I’ve always been told how precious human life is.  But what I learned the hard way, is just how fast it can change.  And a lot of the time, you can’t change it back.  And I’m not talking about some bullshit alteration like getting a new job or dumping your girlfriend (seeing as how she drove you up the fucking wall anyway).  I’m talking about the kinda thing that changes you as a man.  The kinda thing that grabs you by the fucking neck, turns you inside out, rearranges who and what you are, then leaves you to deal with the changes.

Maybe not everyone reacts to the same issue the same way, though ethically speaking, you’d like to think that that’s the case.  I mean, you’d like to THINK that killing someone is a universally unpleasant act for anyone, but I know guys with five and six bodies buried beneath them , and you’d think they were Christ himself the way the go about their business.  I’m not sayin’ I haven’t had my fair share of scrapes or that I’m some kind of coward.  When you come from where I do, you’d better be able to scrap, or you’d better be able to run like hell.  But the kinda violence I know is the temporary kind.  Broken noses, bloody lips, black eyes, maybe a cracked rib or missing tooth, but nothing that doesn’t heal up in a week or two.  It ain’t like the other kinds of violence from my neighborhood.  The kind that leaves behind cut throats, spilled guts, brain splatters, and widows.

But that’s exactly the kinda violence that White Mike and his crew doled out from their safehouse in O’Connell’s bar.  The first time I ever stepped foot in that place, I was 17, and I felt like I’d walked into a funeral home or a torture chamber, like they painted the place with violence.  I knew there were probably plenty of people that took their last breath in the kegroom of that place, or whose fate was decided over a shot and a beer.  I used to pop in there all the time, and no one paid me any mind, even though I was underage.  Jimmy the bartender used to set me up with beers and whiskey, so long as I was walking home.  Every now and again I’d lock eyes with White Mike, and he’d just give me a courteous nod ( a courtesy, no doubt passed down to me because of who my father was).

It wasn’t until I got into a nasty little bar fight with some asshole from Providence, and smashed a whiskey bottle over his head that Mike ever even spoke to me.  But after seeing me put that poor bastard in an ICU, he offered to let me do some odd jobs here and there, pick ups, drop offs, that sorta thing.  But I knew my ma would kick the shit out of me if she knew I was within a mile of Mike, so I told him I was already busy between goin to community college and working at the liquor store on Federal and Birch.

Then ma got sick.  Before that, things were ok.  We had plenty of money that my old man left behind, and ma had a good job working as a nurse at an old folks home.  Now granted, I wasn’t driving to work in an Escalade, but we always had plenty to eat, and every year we had money left over to go on a little vacation together.  But if you ain’t sick, a trip to the doctor will make you that way.  I mean, how much do those assholes charge you to whack your knee with a hammer and look at your prick?  So imagine how many zeroes are tacked onto a bill for something like cancer.  Even with the money my old man left us, and the money ma had saved up, we knew that this was gonna tap us out, especially if we wanted to keep my little sister in St. Mary’s, and not in the public schools.

Ma decided to stay inside the hospital so I wouldn’t have to be ferrying her back and forth everyday, which freed me up to earn a little extra cash.  I hooked up with my pal Conn, and we started buying QP’s of pot and heading out to the colleges around Boston to sell to all the kids in school.  We were making decent money, since those rich assholes never asked questions about our pricing.  I was stashing the money in a pipe in the basement, and slowly depositing it into ma’s account, to keep her from getting suspicious.

Then came the radiation therapy.  At first it was a lot of bed rest and pills, but then the doctors said that the cancer was still growing.  So tack on a few extra zeroes to that bill, and I knew that selling a little herb here and there wasn’t gonna keep my ma in the hospital, and my sister in private school.  I tried upping to kilos of weed and slanging those to campus dealers, but it was getting sketchy transporting that kind of weight every week.  I kept it up for a few weeks, dropping my sister off at school, going to work, picking up my sister, and dropping her off with Sarah, our neighbor, while I went to classes.

Out of nervous habit I started carrying around my grandfather’s rosary again.  I used to have it with me all the time when I was a kid, I figured it was a good luck charm.  My dad had given it to me after my first communion, said he didn’t a good place to keep it.  My ma said it was from the old country, handmade by a girl my grandpa was married to for a time.  It was tattered and tarnished from being in so many pockets over the years, but to me it was still beautiful.

But even that rosary couldn’t keep me calm when St. Mary’s called, saying my sisters tuition was due in 3 months, to the tune of ten grand.  I knew that if I was going to keep things together, I’d have to change things up.  I thought about switching from weed to blow, but just the thought of driving around town loaded down with that shit made me nervous.  So I did the only thing I could think of.  I headed down to O’Connell’s to see what White Mike had open.

“Mike in?” I asked Jimmy.  Jimmy looked at me oddly.  “Yea sure, but what the hell do you wanna talk to him for, you into him for some money?”  he replied with a little grin.  I smiled back.  “Nah, nothing like that.  And could I get a shot and a beer?”  “Yea sure, let me go see where Mike’s at,” he said, before pouring up my drinks.  I wondered if I was making the right call.  I mean, I could try phoning some of our relatives, or asking St. Mary’s to cut me a fucking break, but somehow I felt like none of that would work, at least, not in the long run.  A couple hundred bucks one time from an aunt or cousin in New York wouldn’t do much after a week.

I saw Mike step outside the kegroom, and I quickly downed my shot.  “Hey there kid, what the hell makes ya wanna talk to me?” Mike said with a smirk.  “I’m just lookin for a little work, with my ma bein sick and all,” I replied.  “Yea, I was real sad to hear about that.  Tell ya what, when you get off work tomorrow, walk up the block to that smoke shop the Russian owns.  He’s got a package for me.  Bring it back down here tomorrow, and I’ll set you up with a little cash.”  “Alright, he gonna have any problem handin it over to me and not one of your boys?” I asked.  “Just say it’s for me, he knows better than to fuck around with 21 questions.” Mike replied cooly.  I stepped off the bar stool and headed for the front door.  “Hey kid,” Mike called.  I turned.  “From now on, when you drink here, it’s on the house,” he said.  I nodded in thanks.

