InkTank

Move over, Whittier

As a child growing up in South Carolina, I always dreamed of the day when I would wake up, run to the window, and look out over my front lawn covered in two feet of snow, much like John Greenleaf Whittier describes in his poem Snowbound. Alas, winter after winter, I watched snowstorms pass over South Carolina. 

Instead of pure snow, we got a nasty mixture of wet snow, sleet, and freezing rain that brought life to a sudden standstill. Those lucky jerks in the Northeast were having all the fun! Schools, businesses, churches--all were petrified of calling people to venture beyond their front doors, so life...briefly...slowed...down.

All that changed last weekend when the record snowstorm dumped close to two feet on the nation's capital. While Tom Daschle might have regretted going out in the snow, for me it was a fulfillment of that childhood dream that I had envisioned on the pages of my school's language arts curriculum where I first read Snowbound. But as I stood knee-deep in the snow that I had been shoveling for the last eight hours on Saturday, I wondered if it was really a good dream or a bad dream.

My Life as a Grown Up

It feels like just like just last week I was running around on the playground, waiting to open up my packed lunch and see what uncool food I could trade with the kid sitting next to me. Wait... that was last week. But what will be the norm of my life has sunk in. I'm a grown up. 

For the past two weeks, every Tuesday and Thursday I would do community service and volunteer at Cornerstone, a Pre-K through 8th grade school. I was always assigned to the first grade class. My first graders were cool! They could read (a little), write (mostly mispelled words) and talk (their heads off). I walked in the room and felt like a rockstar. Papers down, pens to the ground, run and go hug Farron! 

This Thursday was quite different from my last. It was the final day of my first week at my internship. I was ready for crunchtime and deadlines were going to my best friend, though we would share a love-hate relationship. But most importantly, I would feel important. I would be doing something I love, with other people who love it.

When did we get too old for nap time?

I’ve been old enough for long enough now to know that there are cherished moments of childhood that we seem to lose as we mature into adults. The magic of Santa Claus, Mommy’s bed during a storm, the sight of the first snowflake- they are priceless pictures of our youth.

The delight of these experiences gradually decays as we age, however. Maybe it’s because we lost our innocence along the way, maybe we started listening to the world and letting it shape us.

But what about the small events that we partook in each and every day? The moments that were the blocks, the strength, the foundation of our young lives? Somewhere along the way those stopped as well. 

Get Your Swagger On

I was 10 years-old standing with my mom in the living room, staring at my palm. Scrawled on it was: Left on Fir, Right on 7th, on the left.

This was suppose to get me from my house to the public library. Mom pushed me out the door and said, “keep your chin up and walk like you know where you’re going.”

We lived in Perry, Okla., a tiny town of 4,000, most of the time it felt like I knew everyone. That day, I walked down the street feeling completely alone. But I didn’t look like it, I looked confident.

I’ve been unsure of myself many times since my first solo trip to the library, but my move to DC was the worst. All of the sudden I did not know anybody, and unlike the campus of Abilene Christian University, no one was particularly interested in knowing me. This was going to be a challenge.

As Pop, my dad, said goodbye in Union Station he reminded me, “know your surroundings and walk like you know where you’re going.”

This advice has served me well. I know my way around the city most of the time, but now and then I fall victim to

Having Your Cupcake (And Maybe Even Eating It)

I expected a lot of things in DC that I don't typically get at home in San Diego, or at college in Sioux Center, Iowa. Politics. White people as minority. A transit system that most people actually use. Homeless people as a significant presence. What I did not anticipate, was the cupcake phenomena.

I was astounded enough when I realized there was an actual cupcake store, called, appropriately enough, Georgetown Cupcake. Then I was informed that it was popular enough (or savvy enough) to have a Facebook fan page. Then I realized there were actual fans of it, and a good number of them too.

The day (night) of reckoning came at hand. I went to Georgetown Cupcake. Three others and I planned out our attack: we would walk to Union Station, catch the Circulator, and then, well, from there we didn't really have a plan. We just had a desperate craving for cupcakes after the harried business of the first week.

Life After the Perfect Job

The first time that I ran through the Capitol Complex I decided to move to Washington.

