Beauty in Aging

There is a commercial on TV that I frequently see these days that disturbs me. It is an ad for product that removes "fine lines and tiny wrinkles" to make you look years younger, at least according to the word of the beautiful actors on the screen. It is similar to Botox and must be administered by a medical professional. It isn't the product that disturbs me as much as the ad itself, particularly the line one woman delivers. Different people say "I use it because..." giving their personal reason. One very attractive woman who is being embraced by an equally attractive man says, "I use it because he thinks I am younger than I am." This five second blurb pricks at my sensibility and aggravates my normally easy going acceptance of all things commerical. Why? Because it illustrates all too clearly the fact that our society no longer sees any value or beauty in the inevitable process of aging.

In less than two weeks I will celebrate my 46th birthday. And I do mean celebrate because every birthday signifies another year I have been able to live on this planet, sharing the joys and sorrows known as life. If I am lucky enough to live into my 90's, I am truly middle-aged and I am comfortable with that and all that accompanies it -- including the idea of looking my age. But that feeling, according to the standards now being set by our society, is no longer acceptable. Thanks in part to celebrities like Elizabeth Taylor, Cher, Priscilla Presley and Joan Rivers, it is no longer considered acceptable to grow old gracefully.

The idea of being beautiful in your 50s and 60s now seems to include lips puffed to bee-stung proportions, eyes so tightly stretched that many might assume there is Asian ethnicity in the genes, and cheekbones honed to a razor sharpness. Of course, anything over a size six in the wardrobe department is also considered nearly obese, with exception of the chest area which should firmly ride high over the unnaturally perky 36D cups. Women of any age now should now look as close to twenty-five as possible, even if it requires removing any part of the body or face that actually makes you your age.

I remember seeing an interview with an aging Audrey Hepburn a while back. I was struck by the thought of a what a beautiful woman she was. Not a beautiful older woman, or the beautiful woman she had been in her youth, but a beautiful woman altogether. Age had softened her, created a looked that exuded class, warmth and wisdom. I wasn't distracted by eyebrows pinched into her hairline and dyed coal black hair coyly draped over a misshapen cheek. Hers was a simple beauty of a woman aged into her sixties, seasoned by life.

When I look into my senior years, I can't help but think of my grandmother, a little old lady that looked remarkably like Granny in the Tweety and Sylvester cartoons. She was a tiny thing, with powder white hair and a soft peach complextion that surrounded her lively blue eyes. I can remember telling her that I loved how soft she felt because it made her better to hug. She was beautiful to me, to my cousins and to her own children, and she looked nothing like the senior starlets portrayed in the media today. She gave me the understanding of growing old gracefully.

While I may miss some of my looks from my twenties, especially the flat stomach and firmly set chin, I am much happier with who I am today. With every year that passes, I gain new wisdom and confidence. I no longer concern myself simple with how a pair of jeans fit or if I can turn someone's head. I just want to be that person my grandmother was to me, someone who my children and grandchildren look up to and value. For that is the true beauty in growing old; I honestly don't want someone to think "I am younger than I am."

My Purple Car

My pocket vibrated as my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I said. “Hey Chris,” my dad replied, “I, uh, didn’t want to ruin your weekend, but your car has been vandalized.” “Dad, what did you do to my car?” I said jokingly. I thought he was playing a prank on me and had placed Buffalo Bill stickers on my car or something. He replied, “Chris, I’m not kidding. I didn’t do anything to your car.” “What?!!” I screeched. He spoke quickly, “Honey, don’t worry about it. We will get it fixed. You just enjoy your weekend.” It was too late though. Tears shot up and threatened to spill over onto my cheeks. It had been such a great day too and now it was ruined.

Thursday afternoon, I drove to the Trask parking lot with my adidas bags packed full with my running shoes, uniform, and extra clothes for the weekend. The top eight lady cross-country runners were going to Louisville, Kentucky to race at Regionals. I was so excited to go. I pulled up to the building and ran inside to grab a parking pass from my Coach. I jogged back to my car and hurried to park at the UNCW track so we could get on the van and start our ten hour trip to KY. I jumped into the backseat of the van and we were on our way. We arrived in Louisville on Friday and started preparing for our race on Saturday morning. I was pumped and ready for the race.

Saturday morning finally came around after a restless night of sleep. We drove to the park where the race was and my family was waiting there for me. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was in the 50’s. It was the perfect set up for a great race. After one last shout, “Go Seahawks!” the girls lined up at the start. The gun went off and the pain began. A grueling 23 minutes later, I finished the race with my personal record for the season. I could not stop smiling as we packed up our bags so we could go explore downtown Louisville and eat some delicious food.

We stopped at Joe’s Crab Shack to eat lunch. We all sat down and excitedly discussed our race. What an awesome day. I thought. I got to see my mom and all my siblings. I set a personal record in the 6k which ended our season on a great note. And we were going to get to downtown Louisville. Nothing could have ruined my joyous mood and then…I felt my pocket vibrate. I glanced at my phone. Oh, it’s my dad. After the conversation with my dad, I found it hard to go back to celebrating. The thrill of the end of the season and the last race had vanished.

The next day we started our trip back to Wilmington. Knots tightened in my stomach as I impatiently waited to get to campus so I could look at my car. We pulled in the track parking lot and I held my breath as we inched closer and closer to my car. Then, I let out a startled shriek. My usually glimmering dark purple Dodge Stratus was covered with dirt and mud. Both my side mirrors had been knocked off. One was missing while the other dangled pitifully from the blue and red wires out of the car. My passenger back door had a dent the size of basketball in it. Rage rose through my entire body as I observed the damages. Those stupid jerks!!

I drove my beat-up car home and depressingly went to call my insurance. They informed that since I had liability only they would not be able to help me pay for the damages. I held back a frustrated scream that was making its way up my throat. I went back outside to observe my car one more time. As I stood there contemplating why it had to be my car, I started to laugh. Of course it would be my car. Why wouldn’t it be? I called my mom so she could humor me with some sympathy. I thought I had to salvage what was left of my Sunday. I told her what happened and then was silent, waiting for her to feel sorry for me. And this is what she said, “Well, next time don’t buy a purple car.”