The next day after work, I  was scared out of my fucking mind.  For all I knew, I was picking up a severed head.  I slugged a half pint of Jameson before I even walked out the front of the store.  I made my way up the street, and saw a couple of heavily tattooed Russians sitting on some folding tables smoking cigars.  They eyed me curiously as I stepped into the smoke shop, where the owner was eyeballing a nudie magazine at the cash register.  “Hey,” I mumbled.  The owner looked up at me like I’d just stepped on his toe.  “Help you?” he choked through a thick accent.  “Yea, you can give me the package you’re holding for White Mike, buddy.” I replied quickly.  His expression changed.  He looked out the front door, then nodded for me to follow him through a door behind the counter.  We stepped into a little shithole of an office, with nothing but a card table, old computer, and filing cabinet taking up the corner.  He walked over to the filing cabinet, unlocked the bottom drawer, and pulled out a white cloth sack.  He handed it to me, and its weight caught me off guard.  “Tell Mike none are hot,” he said before I turned and left.

I tucked the bag under my arm, heart beating so fast I nearly passed out when I slumped into my car.  I threw the bag under the seat, took a deep breath, and started the car.  I took a maze of backstreets to the bar, I was scared shitless that I’d run into the cops.  I’m sure that fear was plastered all over my face, cause Jimmy quickly ushered me into the back, where Mike was perched on a keg.  I handed him the bag.  “Good job kid, those Russians are strange aren’t they?” he said with a chuckle.  He dumped the bad onto a storage shelf, and as I guessed, the bag was full of guns.  “Alright kid, here you go,” he said, handing me a roll of twenty dollar bills.  He rifled through the stack of guns, then picked up a snub nosed revolver.  “ You got a burner kid?” he asked.  “Nah, my fists have gotten me this far,” I said with a laugh.  He handed me the gun.  “If you wanna get in this line of work, you gotta be heeled,” he said lowly.  I took the gun, looked it over, then tucked it into the back of my jeans.  “Swing back by here anytime you need work.  It might not always be this exciting, but I’ll make sure you get paid, ok?” he asked.  “Yea, thanks Mike,” I said with a nod.  “Go take care of your sister,” he said.

I collapsed inside the doorway.  I fished through my pocket and pulled out the cash.  I could tell by looking at it that it was at least five or six hundred dollars.  I felt the revolver digging into my back.  I drew it out and looked it over.  It looked brand new, and when I swung out the cylinder, I was surprised to see it was loaded too.  Six .38 special rounds in a circle, like a bunch of pint glasses on a waitresses tray.  I took the money downstairs and stashed it.  I grabbed my whiskey stash on the way up the stairs.  “Hey Sean-y, I’m home!” I heard a voice say.  “Hey sis, how was Sarah’s?  Finish all your homework?”  “Yea, then we watched Gossip Girl!” she said with a giggle.  “Christ, tell me you didn’t like that trash,” I said jokingly as I rounded the top of the stairs.  She laughed.  “Well go on and get ready for bed, it’s almost  10:30,” I said, kneeling down to give her a hug.

I sat at the kitchen table and poured up a healthy glass of whiskey, which didn’t take me long to pound down.  I stared at the clock.  I knew that ma would find out what I was doing eventually.  But maybe she’d understand.  I mean, what was I supposed to do, throw my kid sister to those animals at the public schools?  She’d be knocked up before she finished high school.  I poured another glass of whiskey.  “Fuck it,” I said as I threw it back, and headed upstairs.

Most of the jobs Mike had me running were pretty straightforward, paying rent on the bar, helping with liquor shipments, filling out paperwork for licenses, that sort of thing.  Sometimes he’d have me go to the Russians for guns or the Arabs for smack, but now I rolled with one of the thugs that hung around the bar.  I guess my first solo errand was a test to see if I would crack under the tension of dealing with criminals.  I’d also drive him around town while he handled business with people in the neighborhood, and he’d tell me all kinds of stories about how violent things used to be.  He said that back when my dad was on the block, bodies were getting dredged up damn near every morning, and drugs were flowing in and out of Boston like they were legal.

But I knew that the days of Mickey Mouse errands would have to go one day.  I knew that I would be eventually have to step up to the big time if I wanted to stay workin for Mike.  I just wasn’t ready for it when it did.  Mike called me into the kegroom one night, and I could tell right off that something heavy was up.  “Listen kid, you’ve been doin’ a lotta good work for me.  You’re on time, you’re low key, and you don’t have your head up your ass.  I know you’re probably sick of all these runaround Ron chores, but I can’t hand you much else without you being approved by the big ups, feel me?” “Yea yea, I got you,” I stammered.  “Look, if you wanna hit the big time, you gotta put in some work, and not like the kind you’ve been doin thus far, if you catch my drift,” he trailed off.  “But if you don’t wanna step to, it’s ok.  This kinda work ain’t for everyone.  But with a big change in rank comes a big change in pay, and a big change in benefits.” He said.  “I’m down,” I replied cooly.  He nodded and reached behind him, and set a pistol and silencer in front of me.  “There’s a kid out Eastside who jacked one of my stash houses, and now he’s slangin’ my yayo at undercut prices.  I need you to let him and everyone else around here know that that kinda shit don’t fly, feel me?”  “Yea,” I said nervously.  “Go meet up with Joey at the bar, he’ll drive you.”

Joey and I hopped into an old Park Avenue out front and made our way East.  “You ever ice someone before kid?” he asked.  “Nah,  nothing heavy like this,” I said quietly.  “Ain’t nothin to it, just put one in the prick’s skull, then get out, by the time the ambulance gets there, he’ll be deader than Kennedy.” He said as he sparked up a cigarette. “ And that silencer will keep you from drawing any unwanted attention, so after you smoke him, just walk down the block real cool like, and well get outta there, got it?”  “Yea, got it,” I replied.  I screwed the silencer onto the front of the gun and tucked it into the front of my jeans.