It was a Monday morning and although the sun had barely risen, already hoards of Under Armour-clad runners were pounding the tree-lined paths to the National Mall. The steps of the Capitol were bustling with skinny women in tailored suits, and men who seemed to have taken their fashion cues from the Kennedy family. I was exhilarated by the sense of drive and power surrounding me. Everywhere I looked were joggers checking their pedometers, lobbyists glancing through files as they walked, and business men shouting into blackberries.

Walk a Mile in Their Shoes

In the months leading up to my semester in Washington DC I mentally cataloged all the roles I thought I would be expected to take on: city dweller, intern, journalist (of course), and attempted to prepare myself accordingly. On the plane ride down from Boston I felt quite confident in my ability to take on the challenge; I had, after all, gone shopping for professional clothes, prepared my portfolio, and read my required Elements of Journalism textbook.  I thought my semester was set.

A day or two into the experience, I realized I had almost overlooked the most fundamental role of all- that of an empathetic and active Christian. It's should be such an overarching and consuming part of any believer's life, but it's easy to be complacent in your faith when your surroundings never change. Upon entering a city where poverty runs so rampant it might as well exist in a third world country, I was at a complete loss of how to interact with it properly.

I've always heard the saying that goes something like "you can't understand a person until you've walked a mile in their shoes." In my opinion, understanding the situation of someone is essential before witnessing to them. I was anticipating having to wear the heels of the interns and journalists of the city, as well as the comfy walking shoes of the city residents; but had never considered what it would look like to wear the shoes of the impoverished.

Odd Adjustments

There I stood, suitcase in hand, in the entry way of my new apartment. In that moment, I knew I had crossed the great divide. I had only ever lived in a dorm during my time at Taylor University, and for the first time in my life, I was going to live in an apartment with four other girls. I had many things to learn, and I suddenly felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. Was I actually going to cook for myself on a regular basis? Was I really going to buy paper towels, trash bags and toilet paper? Now that I had access to a kitchen, I would have to go grocery shopping as well as wash my own dishes night after night.

I suddenly realized just how I spoiled I am as a college student. It has now been two weeks, and I can proudly say that I have adjusted to apartment living rather quickly. Oddly enough, the one thing that I am still adjusting to is the presence of males in our apartment complex. I consider Taylor to be a very conservative university. Students and staff are required to follow strict, behavioral guidelines described as the Life Together Covenant. More specifically, Taylor has a strict policy on dorm visitation hours. Unlike other neighboring Christian schools, open house hours are restricted to weekends only.

This may be shocking for some of you; it is certainly something I have had to grow accustomed to. In just a few short weeks, the sheltered girl from Indiana finally faces the terrifying reality that both males and females now coincide in one apartment complex. What ever will she do?

Whose fault is it anyway?

It’s been two weeks that I call Washington, D.C. my home, at least my temporary home.  I thought I knew what to expect in the city, since I had lived in one my whole life. But Washington fits into a whole different category.

As I explained during the Washington Journalism Center’s orientation, this city is composed of several pieces of a tight-fitting puzzle.  There’s the Hill: the thriving metropolis where light-skinned people with varying degrees of wealth are employed.  Then there are the surrounding neighborhoods where most people with high levels of melanin have low levels wealth and socioeconomic status. 

Understanding Homelessness: From Knowledge to Exposure

Coming from a small town, entering Washington resulted in culture shock. I am a sophomore at Biola University in La Mirada, about 25 minutes southeast of Los Angeles, but I definitely reside in what students describe as the "Biola Bubble." Even though I live so close to LA, I don't have a car on campus and am usually stuck at school unless a friend drives me somewhere.

There is one significant difference between the life I am used to living in a small town and city life that I have noticed during my short time in DC, which is the amount of homeless in the city. Growing up, I only distinctly remember one instance of a homeless person in my town. I remember she slept in our post office for a few nights until she was asked to leave.

The first time I saw a large amount of homeless people gathered together was when I went with a friend to jury duty at the courthouse in Fresno. Many had spent the night in a small park in front of the courthouse. I remember feeling really uncomfortable because I had never been in a situation like that before. Occasionally I'll see someone standing on a road divider holding a sign when I go out of town shopping, but that's just my view from a car window.

Never had I walked past the homeless as an almost daily occurrence. Coalinga is by far not a wealthy town but neither do we have an issue where many are left on the streets to fend for themselves. I don't know of one ministry in Coalinga that reaches out to the homeless, but that is not to say for certain that there isn't one. We have our food pantries, but I know of no groups whose purpose is to specifically go into the town and feed the homeless.

