"The Forever War" by Dexter Filkins=Brilliant

I’ve read a lot of books in my life. It took me until the age of, let’s say 13, to read the entire historical fiction section of about three libraries—children’s and young adult. Ann Rinaldi wove the best stories, I was all about anything WWII related and I basically memorized “Lily’s Crossing” by Patricia Reilly Giff. I even got some classics under my belt with “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” “Little Women” and the “Anne of Green Gables” series.

Then I hit high school and switched to murder mysteries; Patricia Cromwell’s medical ones and Sue Grafton’s ABC crime novels like “N is for Noose” were my idea of quality reads. My pathetic excuse was that I read enough scholarly books at school so reading for enjoyment should be light and casual.

The truth is, I didn’t actually read most of the books for English class—“Catcher in the Rye,” “The Stranger,” “Raisin in the Sun” and “Chocolat” are the only ones that vaguely ring a bell. Thank you, Sparknotes. I tried to maintain a glimmer of literary pride by devouring “The Da Vinci Code,” “Angels and Demons” and all else Dan Brown, but even that’s stretching it.

After my trashy literature phase I got to college and felt the need to acquire a more mature taste in books. Enter “My Horizontal Life” and “Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea” by my girl Chelsea Handler. What a step up. While wildly entertaining and further fueling my obsession, these were obviously not going to help my image.

So, I made a legit attempt at this literary makeover and found a book and author that ended up leaving a huge impression.

“The Forever War” by Dexter Filkins is a book everybody should read. Written by a New York Times correspondent, it candidly explores how we (the United States) got where we are today. It exposes with raw observation the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan in the 1990s, the Sept. 11 attacks and the war in Iraq. It was named best non-fiction book by Time Magazine and was the New York Times Best Book of 2008.

Filkins infiltrated himself into Iraqi and military culture, spending 2003 to 2006 at The New York Times’ Baghdad Bureau. During this time he went above and beyond that of an average reporter and got down to the bare fundamentals of what this country is all about.

He presents an intimate landscape of characters, from innocent locals to ruthless Iraqi insurgent leaders to hardened American military commanders and baby-faced soldiers barely out of high school. Filkins’ unwavering commitment put him in often fatal situations with the odds constantly stacked against him—trolling the streets past curfew, tagging along on active military missions, dodging snipers, racing past roadside bombs and perhaps most daring, running along the streets and paths of Iraq cities beyond the fortified confinements of the Green Zone.

Filkins was told over and over to leave Iraq and return home. He didn’t listen such was his desire to capture the true essence of the war-torn nation. He was one of the last American reporters at the Baghdad Bureau.

The scenes are told vividly, leaving no detail to the imagination and painting a starkly shocking portrait of the Iraq war from both an American and Iraqi perspective. Straight reporting tells us the U.S. military presence is getting the job done, reforming Iraqi culture and implementing democracy. Interviews with Iraqi families and candid relationships with Iraqi translators tell a different story of terror, destruction, heartache and a country so set in its ways that any democratic progress is ultimately torn down—again and again.

Filkins weaves a tale that is deeply personal, sharing each interaction no matter how disturbing or touching. He tells of carnage from suicide bombings and public displays of punishment.
A man kills another over farmland. His punishment? The victim’s family members deliver death with a shot to the head, sometimes preceded by torture to draw it out, all playing out in front of crowds gathered to watch as if it was an afternoon soccer game. Children frolic in mine-ridden fields, indifferent to the accidental victims that are often blown to bits. Lines to vote stretch for miles, only to be interrupted by suicidal explosions.

What Filklins sees, the reader sees. What he feels, the reader feels. He goes beyond relaying first-hand accounts and observations to put himself in the story, making him not just the author, but a pivotal character.

He said that he wanted “The Forever War” to be vastly different from other war books out there. Most are told from a certain distance; from the outside looking in point of view. Filkins is in the middle of battlefields, shares dinner with locals, spends extensive time on military operations and readers travel right alongside him. He said he didn’t want to write a play-by-play of the war but what it felt like to be there. He succeeds.

Before this December I was admittedly ignorant to the war in Iraq. I knew the basics, whatever the news told me about casualties, bombings, elections and spending but it’s difficult to fully decipher what it all means and why we’re there from bare, spotty and detached reporting. “The Forever War” triggered a profound reaction as I scrambled to finish it before spring semester when I would have no time for leisure. I realized that the articles we read and broadcasts we see don’t even begin to tell the real story. In many ways, they don’t tell anything at all.

Suddenly, everything is clear. The good the U.S. has done pales in comparison to the destruction it has imposed on a confused and unsuspecting nation. Iraq is a country that’s culture leaves little room for flexibility. Democracy will forever be a notion, an idea implemented here and there but ultimately dismantled. I’ve always been against the war but for no solid or passionate reason. I just knew that we didn’t belong there and we never did. Now, I’ve realized why this is painfully true and for the first time, I care.

“The Forever War” cannot be summed up in a one-page book review. I wouldn’t even call this a book review; let’s call it more of a book suggestion or recommendation. Its impact, relevance and necessity cannot be put into words, will not be given justice. Read the book. Your impression of our country and this war will be forever changed. Filkins is brilliant, courageous and has made, perhaps, the most vital contribution to this war.

To learn more about my new favorite writer and journalist, trek over to www.dexterfilkins.net. You can also read more about the Iraq war on nytimes.com, the At War blog where reporters contribute photos and posts directly from Iraq. Check it out!

My Debut!!! =)

Check out my first post about the Bills on www.chicksinthehuddle.com! Scroll down a bit to see the post titled "Meet the newest Bills"

If you're confused about what that is, go down a few posts on here and read one of my earlier entries about it! It's about the draft so not the most entertaining, but it's something! Click on Scoop the Coop to read my bio!

YAY! =)

By the way...how amazing is that photo?!

Knowing when to shut up

After returning from a thrilling Law & Order: SVU or Castle type stint for the Poughkeepsie Journal (I covered a crime scene!) I returned to my daily tour of cnn.com and came across a headline that read "When you should just shut up and listen." Obviously, I'm all about finding out how to get people to stop talking...or at least stop talking about themselves. So I clicked on it.