We stopped in front of a little coffee shop that had tables out front.  “That’s our boy there in the white puffy jacket,” Joey said nodding towards one of the tables.  “I’ll drop you off up the block, then pull in that alley down the street and wait for you,” he said.  We made our way a bit up the road, then I stepped out of the car and looked up and down the block.  Nothin much outside except a couple street dealers that were probably workin’ for the kid I was about to ice.

I walked up behind the guy, he was facing away from me and talking on the phone.  I drew out the pistol and pointed at his head.  “Hey asshole,” I said loudly.  He whipped around and I pulled the trigger.  Blood.  Everywhere.  In his coffee, all over his jacket, splattered on the café window, even a few drops flew back and hit my face.  I felt sick.  I didn’t even bother to tuck the piece away as I sprinted down the street to the car.  I jumped in and Joey hit the gas, sending us speeding down the alley.  “Jesus kid, you killed the fuck out of him,” he said with a laugh.  “Next time don’t take off like that, it looks really burnt,” he said, sparking up another cigarette.  I didn’t say a word.  We pulled into an old boat launch on the  Mystic River a few miles away.  “Gimme the burner,” he said, and I quickly shoved it into his hand.  He wiped it down with a rag, stepped outside the car, and heaved it into the water.  Then he made his way to the back of the car, and popped the trunk.  “C’mere kid,” he barked.  I climbed out the door and he through a can of gasoline at my feet.  “Soak up the interior, we’ll burn up the ride so the cops can’t follow up for prints.” He said.  I sloshed the gas all over my seat, and threw a little on Joey’s too.  I drew back just in time to avoid being incinerated as he threw a lit match into the car.  I watched the flame spread across the dash and engulf the whole inside.  “Let’s go, I got another car parked up the way,” he said as he walked away.  We made our way to the second car, passing by rows of condemned houses and closed storefronts.

When we got back to the bar, Mike was nowhere to be seen, but when I walked in, Jimmy threw a duffle bag up on the bar rail, and nodded for me to take it.  I grabbed it without a word, and headed back home.  I could tell by the weight of the bag that my sister would be able to stay at St. Mary’s through high school, and that my ma would be able to finish up her last rounds of chemo and radiation therapy without worrying about going broke.  But I also knew that my family’s success had cost a lot more than the cash in that bag.  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up a day and a half later in the same clothes I wore the night of the shooting.  I sat at the edge of my bed wondering if this was how my dad felt everyday he woke up, and I began to envy him for being the dead one.  I rose up slowly, and buttoned up my jacket.  I fished out my grandfather’s rosary, threw it in the back of a drawer in my nightstand, tucked my revolver in the back of my jeans, and made my way down to O’Connell’s.

Ashley Rogina

Story #1

Rough Rough draft:

The monotonous tone of the alarm clock slices through the silent darkness of the room startling me every morning I’m required to be physically present at my nine to five job. One would think that a life with routine such as my own would have very little left in the area of surprise. Especially the from an alarm clock that screams every day at the same time—a clock of which my life revolves around. I would have never thought that my routine would be disrupted, in fact even though I despise the meaning of my alarm clock I wouldn’t have my life structured any other way.

I ease myself out of bed and sulk half asleep to the shower where I am yet again surprised at the cold water streaming out of the shower head mocking me for still being asleep although I have been with this routine for years. After I achieve some of my alertness I make my way to work.

I briskly walk down the street and see my neighbor:

“Good morning Mrs. Smith” I say politely.

“Good morning John, on your way to work I see? How is the pharmacy?” She asks inquisitively.

“The pharmacy is great, I was just promoted to pharmaceutical manager, and it’s my first day on the job so I don’t want to be late.” I reply as I pass by her as quickly as possible.

Before she could get another question in I put foot to pavement and start cutting the crisp cool air with my strides. As I walk I read the newspaper so as not to have to interact with anybody that I don’t want to. Headline reads: “Store held up at gunpoint mysterious man comes to aid of victims.” I think to myself, I’m so glad I stayed in last night.

I make it to work with five minutes to spare, proof that my routine is efficient. The days work starts and shortly after my first few customers I find myself staring at the clock. Its harmonious ticking in the back of my head at all times. I take an early lunch break and walk next door to my favorite café which I frequent Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I’m about to take a much deserved bite out of my usual turkey sandwich, when I am interrupted by a hysterical lunatic.

“It’s you!!” he says without pausing for air “you from last night at the grocery store, can I have your autograph? You saved my wife!”

“I’m truly sorry but u must be mistaken, I have never set foot in that grocery store in my entire life” I reply with such conviction as to try and avoid another round of his hysterity. He stares blankly at me, unsure of what to say—obviously trying to jog his memory to prove me wrong. When he can’t muster any proof he mutters “Sorry to interrupt, I hope you enjoy your lunch.”

Work drags on and the ticking of the clock is ever present in the back of my mind until like an alarm the clock strikes five o clock and I’m on my way home. As I walk home I’m approached by a woman that runs up and hugs me screaming “Thank you sir, Thank you! What is your name?”

“John Rivets” I say more confused than anything “Why are you thanking me?”

“You saved me last night at the grocery store, and I never got a chance to thank you!” she says.

“I’m sorry to inform you miss but I was not at that grocery store last night, so you must have mistaken me for somebody else.” I say as I start walking again. After she is behind me I glance over my shoulder to see her in the same place I left her squinting and looking into the sky as if trying to remember.

As I jog up the steps my building—365 marble way a sigh of relief comes over my body as I realize that this weird day is coming to a close. I flick on the television and resume the rest of my daily routine. I think to myself; I need to find a hobby.

A week rolls by without being approached by anyone about saving their life. It seems my short lived heroism has died. It wasn’t for a couple of days passing the week mark of my encounters that on the way to work took mention of the headline on the front page on my way to work. It read: “Nearby bank robbed police think connection between grocery heist and bank.” I laughed to myself thinking did Spiderman come and save the day? I skimmed down the majority of the article to find that the robber only stole about $1000 dollars. I remember thinking this was clever of the robber making the stolen money harder to trace.

