I am procrastinating from doing my homework for 15 minutes to share a story with you. Do you ever spend years, days, weeks, hours in doubt wondering if you picked the right path in life and the right career? I do all of the time, and this week--a hard and busy and stressful one at school--I started to severely doubt my purpose and interest in this very hands-on, video and editing centered journalism program. After all, I love writing and planned to do that after graduation so I was tempted to drop the video camera and surrender. And on top of the doubting, I developed a head cold and was feeling crappy. I was ready to quit it all today. But how things can change in a couple of hours.
Tonight I helped my classmate with her media project covering the 11th Annual Matthew Shepard March for Equal Rights. It is a gay rights parade and rally. I don't have time to explain the back stories, but it was a very powerful experience. As I was running around gathering video and interviews at the event tonight, I realized that I am just where I need to be. I was in the zone, and it was fun and exciting to be out there with those people and trying to learn their stories and help the public understand their story as a group. I realized that maybe television journalism could be for me, I just need the practice and that's why I am here. It's not all going to be fun and exciting or easy, but this is surely my niche.
I needed a night like tonight to remind me that I am in the right field and that there is a method to the madness. I left with renewed energy and spirit, mostly because I had a blast doing the work, but also because I fed off the emotions of those people marching for their rights. What I love about writing and journalism is discovering the human aspect of a story and giving it life. Tonight, I was able to be in the moment and appreciate what those people were fighting for. Life is hard. School is hard. And trying to write papers and concentrate with blocked sinuses is hard. But when the struggle of the moment is over, we come out better people. And ready to face the next one. For me, that's a couple papers and a media project on karaoke. And I can't waste any more time thinking about it.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Really Quick Recap of Stories You Won't Want to Miss!
To my faithful blog followers (maybe all two of you??)... I apologize for not writing in awhile. School has kicked into full swing (and my ass along with it!). I am behind in paper writing and have projects coming out of my ears. Good news is, I'm getting pretty good with the video camera! I have to register for winter quarter classes soon and I have decided to take just two classes. This will put me off the one-year-completion track, but three classes is stressing me out with all of the work. No wonder taking two classes is considered full-time for a grad student!
Anyways... I wanted to share some fun stories with you from last weekend. My friend Meg came to visit me from Saturday to Tuesday. Here are some of the highlights:
-Saturday night, while wal
king the streets, we stumbled across the Clark/Belmont music street festival... featuring the one and only Vanilla Ice! It was hilarious. He performed for about a half hour (I didn't realize he had enough material for that long, but to be fair he did just shout and spout yells in a raspy voice, perhaps to redefine his image). He sang the classics "Ice Ice Baby" and "Go Ninja" from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie from back in the day (or as my sister Megan would say, B in the D). Interesting observation, he has a motor home, apparently too broke to afford a tour bus. (Photo: Vanilla Ice rapping on stage)
-Saturday night, while wal
king the streets, we stumbled across the Clark/Belmont music street festival... featuring the one and only Vanilla Ice! It was hilarious. He performed for about a half hour (I didn't realize he had enough material for that long, but to be fair he did just shout and spout yells in a raspy voice, perhaps to redefine his image). He sang the classics "Ice Ice Baby" and "Go Ninja" from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie from back in the day (or as my sister Megan would say, B in the D). Interesting observation, he has a motor home, apparently too broke to afford a tour bus. (Photo: Vanilla Ice rapping on stage)-On Sunday, Meg and I googled and found a couple Patriots and Red Sox bars to spend the Boston-sports filled afternoon. It was so much fun to be surrounded by people wearing the same jerseys and talking about the same crappy suburbs and traffic and so on. And groaning at the same plays. And crying at the same losses. I felt at home (well, as much as a bar can make you feel at home). We're done speaking of last Sunday, the Sox and Pats made sure there was nothing memorable about it other than a double-loss, double-heart breaker.