Welcome to the “Real World”

My eyes keep glancing at the clock on my car radio—1:45. I have fifteen minutes to get there. As I frantically try to smooth out any wrinkles left in my skirt, the traffic begins to back up like a hair clog in a drain. As soon as I merge onto 440 cars come to a complete stop, as if anything else can go wrong. I don’t even live back home in Raleigh again and already I am starting to hate it.

“Hi Garrett, this is Amanda Adams. I have an interview scheduled for 2:00. Yes, I am going to be a little late, I am stuck in traffic and just wanted to let you all know, but I will get there as soon as possible. Okay thank you so much, Goodbye.”

This is wonderful. My very first job interview and I am going to be late. This isn’t like me; I am usually early for everything. I scramble to make sure my resume looks presentable while at a standstill, and realize the printer was evidently running out of ink. The first half of the print is black, and then fades into a light gray. That looks professional.

As I finally merge onto my exit, I continue to follow the reliable Map Quest directions. I have lived near Raleigh all my life, but I never had to drive around much, so it was all new to me. After traveling ten minutes and not seeing the next road, I panicked. I called my boyfriend in desperation of where to go as tears streamed down my face. Nothing looked familiar and I couldn’t stop anywhere. He calmly told me which turns to make and I was back on track. It is now 2:05. He informs me I still have ten minutes to go before I would arrive at my interview, and I immediately contemplated turning around and going home. This is not the stress I wanted to endure over Thanksgiving break. However, I remembered how fortunate I was to receive a call back from this company—it was a possible job.

I speed walk into the tall, glass building with all the confidence I could dig back up. While riding the elevator I whipped the tears from my eyes and gave myself a pep talk. “You can do this. They want you. Just be yourself.”

My legs began to shake as I approached the door labeled “JRW Marketing Group.” Just then a million questions rushed through my head. What if they don’t like me? What if I am not qualified? What if I freeze when answering a question? What if I throw up in the office? I felt like I was in a dream, wondering aimlessly around the “real world” life.

I quietly walked in and was greeted by a friendly receptionist. Two seconds after I sat down, another guy who looked to be my age came in the door and sat next to me. My stomach dropped. I bet this guy knows what he is doing. I bet his resume is all the same color. Well, at least he was late too.

After anxiously waiting only a few minutes, a man named Mitch introduced himself to us and took me back into his office. I took a deep breath and sat down. He joked with me about how bad traffic is in that part of Raleigh, which relieved some of my guilt for being late. I explained to him how I’ve lived in Wilmington the last four years, and we quickly engaged in a conversation about UNCW and life at the beach. I forgot I was even being interviewed, and my legs stopped shaking. He was down to earth and nice. I realized I wasn’t being judged; Mitch simply wanted to get to know me.

It was business talk from there on, with discussions about what the company is about and what my job would entail. He explained that since it is an entry level job, it involves a three-step interview process, where I would job shadow to learn and observe. The fear of being thrown into a position unaware of my responsibilities frightened me like being trapped in a cage of hungry lions. Mitch explained a few more details concerning the job environment, and it was over. We shook hands and I was still alive. I made it through my first “real world” job interview, and I felt satisfied.

When just finishing school and entering the work force, everything is new. In my case, I assumed I should already know how things work and be able to handle all the pressure. But the interview taught me it doesn’t work that way—it is a continuous learning process. I am thankful I had a positive experience with my first interview, because there will be many more. For the others I will refill the ink cartridge, allow plenty of time for traffic, and most importantly, focus on proving who I am and why I am valuable.

Going Home

I love going home to the comfort of my bed, the familiarity of my kitchen, and the love of my dog. There are a million memories and a million laughs that have been shared in that home. My hometown is where I met my friends and where we had all of our childish fights. My home holds my past and I know that I can always go back and enjoy the things I have left behind, but there is a problem-I go home a different person. The place I remember, the place I love, has not changed but I am so different. How can you go back home, if you see the world in a completely different way?

I go home around every other weekend and almost every time I go home he tells me that I have become too liberal. My family is strictly conservative and I used to be as well. Like most young people, I thought the sun rose and set in my parents’ opinions. Now that I have been in college and away from home for over three years, I see things and examine my own beliefs before I think “What would my parents do?” They are happy that I challenge them and have my own beliefs, but I am a great debater and my Dad and I get a little competitive with the heated conversations. I know that everyone grows up and their opinions and beliefs change, but I never noticed how rigid my parents’ beliefs were until mine had changed.

At graduation everyone says that we are going to be the friends that stay close forever and that we will be the exception to the rule that says everyone drifts apart after high school. We were wrong. I haven’t seen my best friend form high school in two years. He was just like me and knew how to make me laugh when I needed to the most. He went to North Carolina State and I went the UNCW. We talked for the first few weeks we were away, but by the end of the first semester we were barely talking. Looking back on the things that made us friends, the things that we had in common all of those things have changed. In my hometown, we were the two smartest people in our school. We worked together and we had every class together. We were friends because we had so much in common we had to be. Now everything that made us friends is gone and I cannot imagine us being friends now.

Every time I go home for a high school football game or go shopping in our local Wal-Mart, I am afraid that I will see a former close friend. That awkward “how are you” conversation is something that I avoid, because I cannot tell them how I am—I am stronger, more independent, and the childish things that made me think you were going to be a great and successful person are gone.

I can go home anytime I want, it’s only an hour away, but I am not the person who left. Nothing has changed there, but everything has changed in me.

Home Is...

When I was in high school, my older three sisters and my brother all moved out at some point to go on to some new life of their own. Some of them ended up coming back home for a while, some never did. I was always close to them, and looked forward to them coming home to visit. It was a huge family affair, with tons of food, drinking, and catching up on all that was new in their lives. I looked forward to the time when I would come home to the same. I never did in quite the same way.

Since I am the youngest of five kids, my leaving home was much different. My parents traveled the country to visit my sister at boot camp and when she arrived home from deployment; they traveled six hours to take another sister to college and help her settle in. My leaving was much different. My mom didn't cry; in fact, I think she was as anxious for me to leave as I was. I didn't realize this at the time, but it was an adventure for her as well. For the first time in her life, she was not wrapped up in her children's lives and was free to do as she pleased.