I make it back from work that evening and flick on the television. I felt a little more tired than usual and didn’t even make it to my bedroom to fall asleep. I woke up shivering in my bed in the middle of the night confused at how I got there and why I was so cold. I looked to my right to see my window open, which sent panic through by body. I never sleep with the window open. I start to hear faint noises from the living room. I grab the baseball bat under my bed and slink to the bedroom door. I slowly turn the bedroom door holding my breath at the same time. I hug the wall as I creep down the dark quiet hallway. I reach the end and talk my self into peeking around the corner the only sound I hear is the ever present ticking noise that has seemed to grow louder as the days go on pounding in my head. I leap around the edge of the wall, the baseball bat ready to swing to find, to my horror, that my front door is wide open.

After I calm myself down and shut and lock the door I check every centimeter of my apartment for an intruder, I found no one. I made a mental alarm setting to change the locks the next day.

My alarm screams at me a few hours later, same routine: shower, wake up, newspaper walk to work. When I get to the newspaper stage I check for any robberies thinking that there might be an explanation for my incident a few hours prior. There was nothing except and article about the bank robbery and another about a crazy lunatic that freed ten chickens from the butcher shop. As I’m walking I run into Mrs. Smith again this time pretending to be so enwrapped in the newspaper that I didn’t see her.

She stops and says, “Oh dear you have something on your coat.”

I look up and she is picking a feather off of my shoulder. “Thank you” I reply confused as to why there would be a feather on my coat. I don’t have any pet birds. I get to work where one of my employees greets me saying, “Mr. Rivets you have a call on line one waiting from your bank, they say it’s urgent.” Panic rises up in my gut wondering if the person who broke into my apartment last night got a hold of my credit cards. I quickly tear my wallet from my pocket and find all my things are in place and nothing is missing. Some of my uncertainty wanes but there is still something pulling and nagging at my insides like the ticking that has been pounding in my head.

I pick up the phone and say, “this is John.”

A pleasant lady on the other end says “Good morning John I would just like to inform you that a sum of money has been transferred into your account by an unknown donor and I was wondering if you wanted us to look into a possible stolen identity.”

Shocked I responded, “With all due respect, if someone has stolen my identity wouldn’t they be taking money out and not depositing it?”

She replies, “Yes that is most likely true, we are just following protocol and are required to inform you of your account activity. If you have no worries about this we won’t look into it.

I smugly replied, “It was probably my brother, he owes me money thanks for the notification though.”

After we hang up the phone I quickly check my account balance, it is up $1000. After work I will call my brother. Lunch time rolls around and I find myself with my turkey sandwich sitting outside in the café thinking to myself about the events of last night. I then set up an appointment for my locks to be changed.

I get home just before the locksmith and I impatiently wait for him to change my lock on the doors and windows. I finally receive my new house key and immediately feel at ease. I again fall asleep on the couch. I wake up again freezing to my window open in my bedroom and confusion and panic again wash over me. I check all areas of my apartment to find no one; even the front door was closed. Am I sleep walking? I thought. As I lied awake thinking about all possibilities my alarm started screaming again. I rolled out of bed, too tired for my own good and began my day. As I locked my front door I notice some extra keys on my key ring and see that they are car keys. Logical thinking made me arrive at the conclusion that I took someone’s keys at work by mistake. I walk down the front steps of the building to my neighbors staring at a bright candy red corvette. They turn to me and say “Nice car eh John?”

I reply “I would sure like to have one of those myself.” I continue walking to work, pull out the keys and try to figure out who they belong to. The keys had the Chevy logo on them and I begin thinking about who at work drives a Chevy. No one comes to mind.

I start my work routine when a police officer walks in and asks for me, I come to the front and say “I’m John Rivets, how may I help you?”

The police officer sternly says, “Mr. Rivets I am going to need you to step outside and answer a few questions.”

I walk out the door where the officer turns to me and asks, “Where were you on the night of the 16^th of November?”

Thinking back and remembering the 16^th was the night of the bank robbery I replied, “At home like I always am.”

The officer asked if anyone could corroborate my story, and I replied “I live by myself in an apartment I come home from work and don’t leave after I get back, I don’t think anyone would be able to corroborate my story, but sir I ensure you I am telling the truth.”

The officer gave me his card and said he would be in touch. To settle my mind I decide I would read the newspaper since on the way to work I was thinking about the keys, to my horror one headline states: “Red Chevy Corvette stolen from suburban home.” The title stares at me bringing on a wave of panic, was it the same corvette that was parked outside my building this morning? Was it a coincidence? Just then I remembered the keys. I went around asking everyone if they had misplaced their keys, no one had. All of a sudden my heart rate synced with the ticking of the clock and not only my head was pounding to the beat but the blood rushing through my body was pulsating to the ticking of the clock. I left work early; I needed to clear my head. I don’t make it far down the street when a patrol car pulls up to the sidewalk I am walking on and the officers get out and ask my name.

“Sir, are you John Rivets?” the tall officer asks me.

“Yes sir I am John, what can I do for you?” I consciously reply.

The officers almost lunged at me like I was about to run away and yell “You can put your hands behind your back because you are under arrest for grand larceny, auto theft, robbing a bank…” that’s where the ticking in my head got louder than the actual reality that was taking place. They listed off a handful of crimes that I had been accused of committing and shoved me in the patrol car.

I looked up to see the police station, I didn’t even remember being in the patrol car or driving down to the station. The only thing that I knew was happening was the ticking in my head, I felt like my body was pulsating with the ticking like a hysterical person having a mental breakdown. I woke up the next day in a jail cell, and a woman police officer took me into a questioning room. She said “You will now speak to out psych advisor.”

I quickly replied, “Don’t I get a phone call, or aren’t you supposed to question me before the psych advisor?”

She looked at me with eyes that bore into my being, for a minute I thought she could hear the ticking as well. Then after what had seemed like a year she said sternly: “You gave your written statement yesterday, and you called your brother as well as finishing the questioning by our detectives, is there anything else you would like to know that happened yesterday?”