Well it didn't actually address my issue, but it did offer some insight into when it's time to offer advice and when to shut up and let the other person talk, rant, whine, whatever.

Now I don't think I could abide by this "shut up tactic" if I was with a whiner--I hate whining so I guess I would put a twist on me shutting up and just tell the other person to shut up. But I can totally relate to what the article said about sometimes it being best to listen to what the other party has to say and not put in two cents. Nothing drives me crazier than when I'm venting about something and the other person tries to tell me either a) why I'm wrong, b) what I should do to improve my situation except their suggestion doesn't make sense or c) offer advice that is stupid because they're stupid and don't understand or relate to my situation.

Sometimes when we're angry, frustrated or upset we're talking because it makes us feel relieved to get it out--we don't necessarily want answers or commentary, we just want to be listened to. Therapists and counselors cited this mistake as the reason for many couples' problems and said once it was addressed, relationships improved.

I could think of a lot of people I know personally who might benefit from reading this article...people who think they know everything but really don't...people who always have to "be right"...people who always have something to complain about but don't care enough to listen to anyone else's problems because it's all about them...people...

On a side note, much of the latter part of the article laid out tips for being a "good listener" and a "supportive listener" provided by professionals and experts. I KNEW ABOUT EVERYTHING THEY SUGGESTED! It was all basic interpersonal communication skills that come as second nature to me but can be learned in any college communication course. So, I think this implies I could be considered a communication wiz on numerous levels and don't need a license, Phd. or any official documentation to put my skills to use. Anybody want to give me a job?

Rejection is a part of life but...

this time I'm not taking it lightly and I'm not taking it well. I submitted a story to I Love Cats magazine about Fur. It was called "A Tail of Friendship and Strength." I didn't send it in randomly, I sent it because the editor called for submissions for 2009. Well, she send me a rejection email the very next day that was one sentence along the lines of "I've published a lot of these types of stories before, I'm going to have to pass." First of all, her email came off as flippant and rude. Second, IT'S A MAGAZINE ABOUT CATS! I do love cats, but honestly, how many different types of stories do you expect to get? Cats sleep, eat, chase fake mice and purr...did she want me to pretend my cat had superhuman powers like the dog in Bolt and could fly or had supercat strength or extra sharp nails or had a super-meow? I mean come on, what did she expect to receive? Maybe she should specify that the cat needs to have magical powers and be out to save the world.

Whatever, no skin off my back. I never even heard of this magazine before so I'd say it is the one losing out, not me. Here's the story I wrote about my furball--I Love Cats magazine doesn't deserve my talent or Fur's face to grace its pages anyways.

Some people have a security blanket, a favorite stuffed animal, a best friend or a close sibling that’s been with them through thick and thin—a fixture that remains stable and constant no matter how tumultuous life becomes. For me, it is my cat and I never thought that he might not always be here. Until now.

Zachary, more frequently and affectionately referred to as “Fur,” became part of the family 13 years ago in August. I was in third grade when my family and I went to a local animal hospital to look at kittens. When I held him, he nibbled on my shoulder and I knew he was the one. When he came home to us a couple weeks later, officially my mother’s 40^th birthday present, he was skiddish and didn’t like to be held. But I scooped him up anyways and he stayed—I knew it was the start of a special relationship.

Fur became more than a pet, he is part of the family. He seems more like a friend that talks cat instead of English because of his distinctive personality. He’s lovey dovey and feisty with my family, staring up at you and meowing until you grant his request for food and nestling his head into my mom’s shoulder when he wants a morning hug. Every morning he sits on her newspaper while she tries to read around him and drinks coffee. He knows it’s their ritual. We used to lock him in the kitchen when he was young and his meows to be released each morning sounded like “mommm.” On the flip side, he’s hostile and downright mean to guests (we blame his cold demeanor to a traumatizing event as a kitten that involved wild, screaming children).

But above all, he is a companion; the most loyal friend who knows when I’m sick or sad and lays by my side until I recover. He owned half of my bed every night and since going away to college, has taken over my parent’s bed (he seems to think he’s entitled to the space between them, sprawling out and taking a portion of the pillow).

Anybody who knows me has heard about Fur. Most likely they have met him and been rejected—probably hissed at, growled at, scorned. They know it’s safer to like him than to ever speak against him, for fear our friendship will come to a screeching end. They’ve seen the thousands of pictures around my room and on Facebook—this black ball of fur with a patch of white on his tummy, under his arms and in the shape of a heart beneath his chin loves photo shoots, posing with me as his eyes turn from green to blue.

So when I found out in March 2009 that my baby has vaccine induced cancer, everybody knew things were about to be turned upside down.

He’d been growing a hump on his back that makes him look like a camel for a few months. Debates were had about when to bring him to the vet to have it checked. We were a bit reluctant because last summer he got diabetes and made monthly trips to the doctor. He hates this with a passion and we don’t like to traumatize him too often.

But eventually my mother sucked it up and took him for testing. Turns out he also went to a cancer specialist and when I got home for spring break, I was greeted with Fur in a “bonnet” (those plastic cones to stop animals from pulling out stitches) and his tumor the size of a small mountain, protruding from the middle of his back right between his shoulder blades. Shaved with little pink stitches sticking out of it, it mocked me, taunted me as a constant reminder that it was the reason Fur was sleeping even more (shocking) and barely eating (even more shocking).

This was not the furball I knew and it triggered a dramatic reaction on my part. I went on a long run and would start crying at random moments. I felt horrible because for the time being, Fur was okay and I knew I should be having positive thoughts and making him feel as if nothing was wrong. He knows he’s handsome and takes such pride in his appearance, grooming for hours. So I knew I couldn’t treat him any different, just because he looked sick.

Chemo wouldn’t do any good and removal would basically make him lame, so there’s nothing we can do. My mother said to visualize his bump shrinking and that’s what I’m trying to do. As hard as it is, no more negativity—it’s more important to enjoy every moment with him than to dread the future.

In the recent weeks he’s been getting back to his old self. He’s more active, eats fairly normally and has been much more talkative. Perhaps this is partly because he’s been getting spoiled and receives the royal treatment. He gets table treats that were previously banned because of diabetes and is allowed to sit on laps on the couch, also formerly banned. But he deserves it. After all, he’s a prince.

