Las Ciudades Gemelas (Or, Teddy Takes Over).

I've been listening to this song obnoxiously. It's my favorite right now, and anything Don Omar touches is gold.

These few days I have before the internship officially begins are being put to use as R&R. I spent the last six weeks in Syracuse in high gear, and I've finally had the chance to relax after two 11-hour drives. I finished my pushup training program—just doing 100 straight. I'll probably repeat that a few times.

About the Midwest: I was raised in it, and I'm certain that I wouldn't mind settling down in it. Being that I like to experience all the culture I can, in as many scenic locales as possible, being here for the next six weeks is fine by me. There's plenty in the way of sports here, of course. I took a walk in the Mall of America yesterday (it's massive, and better constructed than DestinyUSA), and every few minutes, I saw another youth league team coming for a visit at one of the dining locations—or the amusement park...right in the middle of the thing. I've been here for 48 hours, and this city is all about its sports. That's a good thing.

I read today about the Minnesota Vikings' training camp, and where the prospects could fit in. Naturally, being from Louisville, I took keen interest in Teddy Bridgewater and the quarterback competition. Watching him develop under Charlie Strong, it became apparent that Bridgewater can certainly become the threat Minnesota needs him to be, especially now that the NFL now heavily favors the passing game. Slot receivers are the scalpel in an offense's arsenal, and the QB, more than ever, must be a surgeon. In that case, Louisville might as well have been Johns Hopkins, as they generally rely on a pro-style offense. Also, simulation is a good learning tool, and studying the playbook is the best excuse for playing video games that I've ever heard.

This is probably Christian Ponder's last shot at the helm, and it won't be pretty. He was drafted from FSU in 2011 to replace Matt Cassel, and had a large role in the Adrian Peterson show that was the playoff run in 2012...until he got hurt. After that, Ponder in 2013 was just dismal enough that Minnesota resigned Cassel. It's been a short three years, but there's not much room for patience at QB for NFL teams.

Speaking of Cassel, it makes sense to claim that the competition for the starting spot is just between him and Bridgewater; the franchise won't wait to see if they get boom or bust from Ponder, and he knows the team better. Mike Zimmer knows this, and it's likely Cassel will stay around anyway. If Bridgewater gets the starting job, Cassel will be an excellent backup. If he doesn't, Cassel can stay in the driver's seat while Bridgewater is groomed to take over.

Regardless, this is my prediction: Bridgewater will take over. The question is when. He proved, especially in the 36-9 beating the Cardinals handed to Miami, that he is ready for the next level. Cassel is the veteran support. He'll teach the rookie, and will get his due gratitude, but his days as the franchise QB are long, long gone. Ponder... might want to follow Ochocinco's lead. He's close enough to the border to do it, and even then... may not start.

Fun Like This Should Be Outlawed.

This tank top is very low cut.
I had a professor tell me I should cover myself better.

[Hosting this story here while for the time being.]

At the beginning of the week, I wore a tank top under an open plaid button-down and a scarf on top of it. My fashion choice got some comments; some of them even directed toward me ("What are you wearing? Why?"). My chosen appearance is a carryover from Sunday, when I indulged in  of watching a World Cup match with a group of devout U.S. fans.

Last Tuesday, I did a report for class on the Syracuse chapter of the American Outlaws, cheering on the U.S. in their first match against Ghana from the (relative) comfort of downtown restaurant Small Plates. You would think the name may suggest that it's a rowdy bunch of soccer football fans, swilling beer and dutifully cheering on their team. You would be right—but there's more to it. The atmosphere was infectious. I decided, during the process of listening, interviewing, and documenting, that I would return Sunday to witness U.S. v. Portugal as a fan, not a journalist.

The problem with being a trained journalist with a keen interest in sports is that it's nearly impossible to be just a "fan." You may try, but this is a challenge; you have spent years developing an analytical mind, and it just doesn't translate into being a sports fan. The rest of the room is whipped into a ballistic (yes, they may actually throw things) frenzy when Tim Howard makes a dramatic save... while you're carefully breaking down why and how the defensive unit let Ronaldo and his perfectly coiffed hair weave almost entirely unchecked toward the goal, and why that relaxed effort will become a problem in, say, the end of stoppage time.

Knowing this... I tried anyway. I carefully selected the most only "American" shirt I own—a low-cut tank from H&M with U.S. flag print on the front, walked downtown to an "American" bar (Small Plates), bought and consumed one or two fine "American" beverages (not at all surprised that Americans largely don't care how "refreshing" their beer is during sporting events). Steve Haller (he leads Syracuse's American Outlaws chapter), Alex Cauwels (the group's secretary and de facto chant master), and Phil Carhart (a character and absolute joy to talk to), whom I had interviewed five days before, all recognized me, shaking my hand, clapping me on the back, and commenting that they were glad to see me out of my button-down shirt and black slacks—which I had worn despite knowing how many human bodies would be packed in one small space...thankfully that shirt's sheen masked the sweat pools on camera.