I look at her with such confusion that she takes my arm and brings me to the psych advisor. That’s when the ticking became my entire reality. Everything from then on could have been real or could have been a dream.

Joseph Young

French 102

Assignment # 1

“Vacances”

1. Pour ma vacances, je ne partir en vancances. J’ai visite mon grand-pere.
2. Ma famillie ne partir en vancances aussi et ils sont alles avec moi.
3. J’ai conduit a la YMCA pour mon travail et j’ai recu donner pour quel j’ai fait.
4. Pour le week-end je suis alle a la cinema ou j’ai vu un film.
5. Ma famille, et moi, avez mange aliment pour le jour ferie.
6. Ma mere est allee a la Las Vegas, ou elle a vu sa copine.

J’ai pu lis pour Francias, parce que il a commence dans la printemps.

1. Pour ma vacances, je ne partir en vancances. J’ai visite mon grand-pere.
2. Ma famillie ne partir en vancances aussi et ils sont alles avec moi.
3. J’ai conduit a la YMCA pour mon travail et j’ai recu donner pour quel j’ai fait.
4. Pour le week-end je suis alle a la cinema ou j’ai vu un film.
5. Ma famille, et moi, avez mange aliment pour le jour ferie.
6. Ma mere est allee a la Las Vegas, ou elle a vu sa copine.

J’ai pu lis pour Francias, parce que il a commence dans la printemps.

Another week, another post,

First there’s sad news in Paris where a model, whom I vaguely remembered but liked nonetheless, was found dead in her apartment from an apparent suicide. Daul Kim was only 20 years old and had been modeling for fashionable labels like Chanel and Dries van Noten. It’s always sad to read about these kinds of stories and at the same time it reminds you that all things aren’t actually what they look like. You assume people are having the times of their lives when it’s a totally different story.

In other news I read on adage.com in the article “Recruiters Say Hiring Is Coming Back to Life, Slowly” by Natalie Zmuda that hiring in the media world is on it’s way up, “While some areas are proving hotter than others, hiring is bouncing back, albeit slowly, across most categories and experience levels. A number of recruiting firms report that even though the fourth quarter is a typically slow time of year, they are actively involved in multiple searches.”

Even though it’s slow I still think it’s a promising trend, and hopefully it continues on through the next few years when I’ll be out in the job market, the thought of which is a bit daunting. Today was my test at SDSU for the GSP, otherwise known as the Grammar, Spelling and Punctuation test. You can only miss 20 out of 100. Last time I got 61 and this time I’m hoping to get more, the cut off is 79 and I only have one last chance to take it our i will have to change a part of my major to Media studies. Which, when you think about it, isn’t much of a bad thing but still isn’t what I signed up for in the first place.

On top of that I’m still flirting with the idea of transferring to a UC ( where I would have to major in Media Studies), but at this point I probably have a better chance of winning the lotto or something, my being on the third of the totem pole for priority and aside from my last two straight A semesters, I had a so-so freshman year and lack luster SAT scores. Maybe I’ll do it, and I probaly won’t whatever the case I’m happy to start working on classes at that actually have to do with what I want to do in life, even it’s Media Studies related.

On another note, I think this is the last blog post for the semester, though I could be wrong. At any rate I enjoyed it overall and while i probably won’t do it, I think blogging about random news stories is something I should keep doing.

Time has really flown by this semester, it feels weird that when I look back at the blog so far there isn’t that many posts and yet I feel like I’ve been doing this for a while now. I mean blogging on different topics isn’t necessarily new but doing it consistently like this has been a really interesting thing to do this semester. Anyway, I will go ahead and start this weeks blog, I’ve got an 11 page paper to finish and so I’m using this as a good break to write something I actually enjoy researching for. So without further ado…

It isn’t like I didn’t see this coming earlier in my other post,  but according to the AP the balloon boy’s parents plead guilty for their part in what the AP called a “saga” that happened last month, “Richard Heene appeared before a Larimer County District Court judge first, pleading guilty to a felony count of falsely influencing the sheriff who led the rescue effort during the 50-mile balloon chase that captivated a global television audience Oct. 15.” Now it’s just a matter of sentencing, the father, according to the article could get up to 90 days and the mother could get up to 60, and the AP says that, for the mother, this will probably be served as a work-release program or probation. The news I kept hearing this week was that the mother could have gotten herself deported because of this and in the post they say that the defense claimed the parents only said they were guilty, and agreed to the deal with lesser charges, because of this. There wasn’t any mention either if the kids would be taken away, and at this point I guess they should just keep them so the kids can see what punishment the parents were facing for their actions.

In even more interesting news, the NYT picked up on a growing trend, one that sort of hits home at SWC what with all the budget cuts. In “Two-Year Colleges, Swamped, No Longer Welcome All” by Lisa Foderaro, I learned that this clamping down at junior colleges is wide spread and worse in other places. Apparently the “all is welcome” strategy is no longer in vogue due to the sheer volume of students applying, “Enrollment has been growing steadily, but this was a tidal wave for us this fall,” said the college’s president, Gail O. Mellow, pointing out that the student body had risen by almost 50 percent in the past decade. “I’ve never seen anything like this. We used to pretty much be an open door.”

New York is a big place but not letting students into community colleges just seems like a major jump in this economy, I get that the budget cuts are really hurting but at the same time it’s like turning on the people who you are their to serve. A private university and even a state university, to me at least, don’t owe people as much as a public community college does, so to be turning away students is like turning the back on the people who allow you to be there. Yes, the same goes for a state university but even more so for a community college. Some colleges didn’t do this across the board and just stuck to limiting numbers in specific programs, which to me, makes more sense.