Country Music Is My Guilty Pleasure...well, one of them

When I was younger I was always adamant about despising country music. I thought it was all hillbilly twang that got on my nerves and was very uncool to listen to. Well either I've broadened my horizons or the genre has evolved because I now admit (if still a bit sheepishly) that I'm in love with some country artists and it's far more than cowboys rockin' out on banjos. And after watching the Academy of Country Music Awards on CBS last night, I realized I like even more country than I thought I did.

Two of my favorite and most played iTunes artists are Taylor Swift and Carrie Underwood. Their songs are personal, tell a story and are relateable. They're catchy and I think I'm on the verge of overplaying them. At last night's award show, Taylor Swift won two awards she didn't see coming at all. She was given a crystal award for selling the most albums in a year and also secured Top Country Album. She was absolutely adorable, in shock, hugging her mother, jumping up and down on stage and she totally deserved it. Carrie Underwood won Top Female Artist and was nominated for Entertainer of the Year--the only female to make the category since 2000. SHE WON! She's still the same old small-town girl that won American Idol four years ago and you can tell she's genuine and still in awe of her own success. She cried, admitted she never expected to win, got a kiss on the cheek from Matthew McConnoughy (!!!) and spun around in a circle because she didn't know what to say or do. Love her.

It's refreshing to see two artists who really appreciate what they have and get giddily excited over awards they honestly don't expect to win. I stood about 5 inches from the television, beaming like a proud parent. Can you say, LOSER! If you think you're against country, give it a try. YouTube or imeem my girls and see for yourself that country's not that bad. Chelsea Handler likes Carrie and she gave Taylor Swift "her blessing" (a HUGE deal). You know that anytime I find something else the two of us have in common, it's not only 100percent okay in my books, but borderline amazing. =)

Is Passion Really Enough?

I wrote this for the Web site my Advanced Editing class is launching this semester. Figured I'd post it on here since the news is not inspiring any commentary or even worth discussing. Killing, killing, killing and not much good. Plus the weather is crap.

You have to be passionate about what you do. This seems to be the age-old mantra for getting ahead in life. And it is, perhaps, even more necessary for student journalists. It’s actually not even an option. Holding the title of “journalist” is not to be taken lightly as you hold the irreplaceable task of informing the public about things that directly affect their life. If you’re not passionate about what journalism really means (and I don’t mean reporting on the latest fashions and celebrity gossip) than pick another career, and hurry.

Professor Howard Good once said something along the lines of “I see these high school seniors and college freshman that say they want to be journalists, but when I ask them why, they give me a blank stare or say ‘I want to be famous.’”

He then gave his signature satirical laugh and launched into a discussion about why you have to be truly committed to journalism to make it and that half of us sitting in class would never end up doing what we set out to do upon entering college. This year’s Ottaway professor, Byron Calame, reinforced this need for passion, especially with the ultra-competitive job market right now.

I’m in love with journalism. I love writing, talking to people, telling stories that change people’s lives. But I was a little unsure if this passion or commitment was evident. I was afraid that I’d be lost in the sea of aspiring student journalists that aren’t taken seriously.

I recently sat down with a long-time friend of my father who wanted to get to know me a little better. We talked about my plans for post-graduation and why I wanted to be a journalist and had pursued it in the first place. Right before we said our goodbyes, he told me one thing that struck him about me was my passion. He said he could tell that I truly cared about the deeper meaning of journalism and what it meant to be a part of it. This was the vindication I needed. To have someone I had only known for about an hour tell me the one thing I feared most about myself was a relief and almost roused me out of the somewhat discouraged slump I was in, courtesy of my dismal job search.

Yet despite this esteem boost and my mother’s best efforts at positivity, I’ve found it difficult to remain optimistic about the future. I graduate in May and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more terrified than excited. There have been 2 million jobs lost since 2009 started and 663,000 in March alone, according to the latest government statistics. The nation’s unemployment level rose to 8.5 percent, the highest it’s been since 1983 and that’s generally speaking.

To zero in on how my chosen field is surviving is enough to make even the most gung-ho job searcher pull the shades and crawl under the covers. Newspapers are folding all over the country with some cities facing the possibility of having no print newspaper at all. The Sun Times Media Group that owns the Chicago Sun and 58 other newspapers recently filed for Chapter 11 and other companies are imposing salary cuts and mandatory furloughs to remain afloat.

The possibility of finding a job doing what I love looks bleak. All the passion in the world is no match for an economy teetering on the brink of depression. So what should I do? What should any college graduate do?

My initial thought was that I could find a lowly state job to tide me over while I freelanced and looked for a stable position. Now Gov. Paterson proposes to cut 8,900 state jobs, so I guess that option’s out the window. My mother told me in hushed tones to follow the stimulus package, hoping this was a cutting edge idea that people might be slow to pick up on. Well the media must have heard her because there have been articles suggesting that very idea all over the place. Fabulous.

I don’t have an answer. I don’t think anybody does. Professors harp on what a terrible state the country is in and can draw direct comparisons to the climate when they graduated years ago. Graduate school is always an option. This might be the right path for some, but I’m going to battle it out in the real world before returning to the classroom. Since J2 I’ve been antsy to get on with my life and start working. It’s not that I want to rush college (believe me, it’s true what they say about it being the best years) but I’ve felt ready to get my hands dirty in the professional journalism-scape for a while now.

My life looks nothing like what I envisioned—and I’m not a head-in-the-clouds, overly optimistic dreamer with an unrealistic view of the world type of girl, so times are pretty bad. I guess all I and anyone else can do is wait for the tides to turn, ride this recession out. Times might get harder before they get better but I’m hopeful that eventually there will come a day when jobs aren’t scored by personal connections and luck of the draw, but by passion. A day when this passion that is so crucial and needed to revamp the media’s reputation, can be put to use—when journalists like myself can find our place.

I Love...I Hate...