The Outlaws' aim is unity.
Nothing says unity like encouraging bar patrons to chant "U-S-A."

I arrived twenty minutes into the match. Portugal's Nani had already scored, so everyone was anxious to see the equalizer. My attention was divided initially; I was watching the game in the interest of being informed, but also observing the crowd reaction to the match. As a not-so-passive observer, I eventually found my voice joining in the anticipatory chorus any time the U.S. went on the attack, waiting for Jermaine Jones to find the back of the net, and in the exasperated sighs erupting whenever Portugal's defense repelled the Yanks. Slowly...and then all at once, I was part of this fanatic atmosphere. I sang "When the Yanks Go Marching In," chanted "U-S-A," and may or may not have participated in assorted jeers, most of which were directed at Ronaldo ("Pretty boy"). The entire scenario was brash, charmingly distasteful, and joyously American.

At halftime, I approached Steve to drop $20 on an "American"-motif scarf from the Outlaws, which I had promised him (and, more importantly, myself) last week that I would do. The soccer scarf is a time-honored tradition, and you will almost always wear it in a room that's already ten degrees warmer than outdoor temperatures. When I put that scarf on, I immediately began sweating profusely felt an overwhelming sense of community.

Countless examples in history suggest that the culture around sport is one of solidarity. For one: look at the way FC Barcelona serves as a nationalist bastion for Cataluña, and how its supporters historically regard Real Madrid as the symbol of everything wrong with Spain. Politics aside, fans of one team tend drop their differences and unite under one banner.

Not that this outing was anything like that—it wasn't at all—we just wanted to see our boys competitive in a sport that defies the American model for almost everything. American society has evolved such that in every situation, there is a clear victor. I'll come back to this.

An expected reaction to poor performance (perceived or actual) by FIFA officials.

Among the swelling and receding anticipation of a U.S. goal, Jones scored. I am no stranger to being showered with beer—I went to school where you are all but guaranteed to get wet after a home run—but I was caught off-guard by the celebration (even though I had shot video of this last week and adjusted audio settings accordingly). I feel bad for the employee(s) who had to clean that up... beer on the ceiling is like a fly buzzing around your head. It isn't going anywhere unless you make a concerted, obsessive effort to get rid of it.

Granted, this is hindsight. In the moment, I was just like every other fan; chanting with a renewed sense of hope ("I BELIEVE THAT WE WILL WIN") that we would guarantee our spot in the next round of play, and that we would send Ronaldo, who is more altruistic than the average American fan would like to believe, packing. Mind you, Jones only scored the equalizer. I regard level-headedness as one of my greatest strengths, and I had my own tempered swagger for the next 18 minutes. Any notion I had of being analytical was mostly gone. Like everyone else in the room, I just wanted to see an American victory—assuming there were no Portuguese present, which none of us would have cared enough to look for anyway.

Most often, cheers of adoration were focused on
Tim Howard, Clint Dempsey, and Jürgen Klinsmann

If you know anything about Clint Dempsey, it's that the man is absolutely dedicated. I had just watched an ESPN feature about him; his family's financial situation forced him to sideline his career at a young age so his sister Jennifer could pursue her successful tennis career. After her death at 16 due to a brain aneurysm, he returned to a competitive level, eventually becoming captain of the U.S. Men's National Team and the highest-paid MLS player. This story had Dempsey lodged firmly in my mind, and seeing him throw his body at the goal to give U.S. the lead had me buying in completely. We all took a break from praising Howard, focusing all adoration on Dempsey—that is, until a man dressed as Theodore Roosevelt appeared onscreen. Americans love their former Presidents.

How did I get here?

I grew up a basketball fan, converted to a football aficionado (the kind where tackles are emphatically encouraged), and flirted with tennis on the side before using track and field as my social and fitness outlet while gaining media experience. Yet, here I am, reveling in the excitement of a 2-1 lead over Portugal in a sport that I played for a year in elementary school and generally don't give much thought to...and I loved every moment of this celebration.

Stoppage time begins, and we know that all the USMNT has to do is hold on until the final whistle. The USMNT knows this, too. That's where things fell apart on the pitch. Silvestre Varela made the U.S. pay for becoming complacent, tying the game with seconds on the clock to spare.

There was an unnerving silence as all of the bar patrons watched Howard hold his head in his hands.

This is when I realized something about Americans. We hate losing, but a tie is unthinkable. No popular sport in American society lends itself to a tie. Basketball and football go into overtime, baseball has extra innings, hockey has golden goal overtime and shootouts, tennis has a tiebreaker, golf has a playoff... We perceive everything bilaterally, and we favor dominance as often as possible.

As we all chanted "thank you, Small Plates," while somberly leaving the bar in an orderly fashion, I realized that I was in the middle of something beyond a story for journalism class.