I’ve been out of high school for about two years now and have been trying to move myself away from it ever since. When I started working at the YMCA they had originally put me at a school that was literally next door to the high school I graduated from, needless to say I had that changed. The reason for wanting to get away from it is the normal one, at some point you have to grow up and that’s hard to do when you stick around places that represent your youth and the situations you dealt with. I don’t need to go over all of those things but it’s safe to say that all the normal high school drama was present. One thing that I can’t speak for however, or may have simply missed had it been around, was what the article “Can a Boy Wear a Skirt to School?” in the NYT by Jan Hoffman deals with. In the article the topic of boys and girls dressing outside what people accept as their gender is tackled. Issues like whether or not is is safe, or if the school has the right to make them change, are the questions.

Like I said I don’t remember having any students at my school dress in a way not conforming with what was accepted of their gender and so I found the article interesting and thought provoking. Is it wrong to have a boy wear a skirt to school? According to some points of view in the article, no, as long as it is within the safety guidelines because ,” when officials want to discipline a student whose wardrobe expresses sexual orientation or gender variance, they must consider anti-discrimination policies, mental health factors, community standards and classroom distractions.” The article had examples of females who wore tuxedos for graduation pictures and males who came to school dressed in heels, and the violence associated with it; an eighth grade boy was shot, in class no less, who dressed as a girl.

The term for this type of dressing out of gender is usually drag, and yet I read once that essentially we all dress in drag. There isn’t anything biologically tied to men wearing pants and women wearing dresses, rather it is that we characterize the genders by making them look a certain way.  So my opinion on the issue is all over the place.

I support the right for anybody to express themselves whatever way they choose, as long as it’s legal and safe. At the same time I know too well that  high school is a place of never ending problems and dressing out of gender accepted roles is really a lighting rod for safety issues. I agree with the point made in the article that, ” All this is too much for some educators, who say high school should not be a public stage to work out private identity issues. School, they say, is a rigorous academic and social training ground for the world of adults and employment.”  I think the bigger thing to tackle is the abuse that the students face, and trying to break down why people have a problem with it and how that can be solved.

I pointed out earlier on one of my tests that I don’t like Fox News. Not simply because their point of view differs from my own, but for the fact that they twist news in an effort to appeal to people. In other words, for me, they lack creditability as a news organization.I’m not sure how I’ve missed this but apparently the White House, and the president himself, has the same point of view.

In the posting “The Battle Between Fox News and the White House Rages” by Adam K. Raymond for Nymag.com, there’s news that while at one point the relationship between the WH and Fox was getting better, things now might not be so good. The post points out that moves like “hammering the administration” about the pasts of its officials or playing up what some see as non issue events like the one where children at a private school sang about the president, are the cause for the rift between the two. The rift has been public, in the post Raymond points out that the WH decided to try the “not a news network”. The president himself said, “If media is operating, basically, as a talk radio format, then that’s one thing. And if it’s operating as a news outlet, then that’s another.” What I found interesting is that the WH would even make public, in any form, a disliking of a major organization. I was under the impression that the goal was to try and stay neutral as possible even when faced with such a biased organization like Fox. On the other hand though I guess it necessary that at some point after all that has been said the WH needed to fight back against a network that seems hell-bent on making trouble for the administration.

On another note, this week I spent the most money I’ve spent in a while on computer software. I guess when it comes to spending money the majority of what I buy is made up of things to read and technology (like computers and software) to use. My dilemma though was related to choosing between getting a Mac or sticking with a PC. An interesting topic to write about for The Sun would be the never-ending saga that is Mac versus PC and then Mac’s iPhone versus every other phone. In this economy, if you are on the fence about choosing between Mac’s and the other, is buying a new Mac desktop or lab top at $2000 worth it?

I’m familiar with both operating systems. I have an old PC lab top and desktop, the desktop recently crashed due to a virus (something Macs are not know for) and it cost me $150 to get fixed. I’ve been getting used to Macs this semesters after using it during school. I’ve also had the chance to see how well Apple’s other products like the iPhone shape up against others. I got an iPod for my birthday last November and all that did was tempt me to get an iPhone. Saturday I was listening to 640 KFI from Los Angeles and during The Tech Guy Show, with host Leo Laporte and he and a caller were going over the pros of the iPhone and how customers from all over, specifically Version, were running to AT&T who currently is the only iPhone provider.

Apparently, Version actually had the chance at the iPhone way before AT&T ever got it but said no to Apple, a decision their surely regretting now that their profits are shrinking.

When it comes to phones would the average college student still jump at the chance to own an iPhone, what with all those discounts and new features? Then there’s the question of what’s the job industry standard, I’ve seen job postings for web related jobs in publishing that require knowledge of Macintosh. Finally does buying any of its competitors, like Verizon’s Google/Linux counterpart, feel like buying a clone or cheap version? Of course this question is really only for those, like myself, who are on the fence about it (weighing cost versus usability or other factors), there are people who are adamant about not liking Mac/Apple anything for whatever reason. While they maybe good about pointing out its flaws, it maybe too that none of the benefits would win them over.

There were plenty of benefits that I saw just in the last two months when it comes to buying a Mac. Apple recently had an event showing their new products and after reading the post “10 Things You Need to Know About Apple’s New Stuff” on Gizmodo.com, I read about the new iMac’s priced at $2000 to $1700 (and the fact that $1700 seemed like a bargain says something about how much I wanted one, I guess). Using programs like those included in Adobe’s Design Premium is a breeze on a Mac, while the experience on a PC is a bit lackluster, in my own opinion. In my Art 192 class we use Mac’s and during the Edtec 541 class I take at state it’s the department standard, so the choice outside of my home has already been made for me.

The issues surrounding whether buying a Mac, though it may not make financial sense with my lack of hours at work, came to a head earlier this week when I had to buy Adobe’s Design Premium for my home computer. I had to choose between either buying it for the PC, with its lackluster experience and chances at failing on me again or buying it for a Mac, which would I have to go buy. In the end I bought it for my PC, while I knew I wasn’t going to be happy with it for long the benefits to the Mac weren’t enough to persuade me spend that much. My choice bucked the trend though, because according to recent profit data Apple is doing very well, and I guess once things start picking up I’ll buy one. If the types of computers I’ve been using at school are any indication of the industry standard (which I know they are) then I’ll need to know it like the back of my hand to get jobs down the road. Besides that, Macs have that luxury factor and since I don’t spend much on anything else I guess I should get what I know works and looks good versus sticking with the old when I don’t have to.