In high school I was a master bullshitter--seriously, the best. The only class I ever really studied for was French and sometimes history, essays were written the night before (or morning of) and my best friend Erika and I were pros at divvying up necessary reading or copying AJ's economics/government homework. For the most part, classes were boring and a huge waste of time...I didn't want to sit there and listen to incompetent teachers talk about what they didn't even understand themselves and I found it difficult to sit still for so many hours...it would be quite appropriate to compare my attention span to that of a 5-year-old. I much preferred to spend my time in the College Center taking naps on the couch or making paper chains and decorations for various holidays. "Our Spot" in a second floor hallway and ironically next to the South House office was another favorite area; being friends with the South House principal, nurse and all the hall monitors was helpful in not getting sent where I was really supposed to be. So given my impressive commitment to high school academia, I surprise even myself at what a responsible (and I'd go so far as to say devoted) college student I've become. Whereas in high school it was easier to list the teachers I liked (a scant 5-sh), college flipped that and it's quicker to list the professors I've despised (maybe 2). What an accomplishment (on SUNY New Paltz's part).

So what's the point of this blog? Good question. I've been severly disgusted by the news lately (why are people going on killing sprees?!) so I couldn't find much that I was motivated to offer my "insightful" commentary on (shocking, I know). But I wanted to post an update since the whole point of me starting this blog was to force myself to write on a regular basis. So this is where the above confession fits in.

One of my favorite professors, Larry Carr, is the most adorable little man and after taking two of his classes I actually learned a lot about writing creatively. One exercise he made us do was relatively enjoyable (for an assignment) and I figured I'd recreate it here to share a bit more of myself. He had us list 10 things we love and 10 things we hate. Then we moved things around and created a list poem. It sounds stupid but you'd be surprised what you come up with and how it really helps turn something basic into a creative work of art. Feel free to try it yourself and post it as a comment. And FYI, I think I programmed my settings so that you don't have to create an account to comment, so you people should humor me and stop being shy and leave me some entertainment. Thanks! =)

I love Fur with his distinctive personality, rough pink tongue, curiously cute kitty breath, shiny black coat and soulful green eyes.
I love breathing hard, pushing myself to go farther while my joints scream at me to stop as I run through the streets of Albany.
I love laying outside and feeling my skin turn to a deep bronze.
I love dark roast coffee with skim milk and splenda, iced in the summer.
I love my ridiculous taste in television and music--reality, Disney, drama; R&B/hip-hop, country, rock.
I love living in the center of a bustling, polluted city; cows and mountains just don't cut it.
I love my mother's cooking and nightly family dinners.
I love watching my favorite movies over and over and over and...
I love talking.
I love abandoning feminity and becoming an overly obsessed football fanatic--go Bills!

* * * * * * *

I hate most people--selfish, ignorant, annoying, egotistic, hot messes.
I hate snaps--yes, the kind on coats, pants, purses, onesies.
I hate brushing my teeth within 10 feet of someone else; something about it grosses me out.
I hate when my head invites migraines to visit; throbbing in my temples, at the back of my head, behind my eyes.
I hate when people walking in front of me think it's okay to walk at .00008 miles an hour--c'mon, speed it up!
I hate commercials, the biggest and most repetitive waste of time ever.
I hate sand and saltwater, the way it coats skin and gets everywhere.
I hate thunderstorms that make me hide under the covers, no matter the weather, until they pass.
I hate how my bladder can't hold pee for more than an hour at a time.
I hate how people who don't speak English are taking over our country, and more specifically, NEW PALTZ!

MY DREAM COMES TRUE!...well one of them

As an entirely too involved, over-enthusiastic and tortured Buffalo Bills fan, I've only dreamed of being able to "professionally" write about them--college newspaper, Times Union editorials and blog rants don't really count. And now (as I try to control my excitement and breathe deeply because I'm in the Poughkeepsie Journal newsroom) I CAN! Thanks to my mother (jeez Mom, why are you so good?!) I stumbled across an open position at www.chicksinthehuddle.com. It started as a site devoted to the New Orleans Saints and is now in the process of expanding to include as many NFL teams as possible. It's comprised of solely female writers who share a love of football and chosen team.

Apparently the creator, referred to as "Nola Chick," was impressed by my qualifications and psycho-esque Bills clips...or maybe she's just desperate. Either way, I'm officially on board to contribute to the site--generally two times a week during the offseason and four times a week in season. I will be in charge of the Buffalo Bills section of the site and am told the girls already contributing (about 4-ish) have scored some pretty sweet interviews and attended star-studded events...well celebrity in the sense that we get excited about meeting professional football players so getting an invite to their birthday parties is enough to make our year.

I don't have too much information yet, but stay posted for updates! Also, if anybody has ideas for stories they'd like to see me write, please let me know! Hmm, since the only people that read this blog are my parents and Lisa and Mark, I might have to expand my readership for ideas. Daddy, expose the Cronmillers to my genius...and perhaps your Buffalonian pals? Let's go Buff-a-lo! =)

I'M SO SUPER DUPER EXTRA EXTRA I NEED TO CALM DOWN AND WRITE THIS ARTICLE EXCITED!!!

Psychological Egoists Unite

My previous post suggested that my motivation to write has been blocked. And it was. But after yesterday's Advanced Literary Journalism class with the ever provocative Howie Good who forces you to think outside the box, I'm inspired. Somebody give this man a lifetime achievement award or something, he's truly astounding.

Which brings me to this post. I'd like to introduce you to my kindred spirit and a man who likes to consider himself my "sensei." Sensei is a Japanese title that refers to a figure of authority who has mastered an art form or other skill: art, music, writing, martial arts, or in this case, disgust for humanity.

Meet Mark Klender. From the moment we met, we clicked; our shared understanding of how ridiculous and ignorant this world is was instantaneous. The partner of my dad's friend Lisa (who is seriously one of the nicest people I know and one of my favorites, which says a lot since I don't like that many people), Mark quickly became an integral part of Fountain pizza nights where we would all catch up when I was home from college.

Put the two of us together and you're in for an interesting night. You'll be exposed to ideas, theories and ways of thinking you could never imagine. Your eyes will be opened to the severe shortcomings of the majority of society. You'll realize the ignorance that plagues humanity and makes basic interaction increasingly frustrating. As Mark so poetically stated, "My hatred for humanity grows deeper each day." Sound drastic, radical, egotistic or pessimistic? Then this is your first clue that you're in dire need of our help. Let me elaborate, and I'll try to be brief.

