play into my life 50 years from now.

No pressure.

I have now decided that I was completely wrong.

Thus, my new post:

The optimist. The wit. The prep. The geek. The rebel. The tomboy. The oxford chic. The self-conscious. The proud. The ambitious. The wandering. The American. The youngster. The wild.

I have always defined myself by the opinions of others. In their fleeting experience with me, I earn an adjective. It is impossible to summarize a personality in a few words, but we all do it with each new acquaintance. It’s like somehow a few words are enough to map an entire person.

But truly, adjectives will never come close to capturing the complexities of the human personality. We are ever-changing. We are temperamental. We are phony. We are honest. If one word was ever given the task of encompassing a personality, it could only be “infinite.”

I decided, about two weeks ago, to stop thinking about my adjectives – and to stop thinking about the adjectives of others.

Maybe, we can just allow each other to be infinite and enjoy the ride instead.

analyzing april.

It is only the darkest of nights where our secrets are kept.
Hiding away in the dampest of places.
No stone to be turned, no porch to be swept.
Just secrets kept under tongue and shoe laces.

Coughing and bitter the air circles round her
Joyous at souls morbid defeat
She rumbles and quakes and cries a soft murmur
Knowing good and well she’s been beat

In fragment, unwoven, a tapestry
Made of life stories it hangs on the wall
Not yet complete but mere history
The future will bring a close to it all.

Until then she stands, wishing past to be shed
Mouth open, feet dirty she stands with them bare
In a room full of secrets and pieces of thread
She knows that the darkness will keep her there.

delicious disaster.

I was just sitting down the dinner this evening when I heard a clamoring on the stairs. Somebody was struggling to carry a heavy load I presumed. I live in an apartment that is intermixed with office space, so visitors aren’t exactly infrequent.

I tore opened the box of Ritz Whole Wheat crackers settled on the table before me. A trip to the grocery store had prompted me to buy only things that were on sale, and only things that were discounted with my brand new Mr. Z’s supermarket card. It was a card that I got pressured into signing up for during my last trip to the market, and I am now determined to make it worth my time.

Just as I was preparing to take my first bite, the stranger on the stairs rounded through the doorway and into the kitchen. It wasn’t a face I’ve seen around Kirkridge before.

“Oh hi!” the stranger said, who was clearly more startled than I. He carried a box full of food which he was having trouble negotiating through the tight doorway.

“Howdy,” I replied. In a moment I became incredibly aware of how ridiculous I looked. I was dressed to the nines in my work clothes, hovering over the treasures from my grocery store adventure: a tin can of smoked oysters, a tub of turkey pepperoni, a pack of vanilla pudding and V8 Vegetable juice poured into a coffee mug with ice. Behind me I could hear the humming of the microwave as my Green Giant “Healthy Weight” frozen vegetables were approaching edible temperatures.

“I’m just eating dinner,” I blurted. “It’s well rounded … see?”

The stranger inched toward me, setting the box on the counter behind me.

“Carbs,” I said pointing to the Ritz crackers. “Protein, fat, vegetables, more vegetables and…” I hesitated. “Pudding.”

The man smiled kindly and I knew what he was thinking. “Where’s the fruit?” And just as I was about to explain that I had eaten a sour peach earlier that day…

“I’m Bob, from the bookstore,” he said.

I have always envied people whose names form alliteration with what they do or where they live. Polly from Palmetto. Tim the taxidermist. Amy of Anchorage. Trish the Tightrope Walker. The only way I’ll ever form alliteration is if I go into the osculating fan business – or move to Omaha.

“Ahh… OK. I’m Olivia.”

“I already ate dinner,” Bob said. “I was trying to find the mall everybody’s been talking about.”

“The Stroud mall?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“I don’t know … I’ve only been here two weeks.”

“Oh, you’re the intern.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I need to get to work. Down in the bookstore.”

“Right, bye!”

“Bye.”