-On a delicious note (here comes the food part of the post!)... I finally had a C
hicago style hot dog and boy are they delicious!! I am obsessed. Both Meg and I started to crave them for the rest of the weekend once we had our first bites! As I mentioned before, the Chicago hot dogs do not come with ketchup and one is forbidden to put ketchup on it. The list of stuff top include: mustard, onion, tomato, relish, cucumber, pickle spear, celery salt and sport peppers (which are spicy and we both took them off). The owner told me that the sugar in the ketchup takes away from the "salad feel" of the toppings. Just delicious. I'm salivating and craving one as I type this. (Photo: Me threatening to put ketchup on my hot dog.. I didn't and I'm glad I didn't!)
hicago style hot dog and boy are they delicious!! I am obsessed. Both Meg and I started to crave them for the rest of the weekend once we had our first bites! As I mentioned before, the Chicago hot dogs do not come with ketchup and one is forbidden to put ketchup on it. The list of stuff top include: mustard, onion, tomato, relish, cucumber, pickle spear, celery salt and sport peppers (which are spicy and we both took them off). The owner told me that the sugar in the ketchup takes away from the "salad feel" of the toppings. Just delicious. I'm salivating and craving one as I type this. (Photo: Me threatening to put ketchup on my hot dog.. I didn't and I'm glad I didn't!)-Sunday night we ventured to the top of the Hancock Tower. The 96th floor Signature Room offers a unique view of the itty-bitty city. And some fabulous mousse cake and overpriced beverages, even if you get soda (like we did). The elevator ride was a solid couple minutes, and ears do pop. I will come prepared with gum next time!
It was sad to bid farewell to my dear friend Tuesday morning. I was a little homesick for the next couple days reliving the fun we had and laughing at pictures we had taken. I take comfort in knowing that I will see everyone soon and it makes me happy (albeit, not for Thanksgiving..sad face).
Monday, October 5, 2009
The One With Vladimir
Tonight in class we were assigned to go out and practice shooting video with the camera... something that would have been useful two weeks ago, before I had to teach myself filming at Oktoberfest for my other class project. Needless to say tonight was an easy night but it took an unexpected and entertaining turn when my group and I ran into these guys playing an early Halloween trick on people on the street.
We were shooting some footage of a large group of pigeons picking at the sidewalk, I got one even trying to cross the street, when a man (well, more like a boy because he was probably younger than me or the same age) in a bad black wig and fake facial hair and sideburns approached us and started speaking in a Russian accent. "Vladimir" and his friends work at a haunted house in the suburbs and were visiting a new Halloween store on the same street. Two friends dared the third to put on the wig and to do or say "crazy stuff" to people. His accent was pretty good and a lot of people bought it. He asked things like "Where can I find the Chicago Packers?" and even hailed two cabs to see if they would give him a free ride to the corner of Wabash and Jackson, which was the next block over. He was turned down both times.
I was filming the whole thing, and it was very challenging to keep the camera still on my shoulder because it was shaking from me laughing so hard. I even snorted once, when "Vladimir" transformed into an Idaho man whose car broke down and he needed a lift. No one would help the poor man. Probably because he looked so ridiculous. We didn't have to turn in our tapes, but I'm pretty sure other people would get entertainment out of what happened. I know the three of us did!
We were shooting some footage of a large group of pigeons picking at the sidewalk, I got one even trying to cross the street, when a man (well, more like a boy because he was probably younger than me or the same age) in a bad black wig and fake facial hair and sideburns approached us and started speaking in a Russian accent. "Vladimir" and his friends work at a haunted house in the suburbs and were visiting a new Halloween store on the same street. Two friends dared the third to put on the wig and to do or say "crazy stuff" to people. His accent was pretty good and a lot of people bought it. He asked things like "Where can I find the Chicago Packers?" and even hailed two cabs to see if they would give him a free ride to the corner of Wabash and Jackson, which was the next block over. He was turned down both times.
I was filming the whole thing, and it was very challenging to keep the camera still on my shoulder because it was shaking from me laughing so hard. I even snorted once, when "Vladimir" transformed into an Idaho man whose car broke down and he needed a lift. No one would help the poor man. Probably because he looked so ridiculous. We didn't have to turn in our tapes, but I'm pretty sure other people would get entertainment out of what happened. I know the three of us did!
An Apple a Day
I can now add Wisconsin to the list of states I have visited. That list, while enhanced by this addition, is still pretty unimpressive. However, the reason I went to Wisconsin on Sunday in the point of this post...
Yesterday, my friend and I went on an adventure to go apple picking. It was only about an hour ride--not too far over the Illinois border-- and our hopes were high thanks to the beautiful weather. But what we found when we got there was a tad disappointing and spoiled our plan:
-We pulled into the parking lot... $5 to park.
-We went to go buy a bag for the purpose of picking apples... we were told that it would be $40.