The world is a pretty horrible place. Before you deem me a "Debbie Downer" or "Negative Nancy" think about it for a minute. Crime raddles even the most idealistic communities, countries always have something to fight about, the class separation is blatant and disgusting, we had George W. Bush in charge of our country for eight years and new diseases emerge faster than we can find cures. But perhaps most disturbing of all is that society is selfish and ignorant. I've tried to think of another word to use, switch it up a little, but ignorance is really the perfect term. Nobody cares about anyone but themselves and everything they do is for their own self-gain.

My challengers might argue "what about people who give to charity or devote their life to bettering the lives of others?" Well in essence, there are very few regular, average citizens who can afford to focus on the lives of others before their own. And those who donate to charity probably bask in the publicity they receive for their charitable efforts or get esteem-boosts from grateful receipients (which of course they would never admit), making them look self-less; yet I'm sure this isn't the whole story because those who look perfect are usually the most screwed up.

Chew on this a bit, straight from Sensei Mark's mouth:

"[Alyssa] and I are Psychological egoists. Yes, it is a real term. People are fundamentally self-centered. Basically, we believe that people are motivated only to act in their best interests no matter the effect on others. People are selfish even when they appear not to be, because they are only concerned with themselves. 'F' everyone else. If Alyssa and I could only get this point across, we could show people the ill effects that their real motivations are having on society and help fix the problem and make this a more fulfilling world for all. A world with fewer phonies is a world filled with greater peace and prosperity for all."

This wisdom goes along with yesterday's class discussion about what makes the best writers, what distinguishes recognized ones from epic ones. Howie Good said that you have to have a distinct point of view and moral outrage--embrace it. You need to have an unwavering opinion and realize it is your job to share it. He said attitude is what gives writing style, a particular "warp" or "curve." He cited literary master Joan Didion as encompassing all of this, pointing out that her pessimism for aspects of society is what solidified her legendary spot in non-fiction prose. Is this not what Mark so eloquently shared above?

So Mark and I are not mean, heartless people. We just realize being ourselves is the only way to go and that there will always be supporters and haters of our mindset. We hate fake people and merely have an unprecedented understanding of what the world is really like. We've discovered how to puncture the phony facade so many optimists try to mask it with to arrive at the truth. We have the moral outrage Howie encourages.

One of the main principles of journalism is to "seek truth and report it." That's all I'm trying to do. With Mark's help and my own no-holds barred attitude, I'm confident I will find a way to present the unfiltered, uncensored, raw truth. Maybe we should write a book. Genius.

Blocked?

I haven't been able to write lately; or maybe I just don't feel like it. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that my baby furball has cancer and a tumor the size of a small mountain protruding from the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. Shaved with little pink stitches sticking out of it in four different places, it mocked me all of spring break, taunted me as a constant reminder that it was the reason fur was sleeping even more (shocking) and barely eating (even more shocking). Some people say distress and anguish make good writers even better and this can be true, but not this time. This time I just can't get those creative juices flowing. And this doesn't bode well since I have a paper due tomorrow, another due on Wednesday, an article due on Thursday (which I still haven't interviewed for), summer internships to apply for by the end of the week and, of course, the internship, class and production night. What, a mess.

But even if I did feel like writing there's not that much to write about, or at least anything positive. My mom said I should write an uplifting post, perhaps less critical than my previous ones. I'd love to because contrary to what some might think, I don't always thrive on negativity and don't always want to offer commentary on ridiculous things happening in this ridiculous world...just most of the time. But as usual, the world is a hot mess.

Natasha Richardson died early this week from a fall on a beginner's ski slope. Tragic, freak accident and so sad because I watched her more times than I can count in The Parent Trap. Just today cnn.com reported there were two plane crashes, one in Montana that killed seven children and seven adults and another in Tokyo that killed two Americans. Like I said, not flying ever again. Albany is getting more violent as the nice weather approaches. My block is fine but if you walk to the end of it and go straight or turn right, you're basically screwed. That's just grand. So much for saving money by walking everywhere this summer. I can feel myself getting sucked in by the NCAA tournament which is not good because I don't have time to reconnect with my old favorite team, Syracuse, and root for them since they're actually doing pretty good. Watching Siena muddle through this weekend reminded me why I only partake in one season of sports a year (football)...my blood pressure can't be spiked for so many months! A bunch of my television shows are having their season finales soon (what will I do without Jon and Kate Plus 8?!) so I guess that's good because it leaves more time for productivity but I normally can't function past 9 p.m. anyways so it's really just disappointing. On a happier note, Bolt comes out on DVD tomorrow! =)

I've decided that I need to find a way to get to L.A. for a live taping of Chelsea Lately and sooner rather than later would be advantageous since who knows what my future will look like in a few months. If I can get to L.A. and be within 10 feet of her, I'll be ready to become a real adult and be a part of the real world. Help, anyone?

Well I'm going to stop writing now because No. 1: I drank too much coffee and need to relieve myself and No. 2: I didn't have anything to say in the first place and I don't now so I should probably find something better to do with my time...although my supervisor isn't even here and I don't actually have any tasks. My next post will be phenomenal to make up for this mess, sorry!

It's Nice to Know She's Back

Like much of the Capital Region I was shocked, upset and disgruntled when WNYT let top-rated news anchor Lydia Kulbida go in December. Perhaps even more so as a student journalist on the brink of becoming a real journalist and entering the real world--and because I'd grown up with her, Benita Zahn, Jim Kambrich and the rest of the Channel 13 family. They played a part in my decision to pursue this cutthroat, evolving and currently struggling field.

Kulbida's departure put a damper on my dreams. Graduating early in May, I've been stressed about finding a job. With top journalists being shown the door I feel I have little hope of doing anything close to my passion: writing. All I want to do is write and if I can't write, I just want to be around media; it's where I'm comfortable.

The fact that one of the area's top-rated anchors (admired not only as a journalist but for her actions in the community) was facing the job-cut reality herself, was frightening. I was distressed because I didn't know what she was going to do. Would she move? Would she ever be back on air? Would she take up a different career path? I know that if I can't imagine doing anything but journalism and haven't even dipped my toes in yet, she must feel even more strongly.