In the post “Conde Nast Launches IPhone Platform With GQ App”, written by Nat Ives  for Adage.com, I read about Conde Nast’s plans on putting their men’s style bible GQ in the iPhone app library. Starting with their December issue, iPod and iPhone users will be able to purchase a version of the magazine for 2.99 for their device, it will come in a format to fit the smaller screens. This doesn’t mean that the magazine will loose any pages however, the app’s buyers will be able to view every page of content that is in the original print magazine. What’s more, there will be features that take the readers beyond anything the print version could offer, including video and audio.

The article points out that this transition opens up the door for using the feature on portable e-readers like Kindle as well at some point, the President-CEO of Conde Nast Charles H. Townsend was quoted saying “If you can get here, you’re ready to go there…that’s what this is about” in the article. For Conde Nast Digital, the online force within the publishing company, this is seen as another place for them to reach out to the customer. In the article Sarah Chubb, president of Conde Nast Digital mentions the overall goal, “We plan to be, and generally try to be, anywhere our consumers are.”

The question is whether or not this will work. As usual, a good read on ideas given in Adage posts come from the commenters, one noted that this move was “doomed” and that “This is another lazy attempt by a media manufacture to take the same old, tired approach to new media”, referring to the idea that, aside from the videos and audio, there isn’t much innovation here. Another view point is that with 85,000 apps in the iTunes library many offer word related content, but there isn’t anything for buyers who want more than simplified content, “I’ve turned to McSweeney’s, because there’s more words. I’m bored with the rest, they’re all so abbreviated. Hopefully the info can truly be read offline, only then will the app ‘be where the customers are”.

Therein lies the key to it’s success in my opinion. I wouldn’t necessarily buy GQ, I prefer Details really, but I would get the app based on a few things.  First of all, how long will the app take to download, if that is the format by which you would get it  and will I be able to read it offline? It’s a smart move on Conde Nast’s part to charge so much for the app, as the article pointed out they want to command the same prices as the print version. This makes sense due to the fact that this is the same as the print version, with more features and availability directly to you in seconds from anywhere ( with Internet I guess). The on demand factor is a strong selling point I think, as is having all the content right there at your tip of your index figure on the device.

Just yesterday I added the November issue of Teen Vogue to my list of things to get this  month, on the cover are two of the most popular black models of the moment Jourdan Dunn and Chanel Iman, Dunn recently shocked the fashion world by admitting she was pregnant at the age of 19 by her boyfriend just as her career as a model was heating up, but that story is a completely different post in and of itself. Anyway had there been an app for the newest issue, in it’s entirety, on iTunes that I could buy right there on my couch I would have done so. Honestly, the only thing keeping me from buying magazines each month, behind a general lack of money, is that I get too busy to make the trip to go get it or simply forget to go. On the other hand, I have my iPod with me daily and with wifi all over the place and an account connected to iTunes I could have the issue without any extra effort. So overall I think it’s a good idea, for those who like magazines and for those who want it on demand in a more portable format than on a pc, the app is a happy median.

One thing to mention though is I don’t think this could or should be any kind of replacement for the print editions down the road, at least in the coming years. I mean, some in publishing are already looking at how cost effective online only is and think it would be more economical, and in a recession climate where the media is hurting for case going ( or being forced) online saves money, e.g. Vibe. I like the feel of magazines and the idea of having the gigantic pages, like ones you would find in W or V magazine. Just like the people I hear on NPR saying about the e-readers and how they should not replace books, technology like this is much more of a supplement, get it now, format and along the line you loose a good amount of what makes reading books and magazines an enjoyable experience. I can’t look a stack of back issues I’ve collected over the years with this kind of technology in the same way I do the stacks under my bed, there’s a sort of affection involved. Though content is the main draw, its not the only thing I like about magazines and newspapers in print form.

On another note:
I should have stayed after class to talk, and I planned on doing so on Monday if needed, but I wanted to apologize if I was part of the group who didn’t bring their A game on Monday. The days leading up to it were not the best, both of my  grandparents were sick over the weekend and at their age it is something that really stresses my family out. The paramedics came to check my grandmother after her blood sugar fell to 36 Thursday night and over the weekend my grandfather drove himself to the emergency room due to another without my family knowing until he was there. When it comes to the +60 news quiz, with everything that was going on, I ended up neglecting the usual news researching I do for things I may have missed throughout the week.

Another thing I guess I should work on is my presence in class, I’m not entirely sure if my facial expressions read opposite but I am listening to what is going on and I’m interested in what everybody has to say.   But I wanted to throw that out there in case the issue was about me among the other students Monday. I know there’s no excuse, being a college junior at this point, but I figured since this is a blog where I’m suppose to post about what’s going on, I thought I’d explain a few things in an effort to clear things up.

Correction: I didn’t look at the November issue of GQ before typing this all out. The cover story this month is January Jones of Mad Men, the show I’m watching for the TV reviews and easily my favorite show in the past two years. So depending on who they land for December I might buy this and write one of the final blog posts about how it works after since it will be up around Nov 18th.

This week I wanted to cover a two different stories I’ve read over the past week. The first having to do with this whole “Balloon Boy” fiasco. The post “Sheriff: Charges will be filed in balloon saga” by Dan Elliot of the Associated Press, on Signonsandiego.com, talks about how there will be charges filed in the case.”We were looking at Class 3 misdemeanor, which hardly seems serious enough given the circumstances…We are talking to the district attorney, federal officials to see if perhaps there aren’t additional federal charges that are appropriate in this circumstance”, said Sheriff Jim Alderden in the article.

