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.