Well not to fear, I should have known it wasn't in her nature to give up the fight. I'm pleased and relieved to report that my girl is back and doing 8million things...ok, maybe just five but it's a lot.

I just discovered Kulbida has a Times Union blog, "La Vida Kulbida" where, "From your television screen to your computer screen, Lydia Kulbida writes about media and more. The former anchor is now juggling grad school, freelancing for WAMC, starting a business, raising a family and it's all in one blog." I'm pretty excited; a bit too excited probably. So far, she's got three blog entries posted and if you comment she's great about replying.

I have a little of my spirit back. If she can revamp her life by going back to school, starting a business (I'm interested to see what this is), blogging (about a subject my favorite professor Howie endlessly discusses), freelancing AND raise a family, I think I'll be alright. If there's anything I've learned from her situation, now that my anger has dimmed, it's that as journalists we've entered a tough field but there's endless opportunity. (Again, I should have listened to my mother sooner, she's always saying that.)

Thanks for continuing to give me someone to emulate and something to work towards!

Buffalo Bills Make It So Hard To Be A Fan

It's no secret that I'm a loyal Buffalo Bills fan--grew up watching them every Sunday, have the over-sized jerseys, had that editorial-rant published, been to a couple games. But it's hard to be a Bills fan. They're notorious for breaking hearts. I've lost track of the games I've cried through, the Monday night footballs that made me lose my voice, the number of times I've wanted to shut off a game but always hold on to that glimmer of hope that maybe they'll pull through. Too bad this rarely happens. Through it all, the good seasons and the bad, I have and always will remain a proud fan of the Buffalo Bills. But just because I'm a fan and can't seem to fall out of love with them, doesn't mean I won't hate them for some of their decisions, one of which was confirmed today.

THEY SIGNED TERRELL OWENS! T.O.! ARGUABLY ONE OF THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL AND HATED PLAYERS IN THE GAME! REALLY?!!! BY FAR, ONE OF THE STUPIDEST MOVES THEY COULD HAVE MADE!

T.O. might have the skills, produce the numbers and statistics this struggling team desperately needs, but I think they could have gone a different route. The Dallas Cowboys let T.O. out of his contract last week because they "wanted to improve the atmosphere of the locker room."

If there's one thing the Bills are pretty good at, I'd say it's probably morale...there's got to be something that holds them together and keeps them going amidst their less than stellar performances. I'd guess good team dynamic is to thank for this. Well not for long.

T.O. is notorious, not only for his off-field shenanigans but for his on-field demeanor. He has a history of "making life difficult" for quarterbacks. Trent Edwards is only in his second season as a starting quarterback. He does need solid offensive talent around him in order to improve but it should be positive. I don't think T.O. is the answer. The Bills signed him for a one-year deal for $6.5 million, presumably for this very reason. Maybe it's just me, but that seems like a BIG waste of money.

Also, the Bills have already had to deal with running back Marshawn Lynch's recent and not so recent run-ins with the law. On March 5 he received three years probation, was ordered to 80 hours of community service and lost his search-and-seizure rights as part of a plea bargain for multiple gun charges from his Feb. 11 arrest in California. We (and I mean the team and fans) don't need any more negative publicity or energy.

I understand the Bills are trying to secure top-notch talent to support and take pressure off wide-receiver Lee Evans and to put them back on the NFL map as serious AFC East contenders, but this isn't the way to do it. If anything, they're going to become even more of a league joke and be the brunt of further embarrassment.

It's also extremely important to note that T.O. sports the number 81. While Peerless Price may no longer play for the Bills, he is the only person on this team that is allowed to rep that jersey. I might have to seriously reconsider my favorite number, which will be quite a hassle since I base numerous aspects of my life around variations of 8 and 1. C'monnn!

It's times like these, situations like these, that make it very hard to be a fan.

Bossie Can Kiss My...

While trolling nytimes.com today, I came across a disturbing article that reinforced my strong dislike for sneaky, immature conservatives and got my fire blazing so hot I was wishing it was not 10:40 a.m. but closer to 7 p.m.—late enough for a drink. What made the situation even more aggravating and deserving of Franzia fruity sangria? I was sitting at my internship in a newsroom where I could not exclaim, scream, rant or stamp my foot. So instead, I decided to write about it.

Apparently, a documentary film (and I use the word documentary very loosely, I think propaganda is more fitting) was released by Citizens United, a conservative advocacy group and nonprofit corporation, titled “Hillary: The Movie.” It was shown in six cities and available on DVD and the internet last year, right around the time of the 2008 Primary election.

I was unaware of this slanderous cinema, which is lucky for its producers because they no doubt would have had an Alyssa Jung on their hands harboring an anger registering as an all-time high in her record books—not something they would’ve been equipped to deal with.

According to the article, the president of this advocacy group is David Bossie, a former Congressional aide and “longtime foe of the Clintons.” Surprise surprise. It is wildly apparent that this film was born out of a childish grudge and desire to use underhanded and dirty tactics to sabotage an “enemy.” And what better way to attack the Clintons than to make a robust attempt at ruining Hill’s political career. Mature, real mature.

Bossie seems to have a history of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and has been the brunt of criticism by Democrats and Republicans alike. If he can get those two parties to agree that he’s horrible, he must be a pretty shady guy.

The film has commentary from journalists, dramatic voiceovers and “shadowy reenactments and spooky mood music.” It includes interviews with people from the Clinton era in the White House who clearly felt snubbed and want to talk about it. Wow, they seem like really credible sources. It also has Ann Coulter claiming the only nice thing she could say about Hill is that she “looks good in a pantsuit.” Agreed, she does work her multi-colored pantsuits better than you ever could Coulter.

Now, the film is being brought before the Supreme Court on March 24 to determine if it is “electioneering communication,” which the McCain-Feingold campaign finance law of 2002 forbids to be broadcast within a certain time frame before elections.