The weekend I was suppose to leave there was a hurricane and my parents debated with me whether they wanted to take me before or after it was supposed to hit. My Dad simply ended up driving me to Wilmington, helping me drag my few possessions up to my dorm room and left. And since then I've learned to make my own home.

I've been home since, but not in the way that I imagined. No, it is not the same. My room was emptied of my things and taken over for new uses. And for holidays I'd rather travel the country to visit my siblings, or have them come see me, then return home. We've parted ways so much, I doubt there's going to be a holiday with all of us, my parents and sisters and brother, cooking and drinking and talking again.

We've all had to adjust. I had to learn how to make my own home, and it is truly mine now. I am free to live the way I want; if that means having a party or not getting home till four in the morning that's my choice and I could never give up my freedom for anything. My parents have had to adjust by realizing that I am an adult now and the need for them to be parents setting out rules or telling me what to do is nonexistent. And my siblings no longer know that I am safely at home and waiting for them to come visit me.

We'll always be close, but home is not my parents' house. It is my house, my possessions, my friends. At some point in the past, my parents made the same change.

Where Do Our Priorities Lie?

Healthcare. Education. The War on Terror. The War on Drugs. The Iraq War. Homeland Security. Buzzwords on an all-too-familiar view of CNN or Fox News, depending on the day you catch it. Pundits vehemently argue politics and policy while videos of burning humvees pop up on the screen and the tape rolling beneath it reads, “15 more US soldiers die by IEDs in Anbar province and across Iraq.” The clip doesn’t even solicit a response from the spitfire of the pundits; meanwhile, a professor joining the discussion by satellite from an Ivy League university begins to argue something profound:

“Can’t the money pumped into the War in Iraq be better spent on education and healthcare?”

Silence. Doubt creeps onto the pundits’ faces. The professor is winning his argument already. The cost of the War in Iraq alone is skyrocketing, and there is no sign in sight of the funding decreasing. Government corruption in the US and Iraq is rampant, with high-ranking US officials having corporate ties to the civilian contractors who are protecting our men and women in uniform. An evolving, ancient sectarian fight between Sunni and Shi’ite Muslims is constantly threatening the rebuilding of infrastructure in the country. More security and more troops and more funding are required to battle the insurgents.

MORE is always the focus, but the play on words is more profound when it focuses on funding and battle. Already the Iraq War is costing taxpayers $471,783,400,000, and it is increasing daily.1

What does all that money translate to? The gas stations across the country are no indicator, with gas topping $3.00 in most places, so cheaper oil is out of the question. But isn’t that why the Commander-in-Chief is sending our sons and daughters into harms way for – cheaper oil?

Maintaining stability might be a rational argument if the United States government did not undermine the most stable thing Iraq had going for it – Saddam Hussein. The lesser of two evils is displayed with Saddam versus disruption spreading from Iraq to surrounding nations. In the 1980s, Saddam’s regime was responsible for the extermination of 180,000 Kurds.2 Now, compare that to the number of Iraqi deaths since the US-led occupation - 1.2 million.3 American deaths since the beginning of the war – 3,905.4 While the number of American deaths may seem small compared to the Iraqi deaths, that’s roughly one entire Brigade Combat Team now resting in Arlington National Cemetery. With each soldier, marine, sailor, or airman outfitted war, the cost becomes even higher.

Here is a safer alternative. America becomes less of the world police and becomes the beacon of education, technological and scientific innovation, and human rights. Breaking the billions of dollars down, more young (those on their way to graduation and possibly college) and middle-aged adults can see a pure display of their tax dollars benefiting them directly.


Many children in the United States have no health insurance. The money spent on the Iraq War translates to $1607/child for one year; the total number of children that money could insure is 282,505,000.5

$20,627/student for 4 years at a public university (in-state tuition) in scholarships given to 22,871,100 students across the country.5 American middle and lower classes no longer has to take out credit cards and tremendous amounts of student loan, further incurring heavy debt. The more cash Americans have, the more likely they are to reinvest in the economy. Black Friday (the biggest shopping day of the year), following Thanksgiving, is a prime example of how much Americans can spend.

8,176,075 teachers with an average salary of $57,700 for one year could be employed in schools across the country with what is being spent on the Iraq War.5 Smaller classes, engaging students in a constructive manner, internships and job placement during and after school, all of these are just some things that a larger workforce of teachers could provide. The National Institute for Literacy published a recent report, “The State of Literacy in America.” The report states that out of 191 million adults in the US, as many as 44 million cannot read a newspaper or fill out a job application. Another 50 million more cannot read or comprehend above and 8th grade level. A more educated population translates to adults becoming more involved with one another, fostering new ideas and becoming active participants in society and its operations. A well-informed and educated society is better poised to influence the policies that guide it, both domestically and overseas.

Education and ideologies are the most paramount weapons in the Iraq War and ultimately the War on Terror. Terrorists are breeding their doctrine of hate and revolution against the United States and the West through education and a fundamentalist ideology. All of this is done in some sort of learning environment. The American response should be to look at the past, garner a better understanding of an evolving culture [Islam], and seek to collaborate rather than engage that culture.

Money spent on the Iraq War is better spent on Americans through education and healthcare than procuring defense contracts, future oil assets, and the disruption of entire cultures and religions. Develop assets at home instead of abroad and reinvest in a new American Dream – give Americans the tools to raise the lowest denominator and build a shining beacon of learning, peace, and prosperity.




1 Congressional Budget Office. 2007.

2 http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/paperchase/2007/10/iraqi-prosecutor-defends-death-sentence.php. Oct. 27. 2007.

3 alternet.org/story/62728/

4 www.globalsecurity.org

5 www.nationalpriorities.org

President Arthur Branch

Fred Thompson was recently asked, "What job do you think is harder, playing the President on TV or in real life?" Thompson responded, "I don't think either is very hard."

The actor and Republican presidential candidate, best known for his role as District Attorney Arthur Branch on the television show Law & Order, is hot on the campaign trail selling Americans just want they want...a lethal dose of delusion. Americans would much rather bury their heads in the proverbial sand than hear the truth at this point. The truth is far too painful, the solution far too drastic. Thompson gives one hope in the "TV Dad." He's out to prove that all is right in the world, that America is still the greatest nation on the planet. We've done nothing wrong and everything will be ok. We are not the America you see on TV.