To me this was obviously a hoax, I mean the family filmed the whole thing go down. Who does that? Better yet who wouldn’t film it if they were looking for publicity? I was not really paying attention to the story at first but now every new detail just makes the family seem worse. The fact that they’ve been on reality shows and that that was only earlier this year made me think it had to be fake. It serves the parents right that charges will be filed, there’s got to be some sort of barrier holding back people like this from using their kids to gain media attention, on every nearly every news network no less. Then there’s the kid himself, what with the vomiting on television, his unintentional admission that it was a stunt on Larry King and the curse words he used during the family stint on Wife Swap. The whole story just rubs me the wrong way I really can’t wait until it goes away. Hopefully the family gets help though, because obviously somebody needs to step in.

Another story I came by this week had to do with a different controversy, one involving race. As I pointed out earlier I have not had the chance to renew the majority of my magazine subscriptions and in an effort to avoid the urge to spend money I don’t have I don’t keep up with what’s going on with magazines. One thing I missed was the controversy brewing over at a magazine I like, solely for the pictures of course, French Vogue and the problem some are having with what they see as a model in blackface. In the post “Oh No They Didn’t: French Vogue Does Blackface”, by Jenna on Jezebel.com, there are pictures of a model I usually find interesting, Lara Stone, in an editorial by Steven Klein. French Vogue is definitely much more of a free minded publication than it’s American counterpart. Run by editor in chief Carine Roitfled, who also styled the fashion spread in question, the magazine has a relatively small circulation but is very influential just behind the Italian version of Vogue.

The shoot has been panned all over  by many who feel that it is racist and I’m not sure how I feel about it exactly. To be honest had the whole blackface argument not come up I don’t think it would have come to my mind so quickly. Rather, I probably would have tried to figure out what the point was, was it commentary on race due to the fact that towards the end of the shoot there is also white painted skin in which the paint starts to cake? Was it something about how versatile Lara stone is as a model? Or was it simply just some extra addition to the shoot for aesthetics? Overall, I found the editorial really lackluster, and besides that French Vogue has featured more visually surprising fashion spreads in the past that had topics like the anti-fur movement at fashion shows and cannibalism mixed in with thousand dollar clothing.

At the same time though you have to question what Klein was thinking, after all he is American and this type of styling would never end up in US Vogue. Not like he has not done it before, Jezebel.com as pointed out the same technique was used for Italian Vogue in 2006. Did he and Roitfeld just not think about it as being racist or as a move that would offend anyone? The commenters on the story brought up, and I thought as well, the fact that the whole controversy strikes a similar cord to a recent blackface incident in Australia on a television show. The post “Harry Connick Jr weirdly unimpressed by Australia’s black face Jackson 5” on Guardian.co.uk talks about how Connick was offended by a performance a musical comedy troupe on the show Hey Hey It’s Saturday, he gave the performance a zero after cutting them off. Connick ended the show by explaining that people in the US still find the blackface offensive and that he would not have done the show had he known the act was going to happen.

I gathered from the discussions I heard about that event the notion that the blackface is not as offensive in other parts of the world and that Americans are the ones who have the biggest problem with it. I’m assuming this might have played a role in a version of it being featured on the pages of French Vogue. I think what Roitfeld and Klein should take from this, if anything, is to at least pose the question “will anybody find this offensive”. While some things may work in France ( blackface is probably not one of those things), or within her modest circulation, she should remember the Internet has a good way of getting information out to every corner of the world.

Link: http://jezebel.com/5379708/gallery/gallery/2

Another week gone by and more news that things are not going so well for some in publishing. After McKinsey & Company had finished their inquiry into Conde Nast and it’s finances, Conde Nast closed some titles and proceeded to layoff others from magazines that will stick around, for the time being. In the post “Condé Nast to Close Gourmet, Cookie and Modern Bride” by Stefanie Clifford I got a conformation this was true, I initially read the information from Gawker.com but there’s always a question on whether they actually have the facts straight since some of their information comes more from tips then confirmed facts. At any rate it was sad to see, since Conde Nast was seen as this sort of giant that can’t be touched in publishing. To be honest though, with the exception of Gourmet maybe, I’m not sure how much the magazines cut will be missed, I mean there are tons of bride magazines and I never got the purpose of Cookie anyway.

The notion that Conde Nast is a untouchable giant in publishing might be true when you take into consideration the title Tatler. According to the post “300 Years of Telling Tales, Britain’s Tatler Still Thrives” by Eric Pfanner, the magazine has been able to withstand the downturn. Although the article sort of leans in the direction that this should be surprising, it includes very solid facts as to why this is true. First it’s   a magazine for the wealthy in London so even though they may have lost some of their wealth I don’t think canceling their subscription would be the first of the cuts to their personal budgets. Second the magazine points out that advertisers love the magazine because it’s a niche market, this is obvious and what every magazine that wants to survive the downturn should be doing. Finally the article points out that the magazine never had a large distribution. So it’s more or less stayed the same distribution wise , when you consider natural growth rates in population. I started to read the article thinking it was good news but found that Tatler has only stayed on top by finding their niche early and was lucky enough to cater to a niche that could afford o buy their magazine for years to come in a downturn or not.

Another big news story this week was Obama winning the Noble Peace Prize, in “GOP mocks Obama’s peace prize, Russians praise it” from the AP, I got a good summary of how some people looked at it. To be honest I was a bit surprised when I read it. It’s an odd feeling because it’s not like he hasn’t earned it, he’s been built up into the perfect figure to win. At the same time all that’s been going on in the last few months seemed to create confusion over his being awarded the prize. It’s like everyone forgot about how big of a deal he was last year and now in the middle of the war and the health care fiasco some think he shouldn’t have earned it, well Russia does, “I hope this decision would serve as an additional incentive for our common work to form a new climate in world politics and promote initiatives which are fundamentally important for global security,”  is what the Russian President Dmitry Medvedev said in a letter to Obama.

In my opinion it’s given the GOP a new low to sink to when it comes to opposing anything Obama related. They oppose the award even after it’s been publicized as not only an award for him but for the new America he promised and a call to action. Their need to make sure he comes out looking bad after his first, and potentially last, four years are done is becoming ridiculous at this point.