More like learn to stink

Thank God that I was able to learn how to write, because one thing my broadcast journalism class has taught me is that I do not have a voice for radio. My ears have apparently altered my voice so that when I heard a recording of myself, I couldn't... I still don't believe that it was me. The voice I heard was a mousy redneck. Now that I have that knowledge of myself, I have gone into a deep depression. I wish this University would stop telling me that I certain things I want to do, well, I can't do them. It's not inspiring. I'm learning to think that I suck.

House of Torment. and horror and terror and on and on

The premier scream, a shocking shriek. And from that moment, terror lurks. That banshee's bawl that brought them out. All will be hell now. The senses wail. Vision fails. And all that's heard is that beating heart. They're there. And there. They're up and down. They're in front of you. They're everywhere! And you never saw them once. Until it was too late. There's three now. There. And a corner behind. Your legs melt. Your thoughts are raped. And feeling falls away. Your mind is haunted now. Three become more. Comfort drifts. Too fantastical to grasp. The whispers, the screams, the beating heart rain over you. Your sanity floods with fear. Breath is heavy. Peace is breaking. Palms are sweating. I can't take it. I can't. I can't take it. Get away from me! And you run.

Two ideas for House of Torment

My ticket was in my pocket waiting patiently to be released. My conscience wasn't so lucky. It twitched in curiosity and fear. My shaking hands gave the ticket to the gentleman at the entrance. He ripped it in half. My ticket, my security blanket, was broken. There was no going back. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fake. The door lurked toward me like an omen. I wasn't ready for this.
"No Touching"
"If you need to leave, let one of the monsters know"
I approached the door. Oh my god. My heart was racing. They swung open.

My stroll with Clown man.

I thought the actors were supposed to be designated to certain rooms, but for the last mile and a half (or so it seemed) through the House of Torment, Clown Man was right there with me. You would think that his stalking would bring more fear out of me, but IT was more of a backup, a security blanket. A homeboy, if you will. That clown had my back. Once he was there, warding off zombie children with his toothy, never ending smile, and that small-country sized carnival hammer that he occasionally swung towards my face, I felt safe. His soft, breathy "oobie doobie"s that fluttered into my ear were like a gentle whisper. In half-dead clown language he was saying "everything's gonna be alright". He even escorted me to the end. I should have given him my number. We could have had something there.

This Texas blood isn't meant to be frozen

Write right now. Right write now. I can't write right write now. I can't write right now, right? Right, I can't write. Write? no... right. My jumbled mind is dancing. I blame it on air conditioning. Sixty degrees inside flushes my face, transforms my nose to a cherry red, hunches my shoulders, changes the skin on my arm to the chicken variety, and I shake uncontrollably. It makes my mind wander but not in the typical elegant way, where words come easily to express the flow of thoughts... instead I ramble and shiver. Is it necessary to have the temperature this low. Am I write? Right. My god.

It's all about Cuba

Perhaps the worst decision I've made this year is choosing to take a class surrounding the relation of Globalization and Global Warming. The name should be changed. "We're all gonna die" is better. Obviously, the class is filled with discussions of less food and water, massive warfare and bloodshed, environmental destruction, etc. This week we specifically talked about the option of localized economy once the world inevitably comes to an end. The poster child for local economy: Cuba. That's right, the country with citizens raring to swim across an ocean to join retirees in Miami, is the most likely candidate to survive the impacts of global warming. After Russia, their only trade partner, endured a catastrophic economic breakdown in the eighties, Cuba decided they had enough with trade altogether. From then on, the country relies on their own towns to produce food and not other countries. The island is over 80% independent. And nutritionists love it! Protein from fish and chickens instead of cattle. Vegetables. Fruits. So not only are Cubans going to survive a potential Apocalypse but they'll do it in great shape. I envy that idea. I can only imagine what America would be like if we relied on only ourselves. Who am I kidding? The grain belt can't make enough pancakes for frequenters of the IHOP.