And with that, I turned back to my meal. One smoked oyster from the tin, one pepperoni slice, one Ritz cracker… CRUNCH.

The taste of my final year as a poor college intern: Salty.

the ball game.

A few days ago, my dad took me to my very first Bethlehem Iron Pigs game. The Iron pigs are a new farm team under the Philadelphia Phillies (my one and only baseball team.) They just started up last year, and by all accounts so far are absolutly awful. But... if there is one thing that doesn't matter much when you're at a baseball game, it's the baseball game.

While there my dad talked me into getting a baseball cap -- the first I've owned for at least ten years. Surprisingly, I have fallen in love with this thing, so have decided that it is my fashion accessory for the summer.


Taking a break from watching the game for some lunch. Here I am styling my new headware. Jealous? I know you are.

And since my dad got me to wear the hat, I convinced him to try on my "signature" 70s porn star sun glasses. I think he looks rather dashing, don't you?

And since I'm actually putting photos up (which I never do so enjoy it while it lasts) I'll throw this one up of my little brother Zach and I from earlier this summer. He'll hate that I put this up because he thinks he looks bad in it. But I looked bad in the one that he looked better in, and this is my blog. Sibling revenge...

solitaire in stroudsburg.

Welcome to life, version three. As a young person it seems like every six months I am thrust into a completely new experience. New opportunities yield new jobs. New jobs bring a new setting. A new setting means new people. To be frank, the past four years have been quite volatile as far as my surroundings are concerned. This is probably reflected in my blog posts – which I do realize are not much more than a string of coming of age stories. Don’t worry, it will eventually pass. But not quite yet … indulge me still.

This summer I am working as the online intern at the Pocono Record in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. It’s a growing town, an hour north of where I learned to ride a bike, spell my name and cut with scissors. Though I am close to good, old and familiar places, I am quite far from any familiar faces. And thus, I have named this blog post: solitaire in stroudsburg.

Here in Stroudsburg, I am living on top of a mountain, in a large office building, in the middle of the woods, by myself. It’s lovely – really and truly it is. But it’s also a tad TOO isolated sometimes.

When I go on walks through the woods after work, I think of all the terrible things that could happen to me. A hungry bear shreds me to pieces to feed her cubs, an escaped convict robs me of my clothing to use as a disguise, a lonely Appalachian Trail hiker locks me in his microbus and leaves me to die and I must eat the old faded leather seats to stay alive. These things sound bad, I know. But what makes them worse is that since I live alone, nobody would notice I’m gone. Sure, after I blew of work for a few days without as much as a phone call they might get concerned – but who knows, I could just be the flaky intern. My parents would grow frustrated with unanswered phone calls, but I do that on a regular basis as it is. Seriously – it would be weeks before people put the pieces together. And by then my organs might be beyond recognition … or I may have run out of car parts to eat.

*deep breath*

The truth is, I don’t really mind being alone. In recent years I’ve learned that I have somewhat of a split personality that gives and takes from introversion and extroversion – and since my life in Elon is mostly the latter, a little alone time won’t hurt, right?

To keep myself occupied, I’ve set a few goals for the summer. Just things to do in my spare time, really.

1. Learn to take better photos
2. Actually read Newsweek and The New Yorker cover to cover when I get them
3. Bring my HTML and CSS skills to a adequate level
4. Learn Flash
5. Write more

Week one starts today, and so I’m off to delve in ISO, F-stops, Shutter Speeds and Focusing.

Olivia Hubert-Allen

new backyard.

From the moment I get home from work, until the time it is either too dark or too cold, I spend my time on the back porch at Kirkridge. Above is a photo taken at dusk -- I'll try to get a nicer morning shot tomorrow.

Olivia Hubert-Allen

tearful trajectory.

I've never been the type of person to cry about happy things. My tears have always been silent, and reserved for only the most tragic of moments. Even my own mother's soft smile and warm tears during the moments when she has been most proud of me are beyond comprehension.