According to Thompson, we have the strongest health care system in the world. Why is it then, Mr. Thompson, that the U.S. is the only industrialized nation on Earth lacking universal health care access? Why are we ranked 41st in lowest infant mortality rate and 45th in total life expectancy (CIA World Factbook)? The World Health Organization ranks the U.S. 37th overall behind likes of Chile, Costa Rica and Saudi Arabia. We are not the America you see on TV.

Fred Thompson is the guy America so desperately wants to trust in a time when he just might be the most dangerous man for the job. His sheer disregard for reality and unshakeable positivity coupled with that good-old-boy southern vernacular has him in the position to make his TV dreams a reality. President on TV, president of the United States of America (in the real world), it's all the same to Thompson.

Reagan has already laid the groundwork; we've seen this sort of thing before. Thompson is often compared to Reagan, the man who sold us a Hollywood version of politics almost 30 years ago. In the wake of the Vietnam War Reagan had America believing that it was as badass as ever. As dreamy and idealistic as Reagan was, he at least kept one foot in reality. Thompson, on the other hand, doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Reality, that is. The less we know of reality the better. After all, what you don’t know can't hurt you, right? We are not the America we see on TV.

Sure, art informs life to a certain extent. But have we really gotten to the point where we can't see TV from reality? Are our next four years going to play out like a made-for-TV movie? If Fred Thompson has his way, he'll write the script. Or better yet, he'll let you write you own. I'm not holding my breath for a Hollywood ending to this one.

Home Sweet...Home?

They say that once you leave home, you can never truly go back. I was blindsided with this realization the first time I made the trek from my new home in Wilmington back to good old Doylestown, Ohio; home of farms, fishing ponds, and one stoplight.

Excited to be going home to see my family and friends and take in the country air, I was surprised to find myself feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Upon my arrival, I felt a new sense of unease take over. The cornfields seemed smaller, the dirt roads had been paved, and they added a new stop sign. Even the cows looked at me differently, a slightly glazed look with no hint of recognition, their spots dark and unfamiliar.

As we pulled into the driveway, I felt my heart beat a little bit faster, unsure why. After being greeted by warm hugs and kisses and shown the latest renovations, my heart sank a little. My home, the house that I had spent the better part of my life in, wasn't the home that I remembered so fondly. My bedroom had been renovated into an art room for my mother's budding passion for painting. And after being introduced to the newest addition to the family, a 170 pound Great Dane named Elizabeth, I was told I could sleep in the family room with the cat.


After taking a day or two to get settled, the awkward feeling eased up a bit, yet I still felt more like I was a visitor in my parents' home. As much as I loved being with my family, I longed to go back to Wilmington...to my home. It saddened me to think that the place where I had grown up now felt so alien to me. What had happened in those six months that changed my feelings of home so drastically?

Besides my new found independence, I still felt like the same small-town girl. I still had the same friends and went to the same bars, but it felt different somehow; as if I were a stranger that was playing my old role. As relaxing as I'd hoped my visit home would be, it stressed me out to feel so foreign in the one place where I thought I would always feel completely at ease.

On my last day there, I went out to the hammock to take a nap. Being out in that country air, breathing in the fresh-cut grass and watching the sun set over the fields was something that had not changed. It brought back that familiar feeling. The love I had growing up and the freedom of my summers to roam through the countryside. I realized that while life can change us, our past is still full of our memories. And holding on to those memories can always bring me back home.

Blog In A Nutshell: Stay on I-40, Turn Left at Randall

Once you get onto I-40, you better have used the restroom and taken the other necessary stops because there is not much from this point until you get into Wilmington. For me, this part of the drive is the dregs of the entire trip. Maybe it is the fact that it is the last stretch of highway before entering the glory that is Wilmington, North Carolina.

I once had a friend who made the mistake of taking a bus home from school en route to Annapolis, Maryland. On his way back, he sent a text explaining where he was. It read, “I’m in purgatory, somewhere on I-40.” I haven't heard from him since.

For those of us from the North, I-40 is not the "end all, be all" road to get to college life, it is merely the last stretch. For us out-of-staters who travel on I-95 towards our destination, I-40 is both sweet and sour. Sweet, we are merely two hours away from the wonderful college life. Sour, we are two hours away on top of the six hours we have already been driving. For the commuters who invest in I-40 as a stepping stone between I-95 and civilization, I offer you this caveat emptor.

Unfortunately, having only traveled this road a couple of times, I offer you little in regards to directions. I shall do my best. The area of I-40 which you will travel is your typical boring road designed solely for transport between two cities. Hopes for modernization or taking steps into the 21st century seem to be on the back burner on I-40. The residents along I-40 seem content with mediocrity. Most signs of civilization along I-40 are little more than gas stations. The people at these gas stations are more than friendly in my experience.

In the baking August heat, I entered a gas station with no shirt on my way back to school. I was met with curious glances and raised eyebrows. At the cashier, the lady explained to me that I had to have a shirt on the next time I came in the store. I politely obliged and smirked. Her reply was unexpected. She leaned in, smirked back at me and whispered, “If it were up to me, I’d let you walk around with no shirt on.” She followed it with a wink. Maybe in another life, sweetheart.

Smithfield is a place that will stick out in your mind as you drive by it. You will be tempted with Bojangles. I won’t judge. I advise you to stop by Smithfield because it is most likely your last stop before Wilmington. After discarding your empty Bojangles box at speeds of 80 MPH, you will draw closer to Wilmington.

Mind you, the cops on this road are like sharks. We like to lie to ourselves and say that “they don’t fancy these parts,” or “they won’t go after me,” but in all reality, they are a real threat. Hint: I have heard that if you don’t move, they can’t see you. Was that North Carolina State Troopers or Tyrannosaurus Rexes?

By now, you are ready to pull the revolver out of the glove box and pull the trigger to the tunes of some hokey country station but hold strong. A sign reads, "Wilmington: So freakin’ close." You put the gun away, thankful for your hesitant lack of action.