Replacement umbrella

I got out of my 2-3:15 class today at 2:15, leaving an hour to sit around and wait for the rain to pass. Though the rain drizzled slightly when I first entered Fleck Hall, fifteen minutes later, just my luck, it had transformed into a hurricane. Amazing how that happens. As I sat surrounded by enormous windows showcasing the dreary visage of a rainy day, all I had to indulge in was the last remaining copy of the Hilltop Views. I knew I could join the rest of my peers and hold it over my head as a replacement for my forgotten umbrella but, instead, I took it in my hands and read it. Ever since the internet, the physical newspaper seemed archaic and rudimentary. I had begun to overlook the simple joys that came from the paper--what the internet fell short on. As the pages turned I inhaled the distinct smell of that thin and easily tear-able paper. A smell as if you were walking through a library: scholarly, historic, and woodsy. I noticed my fingertips had become a light gray, highlighting words and phrases that they had happen to be placed upon. The internet, I thought, took those things away from me. The minds of journalists are less tangible. The blaring screen cannot not leave their words on my fingertips to be remembered. The rain ceased and the sullen cloud let a little sun peek through. I stood with my newspaper. I placed it back on the stand. I left remembering that what had brought me joy on a rainy day was the intentional form of a replacement umbrella.

Facebook chat is the new way to argue

Arguing is only easy when it's with your mother. For your peers, arguing is a little bit trickier. Unlike your mother, your peers can decide not to like you anymore, so when it comes to a tiff, altercation, confrontation, etc. one must go about the right way of handling it: facebook chat.
Face to face discussion offer you the chance to screw up. You could make an angry expression, sigh in frustration--this opens the door to a huge argument. Facebook chat allows you to hide those expressions. What was once, "ugh, ok Carol" becomes ";) k carol". Perfect. Bad argument avoided.
In the case where you want to express your thoughts without being trampled on there's a simple solution: type faster. Facebook chat wins again.
Finally, say you want to make a point but usually your too nervous. With facebook chat, there's no one looking back at you, just their words. Sure, you may never see them again, but hey, you won!
Facebook chat is more than just a way to stalk; it's the way we communicate.

A review of sorts

It is the second largest major on the St. Edward's University campus. With four focuses: Organization, Media/PR/Advertising, Rhetorical Studies and Culture, communication majors are easy to come by. The practicality is evident. But with the university popping out Comm Majors like Orville Redenbacher, are there going to be enough jobs out there for all of them?
Communications is a versatile major that leaves endless opportunity for exploration. Speaking as a communication major at St. Edward's, I share my own advantages and disadvantages to the choice of study.
The advantage of pursuing the major, like I mentioned, is that Communication doesn't tie a student down to one particular way of thought. Unlike business or psychology or biology, etc, Communication is versatile enough to prepare you for law school or put you on the nightly news.
However, because of its versatility, the major can create confusion for those wanted to pursue it. Where do they go after college? What focus do they have? And in regard to the particular focus of Media/PR/Advertising, there is a steady decline in these areas of work. What's a student to do?
Communication prepares a student for exploration and invites intrigue, but at the same time creates an excessiveness of possibility.

The worst time of day

Eleven sixteen. 11:16. I'm hungry! I'm tired and there's nothing to do. Because, it's eleven sixteen. It's too late to sleep. It's too early to eat.
I made a wish on 11:11 that I would get out of class early. It's eleven sixteen. I'm in class. There's no hope to eleven sixteen except for it's end. The longest minute.
It won't end. Eleven sixteen!


...

Eleven seventeen. 11:17. I'm hungry! I'm tired and there's nothing to do. Because, it's eleven seventeen.

The point of ACL is...

I went in Zilker park this weekend with no apparent knowledge of the attending bands or music in general. I bought my tickets six months ago fully aware that six months later I would be walking in to Zilker park with no apparent knowledge of the attending bands or music in general. I did not prepare. I did not study. And, now, I'm in love with N.E.R.D.
You see, the point of MY ACL is that I am able to see firsthand what people have fallen in love with days, months, years prior. I'm not stealing their bands; I'm realizing why their so loved.
And while I was dancing my heart out while Pharell sang "all the girls standing in the line for the bathroom", I said to myself "I get it".
I bought their CD and I have not taken it out of my stereo. I still uncontrollably shake my shoulders every time I hear them. And so what if I'm late; I'm not a true fan. I'm on their side now thanks to ACL.

Love story for something higher

The sky is vast. She is temperamental and ambiguous. The sky is one of my favorites because, like people, she is constantly changing. In the morning she is clear as if it is open to starting over again: she welcomes the world with another chance for a good day. The blue hue makes the world calm. She is relaxed. But at any given moment her mood can shift releasing a dark, tumultuous cry. Why does she cry, I wonder? Is it that she cannot be seen by the bright lights created by those whom she towers over? Is she sad? Or is she just a sky. Imagination, perhaps, makes "she" from "it". Whatever. Whoever. Today, there is beauty above.