To the Dean, anonymously:

I couldn’t care less about St. Francis if I tried. I chose St. Bonaventure for the journalism, and I intend to benefit from this program.

But I can’t rely on just journalism. I need a solid informational background so I can write and speak intelligently. I need a heavier focus on learning new technology and software; not knowing Adobe software well enough has me on the verge of losing an internship this summer. I need to learn how to learn so I can adapt to any job.

Employers expect journalism majors to be excellent writers, but all I know is newswriting. I want to know more than how to be a reporter; chances are I will never be one. I need writing skills that go beyond the newsroom to the business world.

I’ll go to Francis when I need to remember good morals, but for now, I need to equip myself to make enough money to enjoy that luxury.


Wrote this for Denny's class. It's not much more than sassy whining, but I kind of liked how it turned out.

Musing and Lyrics and Confidence

"She don't run from the sun no more
She boxed her shadow and she won
Said I can see you laugh
Through these bottle caps
And this wire around my neck ain't
There for fun"

If you think I'm not shy, my plan is working. But I'm aware enough of myself and my surroundings to know I'm not such a good actress. I'll be the first to admit I'm not an outgoing person.

Last week, I literally ran out of the Rathskeller so I wouldn't have to participate in Open Mic Night. I wasn't trying to be dramatic or anything. I just literally could not handle the idea of getting up in front of people to express myself.

If expressing myself remotely through words makes me a coward, then call me a coward.

"But someday we'll all be old
And I'll be so damn beautiful
Meanwhile I'll hide my head
Here in this paper bag
Cause if I cant see you
Then you can't see me
And it'll be okay
Fly little bee away
To where theres no more rain
And I can be me"

I won't go into the reasons behind my lack of confidence. They're not important anymore. What's important now is forcing the insecurities out and replacing them with forced confidence until it's real. I'm a big believer in the fake-it-'til-you-make-it cliche.

"Yeah they talk about her
She smiles like shes so tough
She says
'hey can you talk a little louder,
I don't think my heart is broken enough'"

This weekend, I'll be playing softball for the first time in my life - in front of the entire school. Confidence would help here. But for me, confidence comes from knowing I can do something without embarassing myself.

I can manage class presentations just fine as long as I'm prepared. Even interviewing isn't so bad if I can run through the exchange in my head beforehand.

But softball? I'm not even sure I want to practice because I know I won't be automatically awesome. That's just not how athletics go for me. And as long as I can trick myself into believing I could be awesome when it comes time, I'll be fine until the first game.

"But someday we'll all be old
And I'll be so damn beautiful
Meanwhile I'll hide my head
Here in this paper bag
Cause if I can't see you
Then you can't see me
And it'll be okay
Fly little bee away
To where theres no more rain
And I can be me"

College has brought me so far from where I was confidence-wise in high school. I'm much more comfortable now with meeting new people. I can talk to people without feeling intensely awkward.

But I have a long way to go.

"Some days I wade in the indigo
Singing that song on the radio
I blame these puddles on the rain
You know I gotta keep these cheeks dry today
Gotta keep my cheating strategy
And baby I'm gonna have it made."

Maybe someday it will all just click. I'll wake up one morning, feeling like I can take on the world. Maybe someday I'll surprise myself and sing karaoke without three beers under my belt. But for now, those 'maybes' are just maybes.

"But someday we'll all be old
And I'll be so damn beautiful
Meanwhile I'll hide my head
Here in this paper bag
Cause if I can't see you
Then you can't see me
And it'll be okay
Fly little bee away
To where there's no more rain
And I can be me"

"Paper Bag" by Anna Nalick

Writer, blocked.

I don't know how to say what's on my mind right now. And it probably doesn't belong on a blog, for that matter. But the beauty of a blog is that very few people appreciate them enough to read them. So I get the thrill of putting my thoughts out to the public without really attracting too many readers.

I've been listening to The Gaslight Anthem quite a bit lately, and somehow, this music helps me put my thoughts in order.