Although... adding beer never hurts.

Watching sporting events in a group is a cathartic bonding experience, one to which the busy and over-stressed look forward and for which they cut short their work days. They live vicariously through competition, represented by a roster of players under the same flag, who sing the same national anthem. This makes the World Cup the perfect American bonding experience.

Skytop.

Living in Syracuse is sort of like living in a walled city. You don't want to venture too far out, because there's so much going on at any given time. The walls sort of appear when you're on the interstate and realize that going to far means running into a toll booth. If you turn around immediately after entering the toll booth and try to come back, they charge you the maximum. No bueno.

Anyway, if Syracuse is like a walled city, then the university feels like walking in the sky. Granted, Ole Miss feels like heaven on earth, but up here, you feel like a denizen of the astral plane itself. Maybe that's just me as a grad student talking—having ascended from undergrad. Walking up University Avenue presents a distinctive path; the steps leading up to the quad and the clearing between buildings gives the sense that, in the middle of this city, you've entered the inner sanctum. From any point on the campus, you realize that the campus is—literally—elevated above the rest of the city; you can look out across the city on one end and across a valley at the other end. I was given a crash-course walking tour a few weeks ago. All the while, I was in awe. This feeling of being in the clouds while on campus is heightened when the sky is overcast. Certainly, this feeling will be elevated further when snowfall besets the campus.

I'm quite literally in love here. The best feeling is knowing I'm in the right place.

Orientation happened today, and the reality of the program set in. It will be intensive. It will not be easy. It will require long hours. Most of all, it will be immeasurably rewarding.

I've met new people, made new connections... almost like freshman year again, in a way. We're all relatively eager to get to know each other; our group has become fast friends in a week. We already have our inside jokes (this took no time at all), we've already declared the banes of our existences, and we have all made the solidarity to suffer through our collective (and sometimes individual) challenges.

Yeah, I miss Oxford. I miss my old friends. More than that, I miss my brother.

Pretty soon, I'll travel beyond the invisible walls of this city. There's a lot more to see.

Start Today With A Laugh.

I was reading articles this morning about notable public figures who dumped their twitter accounts for whatever reason. Among them—Chris Brown, after a vulgar word feud with a comedienne; Alec Baldwin, for no reason; Charlie Sheen, for no reason; Adele, for arbitrary murder threats against her then-newborn child...

And then Kendrick Perkins. Which didn't really ring a bell, until I looked it up. He plays for the Oklahoma City Thunder (#who?), and was apparently so odiously ridiculed after a run-in with Blake Griffin's nether regions that he needed to shed his online presence altogether (and that's fair—I wouldn't want to be dunked on by Blake Griffin, either). I submit this video of the nastiest dunk I've seen in a while—we've seen it before, but I can't get enough of it.

Now, granted, this video is old. It's no less awe-inspiring, though. Perkins looks like he has the I'm-gonna-beat-my-puppy face...

That aside, I've settled in nicely in central New York. I won't drive too far in any direction, because they force you through toll booths eventually, and you wonder how you got there. I can navigate the city—I don't live far from SU's campus. I've met some awesome people. I've run to Walmart countless times (it's not a short drive), and I'm supposed to go to Wegman's eventually. It's apparently something of a religious experience.

I had a crash course tour of Syracuse's campus. Obviously, yes, it's not Ole Miss. However, they don't fit in the same class by any means. Ole Miss is situated in its own corner of Oxford, with its own zip code. Syracuse is more or less integrated with the city, and tries to expand that integration. The campus is downright beautiful. No, there is no Grove, and the density of flowers is not quite near Ole Miss (I think... I don't really look at flowers). Glass is to SU what columns are to UM. I rather like the look. In lieu of the grossly abundant springtime pollen, we are subject to overwhelming amounts of snow and frigid conditions (again, don't know, haven't experienced it). Looking over a wall near the law school, you can see a valley to the west, and hills in the distance. I fell in love with this view instantly. This brings me to the next point. Apparently, some SU undergrads feel privileged (yep, never have seen this before) and believe the university is the center of the city universe—this is false, of course. The doorknob to the universe, in fact, is on the Ole Miss campus in Oxford, MS. We know where the center of everything is, of course.

There's a disconnect between students and the less-affluent areas of the city—UM's Big Event, UMS Fusion... I believe these would have a place here. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has ever thought of such a thing.

Northern culture is radically different from everything I'm used to. It's exciting. I miss my friends, but they're coming to visit at some point, and I'm making new ones, so I'll survive. The only universal constant is change.

Happy Friday.

A Man In Time.

Question for you, dear reader: Look at your music library. Do you have the Tarzan soundtrack? Of course you do. Find "Son of Man," by the incomparable Phil Collins. Give it a listen. Go ahead, I'll wait [Achievement: FOURTH WALL BROKEN].