You will pass a giant factory on your left and on through an intersection. I have no explanation for the factory really. I have always questioned it but never thought twice. I always assumed it was something moral and hearty like a genetically modified organ manufacturer. You will pass a gas station on your right immediately after the intersection. Do not try and buy beer there even if you are 37. There is an old hag lady who thinks everyone is under 21 and is using a fake ID.

As you drive over the overpass, a shimmering light will shine upon you. These are the parking lot lights of Wal-Mart, the Mecca of all that is corporation and consumerism. For a brief second as you reach the peak of the overpass, you can practically see the world’s end. That, Pure Gold, and Krazy Horse at the same time. What a glorious view.

As you make your way down Wilmington’s highest summit, you will continue on South College Road towards UNCW. After you pass several shopping centers on both sides, you will see Hardee’s on the left side across the other lane. Slam on your brakes and make a U-turn. Your inclination will be to turn left onto UNCW’s campus but your inclination is wrong. You really want a Hawaiian Chicken Sandwich. Oft times during closing hours, you can give the guy cash, which he will pocket, and he will hook you up with the “throwaway food”.

Turn left onto College Acres Drive. You will pass a large house with several overcompensating assets in the front yard such as a Hummer and a BMW where I once went to a party and drank copious amounts of their alcohol from their fridge after they aggressively tried to charge me cover into their house party. Revenge is a shot best served cold.

You will then come to flashing red lights. Take a right hand turn and continue straight through the next light beside the UNCW water tower. The road will take a curve to the right and you will see a little parking circle, a cul-de-sac if you so please.

Park haphazardly and whip out a sheet of paper and in your sloppiest handwriting write the words, “Went to Student Health Center. Gastrointestinal problems. Come get me and I’ll move.” Now, they will very unlikely check the Student Health Center and you can usually appeal these things so long as you date the note and have a snickers bar handy for special effects. As you exit your car, you will see a beautiful and empty fountain.

Look to the right of the fountain and you will your weary eyes upon Morton Hall.

You can't go to that metaphorical home again.

It's too late before you realize that you can never go back to the person you before. It happens for us all. We grow up both physically and emotionally. But there are exceptions of course and some people force themselves to be cookie-cutter representations of their parents for the rest of their lives. They basically don’t evolve, because their evolution is just fine-tuning the person that they already were. With those exceptions, those of us lucky enough to go off to college realize that once you’ve moved on with your life…you can’t go home again.

Physically you can go to the place that you were born, but emotionally you cannot. You have changed. The experiences that you have during the ‘growing up’ process alter you. This happens whether you like it or not. It was hard for me, because of all the things that had been ingrained in my head as a child were now being questioned. I was born into a household where intellgence was not pushed. I was pushed in school to merely do my best, which is a good thing of course, but that was about it. My parents are educated people in their specific fields. Both of my parents work in the law enforcement field, so having an intellectual conversation is sometimes a struggle. Most of the nights that I spent at my parent's home consisted of watching Cops and hearing about who had gotten into a police chase that day. My parents wanted me to remain in that mold of a rednecky, country boy but I had been changed. My brain had opened up to new possibilities and it was hard for me to admit that my parents already knew. They already knew that I had chosen to go down a that different road.

It was extremely hard for me because I wanted to stay the way that I was, believing the same things I did before and changing into the person that my parents wanted me to be, but I knew that that was impossible. The different emotions that I felt when I went home were hard to turn off. I saw things differently than I did before. I wanted to get angry with my parents because of the idiotic belief systems that they had. I wanted to hate them for their close-mindedness on certain topics. I wanted to scream at them and make them understand all the different things that I had had my mind turned on to, but they wouldn’t understand even if I did. They aren't simple people but they are merely intellegent in their own fields.

The many ways in which we as people grow away from the ones that we love so dearly is amazing. The fact that I basically grew up on a farm is an easy way to explain why I can’t go home and expect my dad to understand the new poem that I wrote. I can’t expect them to be able to talk to me about books that they will never read. That’s why they say that you can’t ever go home again. You’ve changed. You’re a different person once you have entered another world. Your life is altered and you can’t change back to the person you once were. Your life is on a different course just because you have seen and experienced different things.

These different paths that I have taken throughout the course of my life have made it to where I cannot go home again. I have veered off the path of what my parents wanted for me in my life. They weren’t too happy about my tattoos. But in spite of it all my parents are proud of me because I have grown up. I am a man now and even though things may not be exactly the way they planned, they know that I can’t go to that metaphorical home again and they are okay with that.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

If the United States adhered to the same rule of law it enforces, the world would be quite a different place.

In all 50 states, if one has been convicted of a felony, whether or not it is gun-related, that person is prohibited from legally possessing a gun. The reasoning is logical. If someone is prone to felonious behavior it is in the best interest of society to ensure that the person’s ability to continue and perhaps escalate the behavior is limited as much as possible.

While there are arguments against these laws (“Most drug possession charges are felonies; most hot check charges are felonies; most tax offenses are felonies; most frauds are felonies”*: therefore, there are huge groups of felons that are nonviolent offenders), I want to focus on the offenders who have committed violent crimes in the past. For the sake of argument, let’s assume the laws only prohibit “violent offenders” from owning guns – which I think we can all agree is rational and sane – no matter what side of any 2^nd Amendment debate you may be on. Guns, among with a few other uses, can be used to commit murder.

Scenario 1: Joseph X uses his lawfully acquired shotgun to kill an innocent convenient store clerk in order to obtain access to a drawer full of cash.

Solution 1: If Mr. X ever gets out of prison, which is unlikely within 25 years or so, he will never be allowed to own a gun again. This is a rational answer. This is a sane solution.

Scenario 2: The United States used two nuclear powered bombs to kill an estimated 240,000 (mostly civilian) Japanese citizens in order to end a war and possibly, according to their calculations (which are unverifiable) save more lives than were taken.

Solution 2: The United States will never be allowed access to, or control of, nuclear powered weapons again. This is a rational answer. This is a sane solution.

The United States is the only civilization in the world to aggressively use nuclear powered weapons against another civilization. Am I the only one who laughs when the United States sets out to prevent other countries from obtaining nuclear capabilities? Iran’s acquisition of “the bomb” doesn’t frighten me in the slightest. What frightens me is the United States’ reaction.