I've never had music I could really call my own. It was Billy Joel and Mom's 80's-90's-and-now radio station until I switched to the pop-music-of-the-moment station. And when I came to college, I started loving Country music. Somehow the relative obscurity of Gaslight makes it feel like this is my music.

It's actually the first music I've loved with a hint of angst to it, and that's been pretty healing. To be honest, that dose of life-bites-sometimes is about 6 years overdue. Two or three lines from one of these songs hit so startlingly close to my reality I had to listen to it ten more times.

"I saw tail lights last night, in a dream about my whole life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn't you?"

I'm not entirely comfortable talking about the tough spots in my life. Pity makes me uncomfortable. But it's a relief to know someone, or some band, has had the same experiences I have.

It may not even be the music that's helping me, though. The most meaningful music takes a person away from the here and now to a better there and then. And in this case, this music takes me from my muddled thoughts to remind me of the great new friends I've made who feel as strongly about this band as I do. I know I could go to that handful of people for anything, and that's a real comfort.

"But all I want is for you to be alright and satisfied
Brothers and sisters know that anytime or late at night,
If you call I will answer, I'm open ears though tired eyes
But the world closed it's arms on us now."

I Left Tomorrow In San Francisco

It's 1 a.m. and I'm officially temporarily addicted to this little blog of mine.

Earlier today, I was flipping through randomized blogs on this site and found one with a really great, non-boring background. So I imported one I liked even more.

Tonight, I was flipping through again, to reward myself for finishing my Natty World paper on the big bang theory. This time, I saw people had put pictures behind their blog titles. Naturally, I wanted to play, too.

So the one I put in tonight (after several really horrible tries with other pictures) is an original moi.

I took this for Dad along the descent from Mount Tam north of San Francisco. Lianne and I flew out to visit Grandma and Uncle Paul this summer for the first time without Dad.

So when U.P. told us this was Dad's favorite view, I had to drink it in and take some home for him.

The one to the left here was my very favorite, so I enlarged it and gave it to him for Christmas.

It's views like this that convince me I need to live near San Francisco someday after Boston.

A Little Something About A Fat Cat

I put the last pan in the dish rack and Mom presses the buttons on the dishwasher. Rubbing our stomachs and sighing, we look at each other and trudge up the stairs without having to say a word.

We flop down on her bed and she picks up the remote after a minute. Another sigh and we're flipping through the DVR guide, letting our backs sink into her duvet-covered TempurPedic mattress. We settle on a recorded episode of "Two And A Half Men" and scroll through our Facebook news feeds on our phones, swapping the funniest and strangest statuses we come across.

With a throaty, questioning meow, Buddy wriggles his flubbery little body and jumps onto the bed. Seeing us both in one place, he sniffs my face and nuzzles my nose, letting out muted meows of joy before hopping over to Mom and half-laying on her stomach. We can feel his rumbling boy-cat purr through the bed. He comes back to me and wedges his pudgy body between my arm and body; I'm the one with the pink fleece blanket. He settles in, throwing one arm over mine. His purr skips as he takes a deep breath and resumes at a slighter decibel as he drifts off to sleep.

Buddy is Mom's cat. He has been since she couldn't leave Petco without adopting him. Her first reaction was the same as mine, although separated by hours: "Awww hey, buddy boy!"

And so, from day one, we couldn't help spending our spare time in the laundry room cuddling the lanky kitten called Buddy who was always unusually warm and snuggly.

And when he grew in age and breadth, Buddy returned the favor. Now, he can't bear to be left alone. When we stand in the kitchen talking, he'll reach up and stand against our legs, nudging at our hands, desperate for our love. Last summer, the whole family sat around the fire pit on the back patio as Buddy scratched the glass storm door at lightning speed. When his arms got tired of beating at the glass, he'd pace back across the kitchen. On the return trip to the door, he'd remember his family was stranded outside, waiting for him to rescue them. And the scratching would begin again.

Buddy has always been one of those animals who loves his people wholly and forever. We can do all kinds of horrible things to him, like vacuuming or having small children over, and somehow he manages to forgive us. And every night, he snuggles one of us to sleep.

Who could ask for more?