"In learning you will teach, and in teaching you will learn..."

That line resonates with me more than ever now. Since I'm going to be an instructional associate, my duties will be to assist professors. I don't really know, but I'm prepared for the possibility that I might be actually teaching.

That line carries a lesson: I can be taught theories and concepts until I get tired and flee to the bar, but the real learning emerges when I have to make sense of them and reteach them. Inherently speaking, it's undesirable to be teaching something that's incorrect (or so I hope—I know some of you have had some professors who couldn't be bothered to care). It dawned on me that the professors who encouraged discourse understood the concept that learning is a two-way avenue.

There you go. Wisdom brought to you by Phil Collins.

Functional Independence.

My family helped move me into my apartment a few days ago. This apartment, situated right on the edge of downtown Syracuse, gives me an excellent view of the downtown skyline, which I love. It's a five minute drive to the positively gargantuan Destiny USA mall, and Armory Square (Syracuse's version of The Square—can't be beaten, by the way) is a short walk away, with all the bars, Starbucks, Subway, and ice cream that an urbanite could ask for.

It's a studio apartment. One room. Can't really get away with not cleaning it. That's what I've been doing today. Cooked food for myself for the first time; I have pretty high hopes for my domestic abilities. Got my wifi network set up ("Bill Wi The Science Fi"), got cable, got my wine/rum rack set up, hanging up some artwork. I still need to put speakers in here.

Because I'm still partially an introvert, I actually can survive living here without being in contact with anyone. I don't really get lonely that easily, since I see it as banking the alone time an introvert requires before going into all-out extroversion (thank you, past job as an orientation leader). It slipped my mind that I'm not the only Oxford export here—just remembered that while typing that last sentence.

The first thing I learned was that Newhouse is a big deal. Dad likes to brag about his sons, so while in the Doubletree Hilton Hotel's restaurant, he started talking with some strangers people who hadn't met him yet (there are no strangers with Dad) and telling them I was attending SU for grad school. When I told them I was a Newhouse master's student, they groveled at my feet were impressed; it's not an easy school to get into, I've found out. You must be smart and you must have an impressive track record of involvement in and outside of your field and you must have sterling recommendations and you must contend with 850 people who have the exact same qualifications (or thereabout). I joke about having a large ego, but in reality I have to extend my gratitude to every instructor I've had since the 11th grade (and most before then); they all had a hand in helping my parents raise me.

One thing I've learned about myself is that I can very easily detach and move on. On one hand, it keeps me from becoming stagnant. On the other hand, it means I can leave people behind with frightening efficiency. Being at Ole Miss, however, has made that very difficult to do. There are so many awesome people I got to know. I've seem some of them hit the ground running, commendably pursuing their dreams and careers or traveling the world and enjoying their lives. The truth is, I miss those people dearly and I'm elated for them.

As for me, I'm excited to take on this next step. I receive my orientation (and Newhouse-branded iPad mini) on Monday, and classes begin Tuesday. The best thing is that should I ever feel that I am faltering, I always have the encouragement of those I love to keep me going.

Unsealed.

You know,  I didn't realize people still read this. I happened to check on the view count today. Anyway, a week into 2013, and I'm getting my mind back into shape. Grad school applications, thesis work...and I've started feeding my dream of becoming a producer (bedroom producer, but essentially all the same). I've become interested in EDM as of late; nightlife and nighttime culture have held my interest pretty much all through undergrad.

I've been trying to regain my drive. Sort of lost it during the fall semester. Came home after the dust settled, and felt positively listless. I've been barely able to motivate myself to do more than two major things in one day (workout, grad school application, thesis progress, composing). Some days, I feel the spark again, but it takes far more willpower than I seem to have these days.

I'm out of shape, and that probably contributes to my diminished will. That, and my sleeping habits have been horrible.

At the end of next week, I'll be returning to Oxford for my final undergraduate semester.

That's all I've got for now.

On Being Unrestrained.

We all seek to find our place in the world. Or in our world, whatever that may be. Our high school friends, our college environments, or even the guys we meet up with at the bar.

We make sure we're the best we can be or, at least, the best we can be in our own microcosms. While this isn't a bad thing in itself, I'd like to challenge this line of thinking. It can cause us to do things we don't like, for a time far longer than we'd prefer, to impress people we generally cannot stand. It's a phase we all go through.

Eventually, though, we face the idea that the miniature world we live in will eventually end for us. We graduate, find a new group of friends, start frequenting a different bar, going to a different gym...and making major changes in our lives. Of course, this revelation tends to come later rather than sooner for most. When it does, a radical shift occurs (hopefully).

That organization you've devoted ludicrous amounts of time to suddenly falls from its pedestal into the superfluous areas of your life. That girl you tried so desperately to chase, impress, and win over instantly becomes just another relatively unimportant human being. That person whose achievements struck you with awe, overnight, loses that luster in your eyes.