At first, I was in fury that commercialism has managed to attack and ruin yet another American tradition and one of my personal favorite pastimes! However, Apple Holler Farm was festive and I was sure the hefty price for picking also included the smell of manure, I mean the goats available for petting, a barn with live family music and the delicious smell of freshly baked apple pastries. We abandoned the idea of picking our own apples and instead I picked four pounds of apples from the barrels in the market section of the Farm. We then indulged in apple turnovers and apple donuts, which were still warm they were so fresh. And I fought the urge to buy a caramel apple, as I couldn't decide if I wanted a Packers themed (green and yellow sprinkle topping) or a Bears themed (blue and orange sprinkles) apple.
Our stomachs full and our craving for apple-themed goodies sated, we left the
Farm and took the scenic route home along the lake. The weather was an ideal fall day; just cool enough to remind you that the seasons have officially changed but the sun was shining enough to warm those who still refuse to wear an appropriate jacket (you can't yell at me through a blog mom!). On the way back to the big city, we stopped in the town of Lake Bluff, which is about 20 miles north of Chicago. We walked down the cliff and onto the beach area, spending a few minutes admiring the blue water and boats that were out for a Sunday sail. The area reminded me of a coastal Maine town; beautiful houses in a such a serene atmosphere. (Photo: a view from the cliff)
The day was capped with one of the best cheeseburgers I have ever had and a side of tater tots (tater tots are the thing around here. No french fries for me!). And I am sure that none of you are in the least bit surprised that I have spent an entire blog post talking about food.
So, just to recap: Parking... $5.. Apples... $40... a fun-filled fall day and a new state experience... Priceless. Awesome cheeseburger... $8 (sorry, I couldn't leave it out... it was that good!). Great food, great weather and great company made for a very fun Sunday. Too bad it had to end with a flurry of paper writing.
Yesterday, my friend and I went on an adventure to go apple picking. It was only about an hour ride--not too far over the Illinois border-- and our hopes were high thanks to the beautiful weather. But what we found when we got there was a tad disappointing and spoiled our plan:
-We pulled into the parking lot... $5 to park.
-We went to go buy a bag for the purpose of picking apples... we were told that it would be $40.
At first, I was in fury that commercialism has managed to attack and ruin yet another American tradition and one of my personal favorite pastimes! However, Apple Holler Farm was festive and I was sure the hefty price for picking also included the smell of manure, I mean the goats available for petting, a barn with live family music and the delicious smell of freshly baked apple pastries. We abandoned the idea of picking our own apples and instead I picked four pounds of apples from the barrels in the market section of the Farm. We then indulged in apple turnovers and apple donuts, which were still warm they were so fresh. And I fought the urge to buy a caramel apple, as I couldn't decide if I wanted a Packers themed (green and yellow sprinkle topping) or a Bears themed (blue and orange sprinkles) apple.
Our stomachs full and our craving for apple-themed goodies sated, we left the
Farm and took the scenic route home along the lake. The weather was an ideal fall day; just cool enough to remind you that the seasons have officially changed but the sun was shining enough to warm those who still refuse to wear an appropriate jacket (you can't yell at me through a blog mom!). On the way back to the big city, we stopped in the town of Lake Bluff, which is about 20 miles north of Chicago. We walked down the cliff and onto the beach area, spending a few minutes admiring the blue water and boats that were out for a Sunday sail. The area reminded me of a coastal Maine town; beautiful houses in a such a serene atmosphere. (Photo: a view from the cliff)The day was capped with one of the best cheeseburgers I have ever had and a side of tater tots (tater tots are the thing around here. No french fries for me!). And I am sure that none of you are in the least bit surprised that I have spent an entire blog post talking about food.
So, just to recap: Parking... $5.. Apples... $40... a fun-filled fall day and a new state experience... Priceless. Awesome cheeseburger... $8 (sorry, I couldn't leave it out... it was that good!). Great food, great weather and great company made for a very fun Sunday. Too bad it had to end with a flurry of paper writing.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
A Different Kind of Fall
October is one of my favorite times of the year because it offers a trifecta of sense-sational events. It's when you can smell summer changing to fall, see the leaves shedding the long year from their branches, and hear the sound of a ref's whistle as if he were telling you that football season is in full swing.
This used to be one of the greatest times of the year for me. Going ap
ple picking with the friends or family I dragged to the orchard on terms of nostalgia, pumpkin carving, and lazy Sundays watching football. This year, because of an off season trade from New England to Chicago, I've had to live vicariously through the Facebook statuses of those who have taken trips to the orchard and of those who are still able to watch the Patriots every Sunday (that means you, New Englanders, keep those statuses coming!).