Citizens United already lost a suit against the Federal Election Commission and was forced to scrap plans to show the film on cable video-on-demand services and to air TV advertisements for it. The Obama Justice Department views the documentary negatively saying it “advances the clear message that Sen. Clinton lacked both the integrity and qualifications to be president of the United States.” It has also flagged mostly unflattering reviews.

Don’t create media that suggests Hill lacked integrity and qualification. First off, she was strong enough to stay with her husband in the midst of his embarrassingly public affair. That in itself takes integrity that I myself wouldn’t be able to muster in her situation.

Second, if you listen to her speak it’s not really up-for-debate that she sincerely cares for the American people and genuinely wants to do everything in her power to fight for us and help us live the best lives possible. If that’s not integrity I don’t know what is.

Third, I still stand by my opinion that Obama lacked the experience, skills and qualifications to be 44th President of the United States (although I’ve since learned to like him) and that Hill with her 30 plus years in government and heavy participation in her husband’s presidency was better suited for the job. I’m not going to list her qualifications here but I’m confident a simple Google search will support my stance.

I’m used to seeing my girl Hill attacked by the left, the right, men, women, you name it and I’ve been personally attacked for my staunch support of her. Sure, I get annoyed by it all but I expect it and I no longer get physically angry. Well discovery of this film threw all that out the window. I’m pissed. I’m insulted. I’m disgusted. I have no tolerance for petty bashing done in so blatant a way. It’s uncalled for, it’s inappropriate and there’s no time for it. It’s exactly what is wrong with our country’s political arena. Because of Bossie and his corporation’s juvenile and ridiculous actions, the Supreme Court is forced to waste time on this case. Talk about a productive use of federal resources.

And you know what really got my goat, what put me over the edge? At the end of the article Bossie said that if he had been forced to choose between Hill and Barack in the primaries he would have voted for Clinton. From my mouth to your ears Bossie, that’s bull, straight bull. I understand you’re a conservative but that doesn’t mean you have to lie ALL the time. Anybody who would produce this film, even come up with the idea for it, would not have voted for Clinton. There’s no way. It would be pure hypocrisy on your part. Oh, but wait—that might not be so unusual for you.

I take personal offense to this film. I can appreciate a quality movie that accurately portrays a political figure. I haven’t seen it but have been told that “W” about Bush was a fair representation of him. If the man was a screw-up, dappled in alcohol and cocaine and is no more than a bumbling cowboy than that’s what’s going to be shown and it’s not slander or defamation. Based on what I’ve read, I’m pretty sure “Hillary: The Movie” is just that—slander and defamation. I plan to get a hold of it (for free) and am willing to bet my favorite pair of shoes that that’s exactly what I’ll find. Stay tuned for that update.

McCain Ruined His Daughter's Love Life...really?!

During my daily browsing of cnn.com I stumbled across this story. Apparently, John McCain's daughter Meghan said in a blog post for The Daily Beast that "nothing kills my libido quite like discussing politics" and that the presidential election "killed my personal life." She went on to write, "Of all the things people warned would happen post-election, no one ever said anything about how complicated dating would become. Especially if your dad loses the election. There are things that have been difficult, but nothing quite as tough as dating. I fear the election has destroyed my ability and desire to date. Now, I cannot say at any point in my life that I have been very good at dating. But I have become something I used to despise: people who let politics dictate his or her attraction to someone."

First of all, she used the word "libido" and alluded to her 118-year-old father in the same sentence--problem number one. Second, I think the fact that I was John McCain's daughter in the first place would be a bit higher on my list of life concerns. Instead of analyzing how her dating life has changed she should be scrambling to find a way to change her name and create a whole new identity for herself. Third, she says dating has become complicated and has destroyed her desire to date but then goes on to say that she has never been good at dating...so what's her point? She's never been good at dating and she's not good now. I would say her father losing the election has little to do with it, the issue seems to be her. Listen, if George W. Bush's daughter can find a man willing to marry her and be linked to that train-wreck of a legacy, anybody can.

The simple fact that the only thing Meghan McCain has to speak out about is her dating life (aka she has nothing to say) shows she really is McCain's daughter. McCain never had much to say except bumbling attempts at debate retorts and exploitative anecdotes of his time as a POW. Like father, like daughter.

She also has a very poorly written blog that used to detail her life on the campaign trail but now is a bunch of nothing. Laugh at it here: mccainblogette.com. If she has masses of people reading that hot mess, and has a paid job writing for The Daily Beast, I should stop worrying about finding a job in May.

I say, shut up Meghan McCain--we didn't care what your father had to say and we don't care what you have to say. There might be a few more important things we should be discussing besides how you're not a good dater...like--oh I don't know--the massive recession, the 46 million Americans without health insurance, the Iraq pullout, anything but you!

If I Should Die Before I Wake...

Last week I was pretty sure I was on my last breath since sickness had consumed me for the past three weeks. So, at the prompting of my daddy (although he probably didn't think I'd really do it), I drew up my last will and testament in about 12 minutes. Needless to say, if it had been the last piece of writing I ever produced, it's not half bad. Check it out

To Whom it May Concern,

As I, Alyssa Anne Jung, hover on the brink of death, teetering above the blistering lava and licking flames of Hell—because we all know I’m definitely not going to Heaven—I would like to lay out my last wishes in a clear and concise manner so as not to have my personal belongings, artifacts, staples of my life, strewn about every which way. Just because I will have departed this Earth, I think it’s safe to say if there were such thing as ghosts who seek revenge upon those who disobey their last wishes, I would be a strong candidate.

Yeah right, I don’t believe in Heaven, Hell or ghosts—there’s nowhere left to go but the cold, worm-laden soil to rot for eternity. I just wanted to leave you with one last bit of my creative persona, a glimmer of the writer I tragically never became. And all because in an effort to secure my future in this delicate world, I was forced to run myself into the ground, conducting interviews for the Oracle, interviews for the Journal, classes here, production night there without a moment to rest, ultimately succumbing to the woes of the common cold and the flu; not the way I had hoped to go down. As Chelsea Handler would say: what, a mess (emphasis on the what). Now let’s get down to business.