The illusions we built for ourselves instantaneously vanish as we come to understand what our true desires are, freed from our narrowed perceptions. We regard ourselves as the oft-maligned #1 that we have so grievously neglected to satisfy the wants of those around us. We can understand that our egos have been malnourished; our desires improperly fed.

We then recall every instance where we held back for fear of offending another with our brilliance, overshadowing another with our talent, upstaging our peers with our own excellence. Perhaps we'll feel anger and resentment toward ourselves; perhaps we will regard these memories as learning experiences.

Regardless, we begin a period of apathy and rejecting everything that isn't aligned with our pursuits. It's empowering, and it makes us realize, once again, just how far we can go beyond our perceived limits. We no longer will undertake a project that we are uninterested in. We refuse to change ourselves so egregiously to be acceptable to another. We cease to censor, by others' standards, our own personalities and gifts.

Then, we feel that the world is at our feet. From that moment, we are forced to answer the questions we have put off for so long:

What do I want in life?
What dreams do I want to pursue? Can I pursue more than one of them?

When these questions (and vastly more of them) are answered, then begins the road to our own futures.

Ole Miss: The Delayed Response (Or, things I learned outside the classroom this year).

This one comes a few weeks late. If you're looking to read this in its entirety, settle in—it's a long one. In the first part, I will be addressing lessons I've learned and experiences I've had. Then, I will address everything not specifically related to me. This post is brought to you by brewing thoughts I've had over the past few weeks. Don't worry if it sounds gloomy. A more upbeat post comes next week.

-----

This past year has been filled with lessons and experiences that I will not soon forget. The people and events I came across, was involved with, and learned from are more numerous than in previous years.

Beginning with this past fall; I had my first brush with "celebrity." Being widely recognized by people with whom I am unfamiliar is a new concept. I prefer to know, personally, everyone who knows anything about me. Having been one of the faces to welcome new students to Ole Miss, however, I am forced to admit that I could not be reasonably tasked with remembering everyone I came across—try as I might. Even into the end of the spring semester, I still "met" people to whom I was previously introduced. But it does speak to the impact one person can have on another. What I learned is that when you make an impression on someone, it obviously sticks. Make a strong enough impression, and you gain someone who will admire you. While not one to actively seek admiration, I count myself successful if I can make a difference to someone.

I have learned what falls within my limits of tolerance. I understand my impatience for the whimsical. I do not mean, by whimsical, the idea of being spontaneous in action and in life. What I do mean to address is the idea of being capricious with human relationships. More specifically, I demand consistency, loyalty, and honesty of myself. Therefore, to a lesser degree, I require it from others and refuse to entertain any lapses in these qualities.

The friendships I developed have shaped me even further. When I say developed, I don't exclusively mean the new ones that formed. I also refer to the ones that were strengthened. I decline to name these people primarily because they may identify themselves. From them, I've gained a better sense of maturity, of self, and that we are not limited to one road before us.

The greatest gains I have made are from my friends. I have a greater sense and appreciation for culture, the ability to truly sympathize with others, the ability to listen and just be a friend, and how to offer guidance when needed.

The most critical lesson I have learned, and probably the most incensing for some readers, is to never place my own needs and desires in submission to the desires of another; especially if they do not run parallel. I used to be a selfish human being, but I managed to reverse that—to the extreme. I even went so far as to designate last year as the year of not ever saying "no." Because I honored most any request made of me, I overcommitted myself. Sure, I made a decent income for a full-time college student, but I found myself on the receiving end of complaints far too often. The reasons were as varied as they were valid. I am grateful for the experience but, to be brutally honest, I might have made a different decision if I had to replay this past year. Overall, I blame myself for that. My commitment, added to my traits of always seeing something through to the end, not yielding when a situation becomes difficult, and even not standing up to unnecessary demands, stressed me more than usual. I was disappointed with the lack of reasonable mediation as I bore the brunt of every single complaint. Though I made adequate time for every commitment I had, it just wasn't at the time of day that others would have preferred. Regardless, I did learn valuable skills and ways to deal with people, so I would not trade that experience for much else.

Again, that is the lesson: Do not place others' desires before your needs, especially if they do not line up.

I came in contact with a handful of interesting people who have, in one way or another, introduced me to another part of myself. I grew substantially more comfortable with myself and came to understand my desires, dreams, goals, and personality. This is also a universal reminder that everyone that enters my life (or yours) does so for a reason. That reason may be to teach one lesson. That reason may be to accompany me through a phase. It may even be that they have entered my life with the ultimate purpose to stay permanently. The challenge is to sort out which it is and not hold on to the wrong ones.

I have also learned the valuable lesson to not judge anyone by my own standards. My standards are my own and apply only to me. When I look at another person, I judge them by their own values. I have found that this eliminates the feeling of being unimpressed with others. It should—humans are, by design, impressive creatures. What we are individually capable of is astronomical. Through this, I have enjoyed being far more patient with people than I ever have in the past.