Until recently.

Perhaps it is a part of growing older, reaching emotional maturity or just being OK about being a sap, but the past year or so of my life has been riddled with happy cries. There was the "unexpected opportunity" cry -- complete with a sinking to the floor and gripping the carpet of my living room. There was the "maternal moment" cry, when I realized that my brother -- despite my requests -- will continue to grow up without my watchful eye. And, a classic this one, the "wedding" cry -- which is characterized by an internal melting and hopefulness.

Now all this talk about crying brings me to my experience today.

As I ascended above the clouds on a Southwest flight from Bowling Green, Kentucky to Columbus, Ohio, I was struck with a profound feeling of calm. Something about looking down at the world below makes life's mistakes, embarrassments, humiliations and shortcomings seem distant and unimportant in the context of space.

I examined my earth, freckled by the shadows of over passing clouds. I was not sad. I was not happy. I was just ... aware.

And then for some reason, my throat tightened and eyes watered. Unblinking, I felt a well of water build beneath my lower eye. I looked up -- hoping for some evaporation -- if a tear doesn't fall you're not really crying, right? I took a deep breath, sat back in my seat and watched the man next to me flip through SkyMall.

Reclining Chairs. Gardening Gizmos. Massage wands. Golf ball carriers. Monogrammed Towels.

In less than a minute, the moment had passed.

Nothing like worthless retail to destroy an emotion.

Olivia Hubert-Allen

power.

I got into journalism and politics so I could change the world. But the more and more that I am venturing into this craft, I am figuring that I should probably have gotten into business instead. Since the end of the Cold War, the world is being run more and more by money and less and less by governments. Whatever is a journalist to do?

Proper update coming soon, I promise. I'm a fair-weather blogger, I'll admit it.

apostro-no.

tisk tisk New York. Improper use of an apostrophe.

The journalism never stops.

online paper.

I just have to share because I'm really excited about this!

I rigged up some magic tonight so The Pendulum's print version is now viewable online.

Check it out and be impressed.

I love the Internet.

sounds of silence.

I grew up on music. Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, The Who, The Beatles. Dinner time was often accompanied by the kind of music that could start a revolution. I heard lyrics about the Vietnam war, social injustice, poverty, drugs and sex. By the age of eight I had a pretty clear idea about the state of the world. And not just because my parents told me so -- everything I learned, I learned from Dylan.

But then, after the fall of Napster somewhere around 8th grade, my life filled with silence. I didn't buy albums for years. I couldn't be bothered to spend $15 on a CD. The iTunes era was yet to find its way to light, Rap and R&B ruled the airwaves and I was just ... bored with it all. I liked the idea of music, but was too apathetic to find anything to truly suit my evolving tastes. I flirted briefly with punk, because that's what all the other kids were doing, but it just felt too manufactured, a tad to whiny, nothing that reflected who I was.

Then finally, sometime this past summer, the music started again. On a seven hour solo car ride from North Carolina to Pennsylvania I had nobody to talk to, and nothing to do, but explore the depths of my iPod. Suddenly, in an instant, it was like music made me feel alive again. I danced -- or since I was in my car it was more of a wiggling bottom with arm flourishments. I sang. I laughed. I tapped my breaks. I opened my sunroof and let the wind tease my hair into giant afro of fuzz. The music was so loud that I missed 10 phone calls. The moment was one I won't forget.

Ever since I've had an insatiable appetite for music. I keep a little piece of paper wadded up in my purse with fractions of lyrics from songs I hear, and like, and google, then download.

This all brings me to the tragedy that occurred last week. After 6 years of good service my mp3 player died. I tried to revive it with that "restore" setting -- but no -- now it only loads A-M of my artists and then decides it's had enough.

The silence is beginning to creep back into my life. Oh horrors! Refurbished OLD edition iPods still come at $150 a pop. Ooph! Note to parents: if you're reading a "congratulations, you're an amazing daughter!" present would be OK with me right about now... ;)

decompressing europe.