(Photo: Dad, Megan and I apple picking many years ago... Mom was the photographer and Sean was too cool.)
The cooler October weather promotes that there's-nothing-better-than-this feeling, inviting you to sit around in sweats with a laptop or a notebook doing some work while watching men run around in tights chasing a pigskin. This year, that feeling is diminished for me because those men I'm watching aren't my beloved Patriots; they are Bears, Packers and Bengals (oh my!). I guess I could venture out and find a bar to cheer on Brady and his Bunch, but seriously, who wants to go to a bar at noon? And I can't do my homework at the same time OR wear sweatpants. I've settled on following the Red Sox, Bruins and Patriots scores via Boston.com's "at the stadium" blogs. And those Facebook statuses.
Football just isn't the same for me anymore. Being in a city filled with fans from many different teams blurs my passion for the sport. People love the Bears here, a team that's not even in the same league as the AFC Patriots. There aren't even any rivals around here to care enough about my hometown team to trash talk once in a while. I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but hearing people hate on your team is better than nothing at all. I still get to hold on to the Red Sox because fans of the AL White Sox care enough to throw $6 ballpark hotdogs at Boston fans. See this earlier post in case you missed that story.
But what makes me most sad about the changes I've undergone by switching camps, and something that can't be solved by a Facebook status, online blog or local bar, is that I can't watch football games with my Dad anymore. I used to watch them with him nearly every Sunday. I'd drive home, do laundry, enjoy some of mom's home cooking and lounge on the couch talking shop with my pop. Now 900 miles away, I can call and he can give me a play-by-play of the game, but it's not the same kind of bonding experience. I can't yell at the refs with him because I don't know what happened, nor can I curse a wide receiver with slippery fingers because I didn't see him drop the pass to know if he should have caught it or not. If it was Ben Watson I can guess that he probably should have caught it, but other than that I'm useless.
My Dad and I used to watch the Patriots together way before they were good and before Tom Brady was even tossing passes as a Wolverine. I remember vividly watching a game together in 1
996, a match up between the Patriots and the then expansion Jaguars, I'm pretty sure it was the AFC Championship. I discovered my love of sports by listening to the Bruins on the radio with my Dad as he worked in his basement workshop (we didn't have that fancy cable). He coached me on my softball teams for years and taught me some hard lessons (for a 12-year-old that is) because he never played me just because I was his daughter. To me, sports aren't just a hobby or a career aspiration. Sports are something I will always associate with my Dad. It's our "thing." (Photo: My Dad and I toasting to my 21st birthday)
Some changes are easier to deal with than others. The changing of the leaves and the changing of the seasons are aesthetically pleasing. The changing of a wardrobe can get complicated. But those things are mastered after years of habitual practice. The changing of the way football Sundays feel to me was not something for which I was prepared. Each Sunday brings on a pang of loneliness and homesickness as it is a reminder of what I have sacrificed by moving, like an athlete who gives up being a fan favorite in order to move to a team in playoff contention.
I guess I just have to learn how to make it work and transfer those feelings in a different manner now that I am a time zone away. Or just learn to enjoy going to a bar at 10 a.m. to get a good seat for the Patriots game. But one thing's for sure: next time I am home, I won't take those Sundays watching football with my Dad for granted. I just hope it isn't a bye week.
This used to be one of the greatest times of the year for me. Going ap
ple picking with the friends or family I dragged to the orchard on terms of nostalgia, pumpkin carving, and lazy Sundays watching football. This year, because of an off season trade from New England to Chicago, I've had to live vicariously through the Facebook statuses of those who have taken trips to the orchard and of those who are still able to watch the Patriots every Sunday (that means you, New Englanders, keep those statuses coming!).(Photo: Dad, Megan and I apple picking many years ago... Mom was the photographer and Sean was too cool.)
The cooler October weather promotes that there's-nothing-better-than-this feeling, inviting you to sit around in sweats with a laptop or a notebook doing some work while watching men run around in tights chasing a pigskin. This year, that feeling is diminished for me because those men I'm watching aren't my beloved Patriots; they are Bears, Packers and Bengals (oh my!). I guess I could venture out and find a bar to cheer on Brady and his Bunch, but seriously, who wants to go to a bar at noon? And I can't do my homework at the same time OR wear sweatpants. I've settled on following the Red Sox, Bruins and Patriots scores via Boston.com's "at the stadium" blogs. And those Facebook statuses.