I have learned to forgive. Having dealt with so much disappointment and anger in the past, I have made the final step in my growth in this area. Simply forgiving someone is cathartic, prevents defensiveness, and fosters growth in both me and the one I perceive to have wronged me. Simply put, I don't hold grudges. Remembering—holding obsessively to—a past grievance is debilitating, prohibits natural human interaction, and is downright silly. The other party probably doesn't even remember the perceived offense.

I've learned to be happy with myself. I had always wanted to be always wildly outgoing (I am, at times), but my personality just isn't engineered that way. And for good reason—I can relate to both extreme introverts and extreme extroverts. I've got the best of both worlds, here. This lesson is critical, too: you simply cannot be happy with another person if you aren't happy with yourself. You'll search the other person for what's "missing," and still won't truly appreciate them. I've seen this happen far too often—not with myself, though.

The last lesson—which I'm still kinda working on—is to seize what you want, and chase it until it's yours. Enough said. The measure of devotion with which you pursue anything determines your success. Too little is nonchalant and doomed to fail. Too much is obsessive and, while perhaps somewhat successful, is ultimately unhealthy.

-----

Next up: Everything else. [DISCLAIMER: While I might sound like I'm writing with an air of being above all that follows, I'm simply not. My writing style here is to be as detached as possible. And it's my opinion. You don't have to read this section.]

The most disappointing things I've seen this year are laced with complacency, pettiness, and being unwilling to live by what is known to be "right."

Personal vendettas seemed to be highly prevalent. I've seen actions taken by those who they would not affect, just to spite those whom they would. To be so vindictive and to hold such a grudge is childish, unprofessional, and indicative of immaturity. Unfortunately, malicious intent can and does breed anger all around, marring whatever noble intentions were originally held.

Competition, arguably, brings out the best and the worst in all of us. It is irresponsible to cast aspersions, as the terms "clean," "dirty," "respectable," and "questionable" are highly suggestive. In an arena where there are limited rules of engagement and the use of intangible assets are uninhibited by nature, "doing what it takes to win" takes on an ambiguous meaning. Being victorious just might mean a competitor draws upon everything at their disposal; which is ingenious in the end. "Shrewd" is synonymous with resourceful. Granted, there are moral debates that may still rage on, but to detract from the victorious for using perceived tactics that another may have been unable to capitalize on is, sadly, to decry the legitimacy of triumph. Character assassination, while theoretically not an illegitimate tactic, does (ironically) speak to the character of the "assassin." This is where I end my synopsis of competition; as this can easily drag out into an extended entry of its own (actually...it already had a few months ago).

I'll be blunt here. In my field of study, it is generally accepted as a holy tenet that knowledge is to be investigated and, following careful dissection and deliberation, disseminated for public approval. Here is where the deadly force of complacency rears its head. Being unwilling to pursue what might have been a career-building move denotes fear of pulling the trigger on an action that must be taken. Fear of repercussion (for self or others), immobilizing as it may be, may draw suspicion. Such decisions separate the adequate from the excellent.

At the end of the day, however, it isn't what others do that should be important to us. What should remain in importance are our own aspirations and our own journeys to reach our goals.

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2011-2012 have been very formative years for us all. I've always been someone who looks for life lessons in everything; especially as they pertain to me. Some sort of discerning wisdom I inherited, I suppose.

In other news, I've nearly finished my first month of Insanity. It rocks.

Music. Art. Life.

I'm back into music making. Today, I just put together a slow song, having been studying beatmakers T-Minus and 40. I especially like how 40 uses sevenths in his beats; not overly complicated, but not too simplistic, either. He tends to use low-pass filters on instrumentation, outlined with an evocative drum track. Here's the result of my study.

Impasse.

I'm currently fighting a battle of point/counterpoint. From birth, I've been immersed in music. I played violin in my early days, so much so that even after severely traumatic damage to my arm, I can still play. Though I suffered extensive muscle damage and atrophy, muscle memory had not totally faded. I've been in choirs, singing at graduations, and even learned to also play the saxophone. And I have ventured into music making.

The other side of this is that I have been studying journalism for the past few years. And one of the tenets of journalism is objectivity and independence. Though I am good at what I do, there is still the draw back to music. Often, I find myself glued to my laptop, weaving harmonies and beats; ever evolving with the styles employed.

Following my instincts, I would love to pursue performance. But I don't come without a measure of noncommittal; I prefer to always have a backup plan. For journalism to be a backup to performance is a dangerous gambit, since journalistic credibility is more often than not eviscerated by attempts at glory.

What is to be done in such a situation? Pursue a dream rooted in genetic ability? Relent?

Should I pursue journalism, my time may be so consumed that I may be hard pressed to pursue musicianship further. Venturing into music may very well assassinate my career before I even begin.