There is so much to say since I last wrote that it almost seems hopeless to try and catch up.

I finally made my trip east of the Atlantic and had an absolutely phenomenal time.

London was red wine, warm smiles and wet ankles.
Lake Garda was mozzarella and rocket pizza.
Lugano was Italian conversations, friends, fondue and chocolate.
Milan was birds - lots of really nasty birds.
Bergamo was salami, cheese and ants.
Brussels was orgasmic pastries and leprechauns.
Maastrict was bicycles, bars, boys kissing and raw fish.
London the second time was old friends, odd friends, old habits, odd feelings.

It is impossible to sum up my trip in any sort of blog post. I did record it all in page after page of my travel journal -- now stained with red ink where blank sheets once laid. With every bit more ink, a little bit more life lived ... a little bit more to remember.

Somehow going back to placed I had been before brought about a closure that I have been missing. It helped me to realize that a quarter of the way around the globe really isn't that far away. Knowing that at any moment, given a bit of room in my bank account and a week off work, I can take to the skies and be in a different life within 8 hours -- it's utterly liberating.

I sometimes wonder if my love of travel means I am discontent with the life I am living now. Am I so excited and enamored with getting away because it releases me from being stuck in the hum-drum of my current existence? I thought about this a lot on my trip. About my overall state of happiness really. I think I may have gotten to the bottom of it: change.

Ever since I was a child, I have loved change. The changing from classroom to classroom, a new outfit, a quirky haircut. In fact, for many years of my life I would rearrange the furniture of my room every month or so. I've since stopped -- but not because my desire has dwindled, it's more of a time issue these days. I think that travel eases my itching for change. If only for a week or two, I get to try on a different life. How fantastic!

I also think that I'm still searching for something. I'm not really sure what it is -- maybe the perfect career, maybe the perfect house, maybe the perfect pastrami sandwich... but somehow I just feel like I'm missing something. So perhaps my love of travel is just one bit treasure hunt -- without a map.

Or an x in the sand for that matter.


Keep your eyes posted, I'll get a photo slideshow up eventually...

broadcast news.

So, I don't know how many of you are CNN watchers but I just have to share a little ridiculousness that has been going on during the primaries. I present to you, Anderson Coopers Pizza Pie Chart.

I'm not sure what it is that prompts broadcast newsies to incorporate unnecessary bits of technology, but it's kind of cute. And cute in the sad pathetic sense, not the "aww baby" sense.

I'm so glad I'm in print.

lucky guess.

So lately I've been freaking myself out a little bit.

When I'll be talking with somebody and they hesitate to think of what to say next, in my head I say almost exactly what comes out of their mouth after their hesitation is over.

When customers come into the ice cream store I work in, I can guess at about 75% accuracy rating what flavor they will choose.

When asked to guess a number out of 100 last week, I wrote down 12. But then had a second thought, so changed the 1 to a 4 making my number 42. Turns out I hit the nail on the head and guessed exactly the right number.

When I was playing "Guess Who" last weekend, I looked over the cheerful faces of the twenty some characters and would guess one before we'd even started asking questions. I was right 2 out of 3 times.

When I opened my fortune cookie this afternoon it said something like, "Luck follows you where you go, so go far."

In one instance any of the above incidents would seem normal. I'd chock it up to blind luck and move on. But there have been just so many in the past week that it is almost hard to avoid! I'm not the type to believe in the supernatural but hmm ....

I'll keep you posted if I hear voices of dead presidents or start walking through walls or something cool like that. *crosses fingers*

speeding bullet.

Last night I had a nightmare.

I was driving in my car, with a barrage of police cars behind me -- lights flaring, sirens shrieking. Nervously I checked my rear view mirror. From the sky, you could see my little white car speeding ahead of at least a dozen police cars. Helicopters from the police department and news stations circled overhead, zooming in on my car and making speculations about my sanity.