I would first and foremost like a closed coffin. I was always disturbed by those formaldehyde-pumped corpses and do not trust someone else to do my makeup correctly. Please refrain from cremation because one of my biggest fears is fire and burning to death. I would, however, like to make very clear that when my precious, adorable Furball must tragically take his last breath I want my casket reopened and his ashes nestled beside me. Take the money from my SEFCU account and hire somebody to dig me up.

Second, apparently I have to give Gregory Patrick Jung my car, at least this is what Thomas M. Jung told me to do. So, I concur that he be required to complete the payments from his own bank account. With regard to my savings, whatever money is not needed to dig me up I allow Thomas M. Jung and Lynnanne Pecheone Jung to acquire. Nobody else. Most of that money is hard-earned and they should take it as compensation for raising me and sending me to college; it is well deserved.

I would also like to make very clear that I do not want a funeral, for being remembered in a church is quite unfitting. Instead, a wake can be held and instead of flowers cash donations to my family should be requested. Just kidding. But seriously, no flowers.

All of my clothing shall be given to a charity after Lynnanne Pecheone Jung picks what she wants and all of my jewelry, bags and nail polish shall go to Lynnanne Pecheone Jung. My shoe collection (tear) can be donated to charity as well…I guess, since nobody else fits into them.

All of my music and DVDs can be given to Erika Christine Savage and my blue iPod shall be given to Thomas M. Jung to give him the song space he complains about. My white iPod shall be given to Gregory Patrick Jung since he has a jazz addiction and will eventually run out of space.

The following items shall also be given to Gregory Patrick Jung for use in college:

15inch Sylvania television, HP Compaq laptop, eco-friendly desk lamp, Lexmark desk printer, Sony alarm clock, laptop bag, dorm pillows, all the storage containers.

To be buried with me:

Elmo, blankie, my cell phone, Hannah Montana blanket, Eric Moulds/Peerless Price jersey and my Hillary Clinton letter. I would like to be buried with my 2 necklaces intact and my large gold hoops.

You might notice that my personal belongings have been divvied up between family and face-less donations. Let us remember that I did not like people.

Thank you for your consideration and respect for these last wishes. Should any controversy arise surrounding the above terms…well don’t let that happen. It’s been a nice ride. Peace.

Fondly,

Alyssa Anne Jung

What Am I Doing Here?!

I could say I've been planning to start a blog for a long time, that I've given it a lot of thought and finally found the perfect way to show the world what's inside my head. But that would be a lie.

The whole reason I'm here is because of my mother. See, I've come to realize that she is always right...always. People say "mothers always know best" and as much as I try to pretend it's not true, it really is. Yesterday I wrote my parents a spastic email updating them about my life, telling them pointless information they didn't need or want to know. Never mind the fact that I speak to them at least once a day, at that moment I happened to be extremely bored, ready to poke my eye out with the nearest sharp object. So I told them how many times I'd peed so far, how much I hate artificial light, how annoyed I was that I was missing my chance to run outside in 50 degree weather; basically whatever popped into my head as my fingers typed. It was an unnecessarily long message and do you want to know what I got in response? A simple one-liner that read, "I find your writing very entertaining. I think you should have a blog or something."

So here I am. What was so entertaining about a rambling email? Well, when I spout out at the mouth like that (well I guess not technically the mouth since I'm writing, not speaking) I guess it makes for a good read because it's my unfiltered thoughts. Random and full of my character. Which is exactly what I'll do here. I don't know what I'll write about but then again, I don't usually know what I'm doing...ever. Life is unpredictable and I'm unpredictable, maybe that's how I've gotten as far as I have. I don't try to outsmart life, I just live day by day and take it as it comes. I'd like to believe it respects me for that. Wow, I just personified something that can't really be personified. Whatever. Hopefully I'll gain a couple loyal followers (probably just my parents). Maybe I'll be "discovered" and finally have a post-graduation plan...probably not. Above all, I guess I just want to showcase my writing, whether it's a carefully thought-out and edited post about current events or something essentially meaningless that people normally couldn't care less about. I love to write and I'm hoping this encourages me to find time to do so outside of class and the Oracle. If anything, you'll probably be entertained.

I'm pretty sure you're not wondering why I named this blog "Goin' Out of My Head" but I'm going to tell you anyways. I was trying to think of a quirky title and it was turning into the struggle that ensues every time I have to think of a headline-I'm horrible at headlines, it's my weakness and usually results in me declaring myself the most uncreative person ever, which ultimately doesn't make sense but dramatic is my specialty. So I started trolling through my iTunes because song titles are so multi-dimensional and decided I would name it after my favorite artist in the entire world, Luther Vandross. I love him so much but that's a post for another day. Goin' Out of My Head is one of my all-time favorite songs and while it's literally about going out of your head with love, I think it applies perfectly. I'm completely insane...going out of my head-crazy. It makes plenty of sense in my mind so if you're confused, sorry.

Ok, I've got to wrap this up because I need to go take my clothes out of the dryer before someone else does. That is something that pisses me off the most. Why do you have to touch my clothes? Why would you WANT to touch someone else's clothes? I know they're clean and everything but I don't want to touch some stranger's underwear. Plus, it's just rude. I've had some pretty satisfying laundry-room escapades at college. One time somebody took my clothes out but they were STILL WET...seriously?! Well, that was a huge mistake because I was literally shaking with rage. What happens when Alyssa gets mad?--it's never a pretty scene. Two minutes later my clothes were happily spinning in the dryer and theirs were chillin' in the trashcan. That's what they get. Another time someone piled my clothes up on this random table and it was spilling on to the ground and mixed in with other people's laundry. Now it wasn't like I just left my clothes in the dryer for fun or because I forgot about it...I just happened to be changing after my shower and figured it would be fine for two seconds. Apparently, people are impatient--which I can totally relate to because I'm probably the most impatient person you'll meet (thanks, Dad) but this goes beyond impatience. Now it's just about disrespect. So I went a little psycho and had a great time flinging their laundry around the room, overcoming my irrational fear of lint to smear it all over their wet clothes, gleefully jumping on their shirts in an effort to grind some dust into them. I hope they learned a valuable lesson that day. So yeah, I have to go handle my laundry before I'm forced to handle someone else's. I'm trying to be more mature and keep my anger and emotions in check. Terrorizing the laundry room would be wrong...