Football just isn't the same for me anymore. Being in a city filled with fans from many different teams blurs my passion for the sport. People love the Bears here, a team that's not even in the same league as the AFC Patriots. There aren't even any rivals around here to care enough about my hometown team to trash talk once in a while. I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but hearing people hate on your team is better than nothing at all. I still get to hold on to the Red Sox because fans of the AL White Sox care enough to throw $6 ballpark hotdogs at Boston fans. See this earlier post in case you missed that story.
But what makes me most sad about the changes I've undergone by switching camps, and something that can't be solved by a Facebook status, online blog or local bar, is that I can't watch football games with my Dad anymore. I used to watch them with him nearly every Sunday. I'd drive home, do laundry, enjoy some of mom's home cooking and lounge on the couch talking shop with my pop. Now 900 miles away, I can call and he can give me a play-by-play of the game, but it's not the same kind of bonding experience. I can't yell at the refs with him because I don't know what happened, nor can I curse a wide receiver with slippery fingers because I didn't see him drop the pass to know if he should have caught it or not. If it was Ben Watson I can guess that he probably should have caught it, but other than that I'm useless.
My Dad and I used to watch the Patriots together way before they were good and before Tom Brady was even tossing passes as a Wolverine. I remember vividly watching a game together in 1
996, a match up between the Patriots and the then expansion Jaguars, I'm pretty sure it was the AFC Championship. I discovered my love of sports by listening to the Bruins on the radio with my Dad as he worked in his basement workshop (we didn't have that fancy cable). He coached me on my softball teams for years and taught me some hard lessons (for a 12-year-old that is) because he never played me just because I was his daughter. To me, sports aren't just a hobby or a career aspiration. Sports are something I will always associate with my Dad. It's our "thing." (Photo: My Dad and I toasting to my 21st birthday) Some changes are easier to deal with than others. The changing of the leaves and the changing of the seasons are aesthetically pleasing. The changing of a wardrobe can get complicated. But those things are mastered after years of habitual practice. The changing of the way football Sundays feel to me was not something for which I was prepared. Each Sunday brings on a pang of loneliness and homesickness as it is a reminder of what I have sacrificed by moving, like an athlete who gives up being a fan favorite in order to move to a team in playoff contention.
I guess I just have to learn how to make it work and transfer those feelings in a different manner now that I am a time zone away. Or just learn to enjoy going to a bar at 10 a.m. to get a good seat for the Patriots game. But one thing's for sure: next time I am home, I won't take those Sundays watching football with my Dad for granted. I just hope it isn't a bye week.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Chicago's Got No Games
This is Kim Dunbar reporting live from Chicago, where the city has just found out that they will NOT be hosting the 2016 Olympic Games. Gasps fell across the crowd gathered at Daley Plaza in downtown Chicago this morning as they watched the IOC oust the city's Olympic bid in the first round. A wave of disappointment followed...
So I hear. I abandoned the idea of heading downtown this morning and opted to watch the announcement of the winner in the comfort of my pajamas and warm apartment. I hate big crowds.
I'm not sure if the city's disappointment was a result of this giant letdown or if people were bummed that the city wouldn't be able to throw the celebratory party planned for this afternoon. Chicago's Olympic bid has been clogging the news and has been the topic of conversation everywhere one goes in the city. DePaul even offered a special class about the Olympics this fall. I am glad it is over, but am amazed at the uneventful and screeching-halt manner in which it all ended.
Image above right: My roommate took this photo downtown yesterday of the Daley Plaza getting ready for the viewing party. This Picasso statue is wearing a medal around its neck and what looks to be a crown.
It is safe to say that while there were some against the Games coming here, the majority of Chicagoans did want them and their moods now match this cloudy, gray weather. Ironically, we didn't need Mother Nature to rain on our parade today, the IOC did it for us. People on Twitter are suggest that perhaps Kanye West should have shown up, or maybe Oprah should have bought the members of the IOC committee Pontiacs. I suspect for the next several days we will continue to hear about the reasons Chicago lost, including a nasty flurry of political accusations which will no doubt intensify the already rocky relationship we have with the IOC and harm the country's chances of hosting the Games in America anytime soon. There are already several articles being published which blame Obama.