The problem lies in the power. Joseph X has no control beyond the handcuffs of the local police department, which answers to the local government, which abides by state laws, wherein exists the law which prevents him from ever owning another gun. On the other hand, the only entity that the United States (theoretically) answers to is the United Nations. However, by yielding such an unprecedented power as the only nation on earth crazy enough to use a nuclear weapon (twice!), the United States realistically answers to no one.

The United States is a violent, felonious offender. As was established earlier, if an entity is prone to felonious behavior it is in the best interest of society to ensure that this entity’s ability to continue and perhaps escalate the behavior is limited as much as possible. Does this not apply to the case when nuclear weapons are involved? Is it not even more relevant to the situation? Aren’t more lives at stake? Perhaps even the entire human race?

*Quote from Kathryn A., Graham’s “Felons and Guns Revisited,” published in The Sierra Times

Computers and football don't mix

The college football season is supposed to end with the best team claiming the championship. Come January, there’s a big chance that college football fans will have no idea who was the best team in the 2007 football season thanks to the flawed Bowl Championship Series.

The BCS is a rating system that takes into account two human polls, the Associated Press and Harris polls, as well as a computer average. The computer average is the average rating given by eight different computer formulas used to figure rankings.

Computers can beat the world’s best chess player and computers can run nuclear reactors. Johnny 5 should have an Academy Award for his performance in Short Circuit. They’re good at what they do, for the most part. But, I don’t know of a computer that can watch a football game and consider factors outside of the final statistics. Sure, Ohio State only lost one game, but they were involved in a lot of dogfights with lesser competition. Hawaii is undefeated, but they were taken to overtime by San Jose State. All the computer can see is the final result, and not how those final results were achieved.

The BCS also places far too much emphasis on November instead of looking at the whole body of work. Previously undefeated Kansas lost for the first time on Saturday night to No. 1 ranked Missouri, eliminating itself from national title consideration. No. 2 West Virginia, ranked three slots ahead, got the doors blown off by No. 21 South Florida two months ago. Another mystery within the BCS rankings is No. 6 Virginia Tech being ranked ahead of No. 7 LSU. LSU destroyed Virginia Tech 48-7 on national television in September, yet the computers have the Hokies ranked a slot higher. Teams change throughout the season, but I would put the farm on LSU winning a head-to-head matchup nine-of-ten times.

While all of the teams with loss fight things out at the top of the BCS rankings, the lone unbeaten, Hawaii (11-0) stands at No. 12. The Warriors are ranked at No. 10 in both of the human polls, but the computers aren’t a big fan. Maybe the computers can’t stay up late enough to watch the midnight kickoffs from Honolulu, but for some reason, undefeated doesn’t mean very much to them. Granted, Hawaii doesn’t play the best competition in the world, but there’s something to be said for winning games. Immediately ahead of them in the rankings are two-loss Boston College and three-loss Florida.

Instead of allowing these computers that have an early bedtime and selective viewing practices to decide championships, how about we play it out on the field in an eight-team playoff?

Champions of the six power conferences (ACC, Big East, Big Ten, Big XII, Pac-10 and SEC) would be given bids a playoff. Two remaining spots in the playoffs would be given to teams that finished with the highest BCS ratings. Only two teams would be allowed to represent each conference. Independents and teams from non-BCS conferences would automatically qualify if they finished in the top eight.

Doubters will say that that adding the possibility of four games to a team’s schedule will take too much of a toll on the student-athletes, giving them a possible total of playing 16 games in a season. Somehow the ‘lesser’ athletes on the Division I-AA are able to pull it off without trouble. If Appalachian State can play in a 16-team playoff, then why can’t Michigan finish an eight-team playoff?

College football purists will put up the argument that this would ruin the history and tradition of a bowl system. That system happens to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars each year, which seems to be what people are most worried about losing. It wouldn’t have to, actually. How many people honestly care about the Music City Bowl? Imagine the difference if the Music City Bowl were the host site of a playoff game? I’d say the atmosphere would be a little bit different and millions more would tune in to watch.

The NCAA could use a computer to calculate something -- the boatloads of cash that would pile in with a playoff system.

What the computer can’t do is crown a champion.

Vaginal Rape Less Common For "Male" Prisoners

This afternoon when I heard about the inmates who want free sex changes, I thought it was the beginning of a bad joke; the punchline being that these (new)women could be the legit’ prison bitches. But apparently Wisconsin inmate Scott Konitzer, who was convicted of multiple armed robberies and stabbing another inmate, is suing prison officials for not allowing him to sex change, claiming that it violates his pursuit of happiness. He has been on state paid hormone therapy since 1999, which has caused him to develop feminine features including breasts (not just moobs).

The basis of his defense is that prison officials told him that he would be offered the surgery after hormone treatment, and that not to go through with the therapy is cruel and unusual punishment. Prison officials claim they were only allowing him to continue a treatment he had used occasionally prior to incarceration. Konitzer objects to being incarcerated with men, taking communal showers, being strip searched by male guards, and he also resents the fact that he cannot wear bras or other female clothing.

Transexualism is one of the few topics I’m not extremely opinionated on because I don’t fully understand the situation. I know that almost everyone who believes they are the opposite gender has Gender Identity Disorder and I’d like to believe that this is merely the product of a severe self image “problem.” I’d like to blame this on internalized oppression stemming from traditional gender roles or confusion with sexual orientation. I’d really like to believe that this could be treated with extensive therapy and lots and lots of drugs.

However, I don't know that my assumptions are true, and although the neutrality of the wikipedia page is disputed, it claims that aversion therapy is now looked down upon as unaffective and emotionally damaging. Those who do not receive any treatment will always feel that the person they are on the inside is inconsistent with who they are on the inside. They often dream of castration or other forms of genital mutilation long before they come to the conclusion that they need a sex change. The transsexual group has some of the highest suicide rates. To my surprise, Surgery is often the most effective treatment.

I suppose that if Joe Blow wants to become Suzie Blow, it’s not harming me, so whatever. However losing the privilege to sex change is one of the many prices you must pay for being incarcerated. I’m sure lots of transsexuals were just angry at the world because they were really chicks on the inside. But if they wanted a sex change that badly, they should’ve been saving up money in a bank account and working overtime, not selling rocks and killing people.