Ranting and Raving on Ignorant, Blind Hate

I'm supposed to be writing a research paper for my Media Law class on the upcoming Supreme Court case Snyder v. Phelps, but I'm just too upset by Phelps' ignorance.

Fred Phelps is the founding pastor of Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. His church's goal is to teach that the world is evil and God hates America, homosexuals and soldiers.

Here's a sampling of Phelps' ideology:

"WBC engages in daily peaceful sidewalk demonstrations opposing the homosexual lifestyle of soul-damning, nation-destroying filth. We display large, colorful signs containing Bible words and sentiments, including: GOD HATES FAGS, FAGS HATE GOD, AIDS CURES FAGS, THANK GOD FOR AIDS, FAGS BURN IN HELL, GOD IS NOT MOCKED, FAGS ARE NATURE FREAKS, GOD GAVE FAGS UP, NO SPECIAL LAWS FOR FAGS, FAGS DOOM NATIONS, THANK GOD FOR DEAD SOLDIERS, FAG TROOPS, GOD BLEW UP THE TROOPS, GOD HATES AMERICA, AMERICA IS DOOMED, THE WORLD IS DOOMED, etc." (http://www.godhatesfags.com/written/wbcinfo/aboutwbc.html)

This is an intense overreaction to the stories in the Bible. In my own opinion, the Bible is literature, filled with stories to inspire good morals and values in its readers. The likelihood that it is an accurate record of true events is slim.

Westboro Baptist Church is basing their highly offensive and prejudiced protests on historical fiction at best.

The website says they conduct respectful and peaceful protests. What is respectful about insulting people for things they can't help?

Homosexuals, as far as I know and logic shows, don't choose to be attracted to their same gender. And furthermore, it's not a disease. It's no different from a man and a woman being in love. They shouldn't be attacked and punished for loving.

In fact, hateful people like Phelps and his followers ought to learn from people with love in their hearts. How does a person's love for another hurt Phelps in any way? I'm sure he won't have to worry about being loved with the way he behaves.

The website says protesters carry signs saying "God hates America." Phelps and his followers live in America. But would he say God hates him, too? Surely not.

Does he believe he is the only American God doesn't hate because he is being hateful to others?

I'm struggling to write this paper about a person whose actions toward innocent people are emotionally comparable to evil like Hitler.

Reading his website, I'm furious that he could be so horrible to people he has never met. His website spreads hate and anger. It doesn't matter where this hate and anger is directed. It's poisonous nonetheless.

Phelps' words do not convince me that a god who should be feared is good. All he's convincing me of is that a man can be an ignorant asshole, so afraid of what he doesn't understand that he responds with hate.

"Spring and Fall" and Uncertainty and Crying

I came to college as a journalism major, sure I would be a reporter someday. Don't worry- I'm over that. I loved journalism in high school and being editor for my school paper was the pinnacle of my four years. Turns out, I love editing more than I love writing- at least newswriting.

I found myself missing the reading and writing I fell in love with in my english classes. So I took the first class for English majors with Rick Simpson, and now I'm well on my way to a double major.

This semester, I'm in an intro to Brit lit. kind of class with all the second-semester freshmen. And the freshmen don't really bother me. I understand I'm a freshman when it comes to college English literature.

Last week, we read "Spring and Fall" by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I don't like poetry, as a rule, but I do like the messages behind the poems. And this one has a pretty great message I could relate to.

Here's the poem:

Spring and Fall: To a Young Child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

I see parts of myself in this Margaret girl. She cries for uncertainty. She sees the trees losing their leaves in the fall and can't fathom that they will return in the spring. Her little mind can't understand that, so she cries.

In class, we talked about how people cry when emotions are too much to handle or when they can't figure out how to express them. Change and uncertainty are huge, abstract concepts. And personally, they scare me, too.

I've seen a lot of them in my life, and I can say they're hard emotions to express. So I write. My sister draws and paints. But these are just grown-up, acceptable forms of crying. We express these abstract concepts in abstract ways, never defining them or understanding them.