Quick! I thought, turn around!

Grasping my steering wheel, my knuckles turned white. My teeth were clenched. My eyes squinting. With one swift movement I turned the wheel to the left, cutting my car across the grass median, leaving tire marks on the road. My tires squealed as I passed through onto the pavement on the other side of the road. Behind me, the grass median was torn from my quick maneuver.

I checked my mirrors. I had lost them. Yes, in my dream changing directions on a wide open interstate is enough to shake even the most diligent of police officers.

I decided to pull over and get off the road -- otherwise they might find me.

I found my way to a truck stop. Sketchy beyond belief. Men in red flannel shirts sat at electronic gambling machines while their trucks idled outside. I think I'll drive home, I thought. Surely the police won't look for me there...

When I left the truck stop, my car was gone -- along with my wallet, purse and cell phone. I was utterly stranded. I was a fugitive. I started to cry. And then I woke up.

-------

This all stems off a speeding ticket that I got in REAL life this past Friday. 80 and in a 65. Ouchies.

regret on credit.

I hate making mistakes.

Particularly the kind where, had I thought for a few more moments, could have been avoided.

It's the noun in Latin that I declined as plural rather than singular, an embarrassing slip of the tongue in a conversation, a mispronounced word, calling someone by the wrong name... the silly things I do every day. Mostly the consequence is a few moments of "doh!" or "I hope they don't think I'm an idiot..." but the other day I started thinking about the bigger mistakes I've made in my life. What about the mistakes that involved weeks of wrong decisions -- a series of "doh's!" that only come to light in hindsight?

Looking around me at my peers, it seems that all of us have these streaks of stupidity. A relationship gone awry, a regretted kiss, a failure to stand up for ones self. Dotted among my many friendships, I have heard so many stories of regret. And -- just like nights at the movies, shopping sprees and electric bills -- these regrets are placed on credit ... left to be forgotten for now, but sure to resurface for payment later.

I say this because one of my greatest life regrets has just surfaced. After collecting interest, and simmering for a long while, it has come back to consume my hourly thoughts and nightly dreams. This time around I know I can't refile my regrets to the back of the cabinet. It's time to pay for my mistakes, confront some situations and say some apologies. A hard thing to do, for sure, but necessary this time around I think.

I tell myself that this is just the hard process to being a better person.

But it is also making me realize the attractive allure of denial!

the edwards effect.

Word came this morning that John Edwards has dropped out of the Democratic race after his string of lack-luster third place showings. The news wasn't entirely shocking after I saw his subdued enthusiasm last week in South Carolina. Though at that point he was still running, a passion that once sparked his eyes had faded. He looked tired - defeated even. I'm sure he knew then what came to light this morning.

With Edwards out, the Democratic race has narrowed to two -- spare a Mike Gravel who might as well just end it. But now that Edwards is out, there is about 15% of the Democratic voters who are up for grabs. Fifteen percent is HUGE. Whichever candidate is able to capture Edwards loyalists will almost certainly ride a high tide to National Convention.

Though there are varying opinions on who will benefit from Edwards departure form the race, I am certain that Obama will come out with the upper hand.

In the Democratic party -- and really in America for that matter -- there are two types of people. Pro-Hillary and Anti-Hillary. She is a very polarizing candidate. Up to this point, Anti-Hillary Democratic voters have been split between Obama and Edwards.

Though Edwards and Clinton have closely aligned platforms, I do not have faith in the intelligence of American voters. We too often are caught up in personality to see what each candidate stands for. So though Edwards supports might be most satisfied with Clinton in office, I feel the majority of them will support Obama.

We'll just have to see what happens on Super-Duper Tuesday.