Although the condition affects 1 in 30,000 females and 1 in 100,000 males, you don’t hear of any females requesting prison sex changes. The cynical part of me suspects that lots of these “transsexual” men are faking the condition because they are suicidal. Maybe they really do have image problems from constant abuse, but either way I bet that they are getting beaten and raped constantly; it would make sense that some inmates would dramatically exaggerate their mindset because they know that getting transferred to a women’s prison would result in better treatment. They are getting paroled in year 3000, and they have no other way out, so why not get a free sex change…after all, their penises are pretty worthless in jail.

Konitzer has an interesting case, and I actually think he could win: I sympathize with him. The prison officials are definitely at fault and have wasted tax payers money with this questionable hormone treatment. Now he is even more pained because he feels and looks more like a woman trapped in a man’s body. Either give him the drugs and the sex change or don't do either (and maybe let him win this lawsuit). It’s just obvious that if you give a mouse a cookie, it will only want a glass of milk, or a sex change.

Another cynical part of me has decided that I don't care if he loses. If he wins it may set precedent for further lawsuits which could eventually lead to free prison sex changes. This is not fair to American tax payers, and Walter Mayer, president of the International Gender Dysphoria Association, said “If the prison system started to offer this surgery, there would be people lining up to be in prison. Some of my patients would commit crimes just to get free surgery.” This is an expensive procedure that law abiders have to pay for themselves on the outside. What's next - breast implants? Facial reconstruction?

This kind of reminds me of the Ludovico treatment in A Clockwork Orange: aggression control, and whether or not it is ethical and practical. Maybe anyone serving a mandatory minimum sentence for violence or sex related crimes should be sex changed, or given estrogen, or neutered. It would definitely provide incentive to obey the law. However there are lots of habitual offenders and since we would have to enforce this policy equally on all genders, lots of these men transformed into women would then become men again, and then women, and so on. Sure there'd be great mugshots for all of us to see, but this would probably also be cruel and unusual punishment. This would be an interesting experiment, that would prove a lot about hormones and moral/legal decisions, but I'm not emperor of the world; so maybe we should just force prisoners to suffer the way they were born, after all, prison is not a vacation. Not when you stab people.

Home-less

I’m the youngest of three children. My two older sisters and I all went to college. My parents always talked about retiring and moving to the Chesapeake Bay when we were all done with school, but because of good pensions (my parents both work for the city) they were able to retire a few years earlier then they had expected. My mom retired after her school year was over, and my dad followed not too long after. With no one at home and no jobs tying them down, my parents sold the house that I lived in since I was six months old this summer. I literally cannot go home again.

Over Thanksgiving break, my friends from high school were all back in my home town in rural western Maryland. While they were all in the houses they grew up in, I was a half hour away in the house my mom inherited when her parents passed away. It was my parents, my dog and me all fighting for space in a two-bedroom townhouse on the outskirts of Baltimore. I have very fond memories of my grandparents’ house, but I would never consider it home.

This past Friday, while I was back at “home,” my best friend from high school invited me to come over. I wanted to see my friend but with gas hovering at $3.00 a gallon and I decided against making the trip. I had seen him on Wednesday at our unofficial class reunion at a local Mexican bar, so I wasn’t betraying a friend by not seeing him over break. What surprised me was that I wasn’t even upset. I knew exactly what happened before I even talked to him the next day. He and two of my other friends sat in his basement and took shots of vodka from the bottle as they watched the Boise St-Hawaii game.

If I still had a house in my hometown I would have been right there next to them. I would have drunk heavily and laughed about old times. Instead, I met up with another group of friends at a bar. I dressed up because it was an upscale bar and cut myself off early because I had to drive and unlike my basement drinking days, I made a conscious decision to go to sleep rather than chug liquor until I collapsed to the floor.

I have a lease for my house in Wilmington until August and a place to stay whenever I go back to Maryland, but I still consider myself “home”-less. I have only a few memories of my grandparents’ house and those are only good ones. They pale in comparison, in number and range, to the memories I have of the house I grew up in. Your real home has to have the good and the bad experiences that ultimately shape who you are as person. In Wilmington, I have gone from Colonial Park to Mill Creek to a summer on my friend’s couch to my current house downtown. I’ve had good and bad experiences at all of these places, but I wouldn’t consider any of them my home. They have all only been shelter to me.

There are times when I long to go to my childhood house and feel that sense of familiarity I haven’t felt in three years. But, even though I’ve lost the only home I’ve ever known, I’m glad that my parents sold it. I will always cherish my childhood but it’s time for me to grow up. I will always be close with my best friend from high school but I don’t think my life will be empty without drinking in his basement.

After seeing most of my friends from back home, I decided to drive back Saturday afternoon rather than go bar-hopping in Annapolis because I had a lot of work to do. That’s something I would have never done that in past, but it was for the best. Though it can be agonizing to abondon the only house you've ever considered to be "home", maybe not being able to go back again can sometimes be a good thing.

The Age of Drinking and the Drinking Age

The drinking age should be lowered because the age of eighteen indicates mental maturity and responsibility on the part of the consumer. The U.S. has the strictest youth drinking laws in western civilization and yet has the most drinking-related problems among its young. As most of us know, in 1987 the drinking age was increased from eighteen to twenty one. This was done because of the behavior shown in younger people. But did anyone ever think of what the results would be? Now, younger people don’t have easy access to alcohol, but it is abused more. This only discourages the law to be passed to increase the drinking age, but with privilege comes learned responsibility. I think it’s important for younger people to start learning how to handle alcohol consumption at an earlier age. This way, they are less likely to makes bad mistakes later on. When people think of lowering the drinking age, crazy college students with no limits probably come to mind. But there are many aspects to enjoying alcohol that don’t involve getting “trashed.” Enjoying wine with a meal and drinking a beer watching the game are responsible acts people under 21 should be allowed to do.

It’s true younger people must have not shown enough responsibility while it was legal for those eighteen and above to drink, but a different generation exists now. Studies show young people eighteen and over aren’t as reckless as they were at the time of the law being changed to twenty one and over. On top of that, the amount of consumption has actually increased in the past 9 years. It’s important now more than ever to lower the drinking age so young people can have better judgment and ease into the process of being able to drink, not dive in and drown.