I do know that there is power in these vocal chords of mine. My intent is to use them, in one capacity or another.

On Being Performance-Driven.

I write this post in hopes that others may benefit from my experience.

Coming off the high of winning, I sit back and evaluate myself. Though I began to walk around the casino floor with my usual confident swagger, it was only hours beforehand that I was highly apprehensive. My first time gambling, and I had no idea what I was getting into yet.

I had $200 to play with; that was my limit. After surveying the money pits that were slot machines, craps, and Blackjack, I finally settled on the game that required more than just "luck." Even though I had played so much 2 years ago and gotten sick of it, I decided to come out of self-imposed retirement to play Texas Hold 'Em.

I bought in for $100, sat down, ordered a Heineken, and just watched the game. It was much faster than I was used to. Adding to my nervousness was the fact that all the other players were older and that I, wearing a blazer and tie, looked like the perfect mark.

Here's where it gets interesting: Rather than fold under pressure (see what I did there?), I channeled my fears into my performance. The emotionless face that I'm rather notorious for went on full display, and my proclivity for deception—only used in poker, I promise—began to take over. Even though I was uncomfortable, I used it to my advantage. The uneasy, pretentious-looking kid cleaned up after winning two big hands (full house and flush, respectively). Knowing that I hadn't been betting aggressively before, I had to let the older men bully me a little, letting them push me all in before revealing the winning hand. Needless to say, they were impressed/shocked/congratulatory. After making such a killing (a 200% return, no less), I decided to cash out and quit playing for the rest of the day.

That story is an illustration of how I tend to handle situations, as I've come to realize. Any negative feelings (fear, panic, nervousness, anger, etc) are just used to fuel my drive to succeed. I do this in everyday life. Got an essay that I haven't started yet? Panic for 5 minutes, then use that panic to churn out the greatest hastily-written paper anyone has ever seen. I usually succeed there. Need to interview a high-profile person? March straight up to them, making eye contact. This isn't to prevent them from having a way to back down, but it's to prevent myself from having a way to back down.

In the end, knowing that there is no place for the negative is the perfect channel. There's no time to be starstruck when interviewing a celebrity. There's no time to be afraid when the stakes are high. There's no time at all to panic when academia calls.

This is my method: Any time I am stressed for any reason about anything, I force myself to understand that the stress alone is unhelpful. When it prompts you to rise to a challenge, however, it becomes a driving force. I then remove all paths of escape. When you can't run from a problem, allow your will to succeed and the best in you to surface to help push through it.

I'm buying at least one more blazer.

My (30 Second) Interview with New Ole Miss Athletic Director Ross Bjork

Pardon the blatant SEO'd headline (Search Engine Optimization).

Monday night, April 16th, was the Rebels' Choice Awards. I was out on the red carpet in front of the Gertrude C. Ford Center with my fellow Athletic Department Productions interns, preparing to interview some predetermined figures. Of the interviewers, I was the only male. Which is fine with me; I got to track down and interview candidates for coach of the year.

Side note—I find that I'm not too bothered by women standing taller than me. Most of my co-interns are my height or shorter (there is one exception, and she's pretty tall anyway). Now, I'm 5'10", 21 years old, and having growing pains again, but it was a change of pace to see things from the view of my *ahem* shorter friends.

Anyway, in between locating and interviewing coaches, and operating the camera for the ladies as they also interview, one of the other cameramen spots our new AD. He lets me know and, of course, I man up and approach the man dead-on.

...Okay, sort of.

He was in conversation, so I just stood within earshot, close enough for him to look me in the eye before continuing to talk. I stood for a moment, then decided to come back later. I moseyed around the carpet before noticing that he was done talking, then approached him again.

Within about 10 seconds of actually meeting Ross Bjork, I was elated that Ole Miss had chosen a strong leader for our athletic department.

Firm handshake, strong voice, eye contact...all things you would expect from a professional. But you can also notice his resolve. He's around my height, and has a powerful presence. It made me even more confident in our athletic program.

The interview went solidly. It was his first time ever being at the awards show, and he had only arrived in Oxford the night before. He told me that he understands why no one ever wants to leave Ole Miss (I'll update this post with video when it becomes available).

In the end, I was again overjoyed that the University found a strong leader for the job and has avoided charges of nepotism in hiring him.

Togo Update

The first meeting happened today (at least the first one involving me). Engineers Without Borders is elated to have a journalism student with them. I've been corrected; we will be in Africa from August 6th to the 13th, approximately. EWB has committed about 10-15 years to Togo. French will be most commonly spoken when we go. My linguistic horizon goes to Latin and Spanish, with a little cognition into related languages. The village we visit will be friendly to Americans and photography. It is very clear how pivotal my role is. I will be documenting everything. I'm taking 1st-person notes during meetings, planning shots (odd, since I have no idea what to look for), and thinking of documentary angles.