Most disappointed Chicagoans probably didn't hear what the IOC president said before opening the winning envelope, as they were probably already headed home, heads hanging. He said that "in every competition there is a winner and there is a loser." Today, Rio was the winner and we should embrace the heart-warming story of a continent which has never hosted the Olympic Games before. We would expect the same respect and congratulations if Chicago had won. It is okay to be disappointed, but people should just remember that we still live in the great city of Chicago, and therefore we are all winners. Now go eat some pizza and feel better!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Numbers Don't Lie
Today is my 42nd day living in Chicago. When I think about that number in days, it seems like a long time! That's more than a whole Lenten period! Seeing I have given up my family and friends for 42 days, does that mean I can get out of giving something up for Lent this spring? I think I'm going to need to keep the usual sacrifices of chocolate, ice cream, caffeine, etc. to get me through school!
Other interesting things associated with the number 42:
*It is the atomic number for molybdenum, aka Mo, or the Ancient Greek word for lead.
*Another Mo associated with the number 42... Yankees closer Mariano Rivera (eww, I just referenced the Yankees in my blog post). I always wondered how Rivera still gets to wear that number, despite the fact that the 42 jersey is retired across all of Major League Baseball in honor of Jackie Robinson. It is also retired by Arizona State University in honor of Pat Tillman, an alum and NFL player until his death in Iraq in 2004.
*42 is the name of a track on Coldplay's latest album (the lyrics are kind of creepy... raise your hand if you are now going to google them. Did you seriously just raise your hand?)
*A rainbow appears at 42 degrees.
*And finally, 42 is probably most known as the answer to "the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything." Well, at least according to Douglas Adams in his book trilogy Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I think they made that into a movie featuring The Rock).
Forty-two days into my new life adventure, I haven't found the answer to life, the universe or everything. Or anything really at that. Last night in class I had a hard time trying to figure out how to edit the footage I took last weekend at Oktoberfest for my project and got discouraged and frustrated. I'm not comfortable trying to navigate my way through a new field or not knowing what I'm doing. However, after thinking it over for a day, I realized that's the reason I came here in the first place. I'm not comfortable in front of a camera or shooting video, but after last weekend I'm getting more comfortable with that. So, this too shall come.
But--and I really hope this doesn't sound as cheesy as I think it is going to--I have learned some stuff about myself that I didn't know before I changed time zones. Most important of those things: I've realized that I can live on my own in a strange city and embrace new things as they present themselves. However, I couldn't have made it through without my friends or family. So in my version of Adams' world, 42 equals friends and family. Not because I have 42 of them, but because my friends and family have been the answers for me during these 42 days I have been living in Chicago. I guess I never really gave them up after all.
Strangely, it's 8:42 p.m. central time. Seems like a good time to end this thing, and a good time to start thinking about what I'll give up for Lent this year...
Other interesting things associated with the number 42:
*It is the atomic number for molybdenum, aka Mo, or the Ancient Greek word for lead.
*Another Mo associated with the number 42... Yankees closer Mariano Rivera (eww, I just referenced the Yankees in my blog post). I always wondered how Rivera still gets to wear that number, despite the fact that the 42 jersey is retired across all of Major League Baseball in honor of Jackie Robinson. It is also retired by Arizona State University in honor of Pat Tillman, an alum and NFL player until his death in Iraq in 2004.
*42 is the name of a track on Coldplay's latest album (the lyrics are kind of creepy... raise your hand if you are now going to google them. Did you seriously just raise your hand?)
*A rainbow appears at 42 degrees.
*And finally, 42 is probably most known as the answer to "the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything." Well, at least according to Douglas Adams in his book trilogy Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I think they made that into a movie featuring The Rock).
Forty-two days into my new life adventure, I haven't found the answer to life, the universe or everything. Or anything really at that. Last night in class I had a hard time trying to figure out how to edit the footage I took last weekend at Oktoberfest for my project and got discouraged and frustrated. I'm not comfortable trying to navigate my way through a new field or not knowing what I'm doing. However, after thinking it over for a day, I realized that's the reason I came here in the first place. I'm not comfortable in front of a camera or shooting video, but after last weekend I'm getting more comfortable with that. So, this too shall come.
But--and I really hope this doesn't sound as cheesy as I think it is going to--I have learned some stuff about myself that I didn't know before I changed time zones. Most important of those things: I've realized that I can live on my own in a strange city and embrace new things as they present themselves. However, I couldn't have made it through without my friends or family. So in my version of Adams' world, 42 equals friends and family. Not because I have 42 of them, but because my friends and family have been the answers for me during these 42 days I have been living in Chicago. I guess I never really gave them up after all.
Strangely, it's 8:42 p.m. central time. Seems like a good time to end this thing, and a good time to start thinking about what I'll give up for Lent this year...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