Introducing alcohol at an earlier age is the safest way to promote safe drinking. Young people in France, Spain, and Argentina rarely abuse alcohol. They learn how to drink within the family, which sees drinking in moderation as normal. Youth in these societies rarely embarrass themselves or their families by abusing alcohol. When it comes to binge drinking, however, I believe it’s the fault of the drinking age. Instead of in European countries, where they teach moderation and responsible drinking at a very early age, in this country drinking is more demoralized. It almost seems to be a sort of demonized thing. The simple fact is that when alcohol isn't demonized, the thirst for it is not quite so strong. But kids do it in their basement or they do it in backdoor keg parties. They don't learn responsible drinking with their parents. That's what raising the drinking age has done, it hasturned responsible drinking into dangerous drinking. If the drinking age is kept where it is and is enforced as strictly as it is now, it's just going to lead to dangerous results with alcoholism being much higher than it is in Europe and drunk driving deaths being much higher than they are in Europe.

Something else that may make drinking safer for younger people is lowering the drinking age and, at the same time, raising the driving age. In North Carolina, there are young people just shy of their fifteenth birthday who have a beginner's driving permit. To me, a 15-year-old in the driver's seat of their father’s sports car is a far scarier proposition than a 20-year-old on a bar stool with a margarita. Let's take the cars away from kids and give the right to enjoy a beer in a licensed, regulated establishment back to the adults. And rather than try to legislate good behavior, let's pursue education that promotes responsibility. This would be a legal driving age of 18 instead of 16 and a legal drinking age of 18 instead of 21.

The best answer for the proper alcohol consumption at the age of 18 would be to have education on the subject of drinking. We need to educate people about alcohol and educate people on the harms of alcohol. So that means if somebody has different capacities for alcohol, we teach them that because they're going to have to find out sometime, someday, whether they're over 21 or over 18 they're going to find out how they react to alcohol.

If adults would learn to have a better attitude about behavior toward young men and women, more maturity, self-restraint, and social responsibility could be expected of them. Parents, especially in the United States, have immediate thoughts that lowering the drinking age would be a bad idea, but they don’t take into account the good it could do. Everything experienced at an earlier age results in better responsibility late on in life, so why should early exposure to alcohol be any different? Whether it’s early exposure through a legal drinking age of 18, or alcohol education classes at even earlier ages, this is what young people today need. They need to know the effects of alcohol, how much is too much for each individual, and know the behavior that coincides with alcohol consumption. Also, alcohol isn’t some poison that ruins lives, when used correctly it’s actually healthy. For women, one drink a day is healthy and for men two. This method has long been proven to help prevent heart related problems. The number of strokes people have is reduced dramatically when moderate drinking is done compared to people that never drink. Perhaps, the stronger of the alcoholic drinks should be kept at bay until 21 such as hard liquors. Wine and beer don’t have nearly the alcohol content and could be controlled easier when drinking. It might be easier for a person to fathom the alcohol content being drank if it’s lower as well as be less likely to abuse it and get addicted at that age and later in life. I saw first hand what happens in dorms filled with underage drinkers. Because they couldn’t buy alcohol in clubs, they’d “pregame,” which mean binge drink so their buzz lasts for hours. This wouldn’t happen if the drinking age were lowered.

Priorities

Am I the only person who does not care how celebrities spent their Thanksgiving? It is a sad day for the media when the most interesting story that they can find is what Britney Spears did on Thanksgiving. It would be less offensive if they at least conjured up something semi-entertaining or at least discussed topics concerning all Americans. The concern for global warming or the lack of a decent healthcare plan, take a back seat to wondering who is going to be the next American Idol.

I can’t turn on the TV or listen to the radio without hearing an anecdote about Britney Spears, or Nicole Richie. Because of this, I only listen to CDs in my car. I also cancelled the cable in my apartment. I’d rather stare at a blank screen and talk to the walls than listen to any more pointless stories about celebrities. I’m not saying that everything on the news has to be about war and politics and the economy, but if people knew half as much about these issues as they do about the latest fads, according to the most recent one hit wonder, the country would be in better shape. We’re raising our children to be materialistic vultures with absolutely no respect for the people or the environment in which they live.

Resource conservation is certainly not respected and is only enforced in eleven states of the U.S. Global warming is a serious concern, not only for us, but for the entire world population. However, our government refuses to take a stronger stance on the issue. As Americans, we have the right to force these issues upon our leaders and demand swifter action. But not enough people stand up for their beliefs anymore. Perhaps if we saw more about global warming in the media, and less about celebrity icons, more of us would be motivated to take action. Al Gore’s documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, takes a strong and intelligent stance on global warming. This documentary, even though it won an Academy Award, was criticized by the New York Times for containing “fictitious” elements. This sort of censure is confusing to the public and creates a foundation for inaction. This example proves that self awareness is essential in making sure that the facts we see on TV are indeed the facts.

Information is easily accessible due to the technological revolution of the last half century. Whereas these advances have been truly wonderful, they have also come with a price. Many years ago, mankind produced a truly stunning object, stunning enough to still be around today. The objects are usually rectangular and contain several pieces of paper that are bind together. These items are called books. A book is a truly wonderful thing in the sense that it forces your complete concentration on the material. It is easy enough to “space out” while watching a TV show or to have an ongoing solitaire game while trying to read an article online. In an age where multitasking is a requirement for many jobs and is taught in our schools, it is unrealistic to think that the majority of the country has the patience to sit and read a book. Despite the fact that books are often “one-sided” when it comes to a debatable issue, research can be an educational tool in providing an individual with enough facts to make a decision concerning a certain topic.

While many people warship the entertainment sections of their favorite show or tabloid, I purposely avoid it. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts I still stumble into segments about Tom Cruise or some other bored Hollywood actor or over-privileged child star. And even if I can avoid seeing it, wherever I go, people are talking about it. They’re talking about Lindsey Lohan while they’re pumping gas at over $3.00 a gallon. They’re wondering “Who’s the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby” or “why did Britney shave her head?” There is a series problem with national priorities. With the world slipping further and further into the future, the dangers of ignorance and the lack of strong leadership can prove to be impeding for our nation. And that, my friends, is all too sad.