More updates as they become available.

And Here It Goes.

One day, after class, my journalism professor asked me to stay behind to discuss something. It turns out that the journalism school wants to send me as an attaché to engineering students who are working through Engineers Without Borders.

Destination: Togo. Located in West Africa, this country has everything that will outright kill any perfectly sheltered, first-world American (read: don't touch anything).

And I'm excited. My job will be to work with my professor to produce both a documentary and a photo series about what these students are doing.

Travel has always been one of my favorite things, and I'm looking forward to it. We'll be there during the first two weeks of August.

Along with the projects, I will also be writing a book. (Now that I've published this statement, I'm holding myself to doing it.)

More details as they come.

Journalism 330 Assignment: Leadership

For this assignment, I was to interview a student leader about their thoughts on leadership. I chose Cortez Moss, director of Ole Miss' "The Big Event," a day dedicated to community service.

A New Age.

I regularly take time to retreat from the world and spend some time with my own thoughts; an exercise that I find most beneficial in my life. This time, however, it's different. I am about to be declared legal by the state. I am about to register for classes as a senior student. The sun is beginning to set on my undergraduate career as it prepares to rise for my brother.

At every birthday, I stop and look back over the past year. Obviously, we all grow and change over the course of a year, but the magnitude of change in me is tremendously greater than any other year. I've forged, tested, solidified, and broken a number of relationships. It makes me appreciate the ones I keep close; the ones who I communicate with almost daily, the ones upon whom I won't hesitate to dump the contents of my mind.

I delved into a number of first-time experiences; the kind of which will permanently alter a man. And I walked away from them, irreversibly changed, having learned lessons that have only improved me as a person.

I overcame a seafood allergy (THANK GOD). Shrimp, lobster and crab are amazing. I can't believe what I've been missing for 20 years.

I gave myself freely—needlessly so, at times—and learned that while doing so is a good thing, prudence is the best way to avoid being hurt while doing so. Furthermore, I learned that pain is a part of life, and the best way to deal with it is to not run from it.

I learned that nobody can just divine what you feel—they have to be told point-blank. Not everybody is on the same wavelength (or, more accurately, everyone is not on the same wavelength).

I can approach just about anything with the foolish determination to overcome it and enjoy it. Would I have fearlessly thrown myself at the ground from 50 feet in the air, skimmed waves (and gotten thrown across the water) at speeds in excess of 50mph, or had the audacity to open myself to an absolute stranger this time last year? Most likely not.

Would I have been able to consider everything with an open mind a year ago? Not so much.

Would I have had the ability to shamelessly accept the person I am last year? I can't even say for sure.

These days, I have begun to actually live. When I say "I'll try anything once," I mean it (reasonably). I've embodied that sentiment. Fear of life, in turn, causes a man to be unable to live. I learned that lesson.

Now, as I spend my final hours as a 20-year-old, and my final months as a college junior, I can remain confident in my ability to enjoy life—regardless of anything else—and enjoy it even more as life goes on.

Journalism 330: Assignment 4 (Scene Setters)

For this assignment, I had to pick 2 historic locations in Oxford and talk about them. Here we are: Rowan Oak and the Confederate Cemetary.

Eyewear: Stylish, Cheap, and Durable.

I just ordered some wayfarer-style sunglasses from Knockaround. The company is a San Diego-based startup that appears to be doing well for itself. According to its about page, Adam Moyer started making eyewear that catered to classic design, featuring a wide color spectrum, at a low price.

I was delighted by the large selection.

These are wayfarers, make no mistake about it, but they are unique. Every pair comes with the Knockaround logo on the outer frame with the company mantra, "Ace On Base," on the inside. The original $14 line, called the Premiums, are available in 24 colors, and the color selection is increased every few months. Simplistic designs are offered at $7 for a quick and cheap selection.

Seasonal offerings are also available, as well as models made from material that is 53% plant-based. At $16, these are slightly more expensive. The limited edition models, ranging from $28–$35, usually feature more exotic color combinations. I was even tempted to shell out for some aviator-style models.

The $25 Fort Knocks style (which I ordered), are inspired by the US Gold Bullion Depository in the great state of Kentucky. They feature gold bar accents on the face of the frame, a subtle yet distinctive addition. Because I'm such a fan of black and blue, I ordered these.

For the daringly creative, Knockaround even offers a Custom option. Here, you can go all out. Want a translucent grey face, blue left arm, green right arm, and orange lenses? Go right ahead. For $35, you can hack together the most outlandish pair of sunglasses at your heart's desire.

I will update this post when my new eyewear arrives. These.

Journalism 330: Assignment 3 (Or, Ruben Teaches Me How to Dance)

I told Ruben that I needed his help. First, I needed to do this assignment; learning more dance moves couldn't hurt, either. I promise, I'm really not that stiff as a dancer...