In the final line of the poem, Hopkins writes "It is Margaret you mourn for." He couldn't be more right. When we cry, or write, or draw, we do so for ourselves. Margaret cries because she realizes she will die one day, like the leaves. I "cry" because I know uncertainty will never go away.

I'm not sure this all made sense, but it's just me blubbering about myself anyway. So I guess it's not a big deal if it's a jumbled mess.

Blogging From My Phone?!

So last night I wrote my first legitimate blog post. Just about every post I'd written before that was an empty intent statement. It was seriously the typical "Dear Diary, I promise to write in you every day" kind of thing.

I'm sort of proud of myself, but also worried that will be the first and last. Go ahead and read it and tell me what you think.

Anyway, last night, after hitting Publish Post on my little masterpiece, I messed around with settings, gave my blog a face lift and found out I can post via e-mail. That wouldn't be so exciting, or even very useful, if I didn't have e-mail on my phone. But I do!

So this has been the "Dear Diary" Mobile E-mail Edition. :)

Relative Stream of Consciousness on Acceptance

Today is April 17, 2010, if you want to get technical about it. As far as I'm concerned, though, it's Friday April 16, 2010 until the sun comes up.

Since we're considering this a Friday night, I'm a loser. At least I'm a loser according to most college students' standards. (Yep, that's a sweeping generalization, but I'm not pretending to be a journalist right now, so get over it.)

So I like to have a good time once upon a weekend night, but I'm not one of those people who needs to be wasted to feel validated. I'm not judging those who are that way or feel they have to be that way. I just hope they have the self-confidence not to judge people like me.

I have definitely judged people in the past for not living like I do. I know that's wrong. And tonight, a movie got me to re-visit a time when that idea really took hold.

Maybe it's cliche to say a movie affected me so deeply, especially since I'm tired and every little thing is completely profound. But I just watched the movie Crash, all by myself on a Friday night at college.

I feel like I may have been meant to watch this movie alone so I could really appreciate it without feeling the need to mock or make comments just because there was someone to talk to.

I can't begin to summarize all the intensely important messages in the movie, so I'll write a little bit about a real-life experience it got me thinking about.

I've done most of my growing up so far in a super-safe western suburb of Cleveland. And I'm lucky to have the kinds of privileges I do.

My dad lived in the eastern suburbs of Cleveland, which are fine towns, too.

But when I was about 15, which actually wasn't so long ago, he moved to an apartment in Shaker Heights, right on the edge of the city. To get to his place, we drove through some neighborhoods that were relative culture shock for me.

He called these cross-town commutes gratitude drives.

At first, I was shocked. And I'll even admit I was a little scared. I've come to realize though, that fear of something different than you're used to is where hate comes from. Just about every person I know who has racist tendancies has little to no experience with cultures other than their own.

By the second or third drive into Shaker Heights, the run-down convenience stores, graffitied walls and abandoned houses were just plain normal. I could finally look past what I thought at first were scary neighborhoods and think about the people living in these houses and their stories.

These were people just like me. I really had trouble finding any meaningful differences. Parents go to work. Kids to school. Friends socialize.

People in my town do the same things every day.

So why should outward appearances have anything to do with my opinion of these people?

So their houses don't look like mine. Whatever. So their skin is a different color. Not an issue.

I'm so thankful my dad drove through those neighborhoods. He intended the gratitude drives to make us think about how much we have. But looking back, I'm grateful for another reason.

Because of those drives, I'm open-minded and unpredjudiced. Or at least I make a conscious effort to be those things. No one is perfect, and I don't pretend to be.

These experiences give me the ability to forget stereotypes and see a person for who he or she really is. Thanks, Dad.

Welcome Back to Me

I've been temporarily inspired to blog tonight. Don't count on it lasting, now. (Honestly, though, who am I even talking to? I don't have the guts to invite followers..)

I understand what I have to say probably won't have much impact on the world, but I wholeheartedly believe it's important for every person to speak freely. We're so lucky to have this right, so I'm not going to keep taking it for granted.

We'll see if this blog turns into anything. I've had the best intentions before...

<3 Kait