I should probably make it known that I am currently not supporting any candidate. Firstly, because I vote in the North Carolina primary, and by the time it's my turn to cast a ballot the Magic Number will long have been reached. Secondly, because these candidates are the same. If you really sit down and look at Obama and Clinton, it is hard to find any hardline differences between them. And what's more -- if you throw McCain into the mix, things are even more blurry. Aside from his deplorable stance on the Iraq war, he's not too far off from his liberal enemies. And if you look into his past, you can get a feel for what he REALLY believes -- not just the platform he's running on to make it through the Republican nomination.

lost passport.

I lost my passport the night before my flight to London.

I have one file that I always keep it in. It's always been there. It's a special file in my filing cabinet that says, "Important." My social secuirty card, health insurance, SAT scores and passport all cuddle closely within protective casing.

But last night, just minutes before I was planning to leave for the first leg of my trip to Europe, I pull out my files and it's gone.

Hmm... I think. I must have missed it, and search through the file again. Perhaps I put it in a different pile? nope. Perhaps the last time I had it out it slipped off my bed? nope. Perhaps last time I took a shower I thought it might be nice to have my passport with me? nope.

I looked literally everywhere in my house. I opened each book. Went through each pocket. Every single bag. I did not sleep last night because I was looking. praying. crying.

Sometime this morning I conceded that it was truly gone. Evaporated from time and space into an abyss of nothingness -- my passport is just gone. I canelled my flight. Wiped my eyes. And now plan to spend the rest of the day moping around and feeling genuinely sorry for myself.

As a person who NEVER loses things -- especially important documents -- I don't understand how people can live like this.

Whenever I do lose things, I always wish I had one of those "missing key" alarms where I could just press a button and the missing item will start lighting up and making noise. I think I'll install a few of those on all of my most important things soon.

I feel nauseated. I really think my heart is broken over having to miss this trip.

Guess I'll have to reschedule for March.

i want cake.

So I've been on this diet.

I know, I know. Diets are miserable, detestable, awful things. But, I've decided that I cannot simply work out and be slim. I must do this thing that I like to call torture.

Instead of reaching for juice, I grab water. Instead of sandwich, I choose salad. Instead of chocolate cake, frozen grapes. It's all really fun and games, let me tell you.

Basically I'm starving.

article: myrtle beach

A commentary piece for The Pendulum after the Democratic debates.

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. – The stakes are high in South Carolina for the Democratic Presidential candidates who are jockeying to win the support of 54 delegates when the state holds its Democratic primary this Saturday. Events surrounding the Martin Luther King holiday set an appropriate stage to frame one of the issues at the core of capturing South Carolina – race. Over half of Democratic voters in the state are black and each candidate has been on the move to woo black voters during the past few weeks.

Hillary Clinton

A narrow win in Nevada puts Clinton on the upswing as she heads into South Carolina, but her diminished support among the black voters could throw a wrench into her plans. To add insult to injury, Bill Clinton’s recent criticism of Obama has attracted negative attention from party loyalists who are more concerned about getting a Democrat in office than which candidate they get in office. And there’s more bad news from Clinton. An opinion poll released by CNN/Opinion Research Corp. showed that Americans would be more supportive of a black president than a female president – not great news for those who are focused on who can win a general election.

The light in the Clinton campaign is that she still leads in national polls. Her marriage to former President Bill Clinton may help her with the black vote in South Carolina, but she is currently projected to come in second. During the debate on Monday Clinton was debating for votes in Florida and on ‘Super Tuesday,’ as opposed to South Carolina. Her time was spent mostly on the offense, attacking Obama on nearly every issue that was brought up.

Clinton targeted the partisan voters by taking several jabs at President George W. Bush. She also sold her experience in politics saying that she’s been taking fire from Republicans for 16 years, and is the most equipped to go head to head with a Republican candidate – namely John McCain. But will her polarizing nature cause Democrats to jump ship and vote Republican? Some wonder.

John Edwards

John Edwards is a South Carolina native who was able to take the state with 45 percent of the primary vote when he first ran for President in 2004. A win this Saturday could put Edwards back up with Clinton and Obama, but a loss will almost certainly signal the beginning of end of his campaign. He’s said he’ll stay in through Convention in August – but really, what else does he have to do?

Edwards was more or less an afterthought when pitted against the flame throwing between Obama and Clinton at the CNN debate. When he would inject on occasion it was genuinely a breath of fresh air from the negativity that bogged the other two. He even asked “Are there three people in this debate, not two?” His attempts to engage Clinton and Obama often only added fuel to the fire between the other two and left him out in the cold, out of the camera’s view and, possibly, out of the minds of the voters.

Then again, his ability to remove himself from the arguing could pay off for voters who are turned off by the animosity between Clinton and Obama. Edwards language was clearly orchestrated to attract the partisan voters, the most likely primary voters. His language was also genuinely positive. When he did talk negative, he was almost gentle, qualifying his responses to soften the blow.

Pundits have already started arguing about who would benefit if Edwards dropped out of the race. Some say that the Democratic party is split into two camps – those for Clinton and those against Clinton – and that Obama would take Edwards supporters. Others suggest that Edwards supporters may would Truly, it’s probably a crap-shoot. But for now, Edwards is in and fighting. A strong showing in South Carolina could propel him back into the limelight.

Barack Obama

Obama has gone far to rally the support of black South Carolinians, expending a lot of energy and money in the palmetto state. Though initially Clinton captured the black vote, recent polls have shown that Obama’s strong showing in Iowa proved his chances to win with white America. This has bolstered his support among black voters who now have faith he can win. Recent polls released by the CNN/Opinion Research Corp. show that 60 percent of South Carolinian black voters plan to vote for Obama, with 31 percent supporting Clinton.

The bad news for Obama is that he hasn’t won a primary since Iowa. Winning South Carolina is important for him to keep up with Clinton who may have the upper hand in delegate heavy Florida. He has also made no secret of his desire to reach out to Republican voters, a move that is expected during the general election but can be risky during the primaries. His praise of Republican darling-child Ronald Reagan was heavily criticized during the debate by Clinton.

Obama’s showing at the debate was a tango of attack and defense with Clinton. Through all the arguing it was hard to hear any new ideas. Instead it was a rehashing of what we’ve heard time and time again. However, his ability to defend himself was unlike we’ve seen in any debate before which may have been exactly what the voters wanted to hear. The audience was clearly behind Obama, laughing at his quips at Clinton and exploding in applause after his bolder statements.

iowa-who.

Rarely is it the case that one of the most exciting events of the year comes 3 days after New Years Eve. A state that Americans pay little attention to for four years becomes the center of the news cycle as the politically minded watch to see how 200,000 cattle farmers in Iowa will play one of the biggest roles in choosing the next American president. It's a night like Halloween or Christmas -- where an underlying electric current rides through the air.

As of 10:21 in Iowa:

Obama - 37%
Edwards - 30%
Clinton - 29%

Huckabee - 34%
Romney - 25%
Thompson - 14%
McCain - 13%
Paul - 10%

I am absolutely amazed.

Clinton, who has long been the white horse in the eyes of bloggers and newspapers, stumbles. Analysts say that it is because of the high voter turn-out which likely indicated more younger voters (aka, more Obama and Edwards supporters.)

Edwards, who is one of the most powerful Democratic speakers and who has thrown A LOT of resources into Iowa, shines. Second place looks good. But critics wonder if he can turn the votes out in New Hampshire and South Carolina, where he hasn't been working as hard.

Obama, who has been perceived as neck and neck with Clinton, TAKES. THE. CAKE. He surprised many by winning a collection of three counties in Western Iowa where the black population is practically nil.

Huckabee seemed to come out of nowhere to have done so well. I suppose it’s no surprise that appealing to the party base paid off. McCain, take note!

Giuliani, who I thought would at least turn some sort of support in Iowa had ... none. I guess campaigning really is the make or break to most voters. Political scientists everywhere rejoice at a solidified job security.

49 more states to go. This is going to be an awesome spring.