Buzzwords

College life is full of buzzwords.  Words like “awareness” and “discussion forums” are always being presented to students.  They are just vague enough so that no one really knows what they are about and broad enough to apply to any given situation. In many situations buzzwords mean essentially nothing.

During my junior year I became especially acquainted with buzzwords. Then I represented Dordt College as a “political liaison”. It was my job to promote “awareness” of political issues as they related to college students. I sat in on a lot of student government meetings and listened as more buzzwords flew around. “Creative restructuring”, and “efficient administrative mediation” often came up.

My entire college career has often seemed like a buzzword. A “liberal arts education” has felt like a cover for the fact that basically I have spent several years in air-conditioned rooms listening to someone talk. I felt I had no real experiences to back up all the great ideas I have constructed about the world.

The "directionally-challenged" can survive

"Dad, I’m at Germantown Parkway and Kirby. How do I get to Collierville? Left or right?”

This summarizes my driving experience of the last five years. I am what my father likes to call “directionally challenged.” While I would like to think of myself as intelligent, I simply do not pay attention to where I am going if I am not driving; therefore, when it comes my turn to get to a destination on my own, I am out of luck. Also, I am unfortunately not blessed with a mental compass that always knows which way is north.

I have survived thus far in large part thanks to my dad’s uncanny ability to memorize the map of Memphis, Tenn. Anytime I am anywhere, he knows how to get me to where I need to go. I feel very safe driving around my hometown, not because I know exactly where everything is but because Dad does.

A Coat of Few Colors

I like coats. Long ones, short ones, blends, cotton, trench, leather: I would spend more time wandering antique stores looking at relics from the '50s and '60s than ever in an Abercrombie & Fitch or even Target.

When I got off the DC Metro at Benning Road station, I wished I hated them. Several of my DC Programs colleagues and I, six this particular morning, were headed towards Cornerstone Christian, an pre-K through 8th school that was one of many service-learning locations. The intent, as stated multiple times by DC Programs Directors Terry Mattingly and Peter Baker, was to make us feel uncomfortable. I'd say it succeeded before we even got onto the escalator to the street.

My brand-new, reverseable coat, alternating tan and white, without a smudge of dirt on it, was functionally a label of Does Not Belong. It had been a present from my mother for Christmas, and an unexpected one at that. When I landed in DC, I was glad for any and all cold-weather clothing I could get.

This City is a Poem

A city is like a good poem.

The first time you read it, you like what you hear and you are intrigued by the words, but you really have no idea what they mean or what the author was trying to convey. The initial curiosity, however, draws you back to the pages, and you begin to reread each line and each stanza carefully. You unpack each metaphor and refer back to other great works of poetry to guide you on your way. You study the author’s background and his social context, and layer by layer the words are peeled back, revealing a meaning that was far richer than you had imagined in the initial reading.

Having been here for only two weeks, I am still working through my first reading of the city of Washington, DC. At first glance, I like what I see, hear, and especially taste, but I know that this city is so nuanced that it will take me a full semester and beyond to understand fully Washington, DC.

Getting the Business Card

If there’s anything that should be written on the “what to bring” portion of the Washington Journalism Center (WJC) brochure, it’s this—networking skills.

The term has been thrown around a lot these past couple of days, as students of the WJC program have kneeled eagerly before alumni for words of wisdom or assurance that the coming term paper will not result in 15 cases of stress ulcers. Yet overall, there has been a resounding echo of the need to A) get a business card and B) learn how to network. That is, unless you want to sleep on the news rather than write it.

So what is networking really and why is it so vital to the survival of a Washington D.C. intern? The Urban Dictionary website defines networking in less formal terms:

Networking is a “yuppie euphemism for kissing [butt] in order to get a job or obtain a raise or promotion.”

According to a recent article in Entrepreneur magazine, networking requires a set of skills and strengths but “you don’t have to become Mr. Man-About-Town, to be a successful networker.” In my experience so far, getting the business card has come down to the single method of being in the right place at the right time.

How did Clark Kent do it?

On the past couple of walks to the metro station, one song keeps entering my head as I marvel at the diversity and richness of culture and history around me. It is a worship song, but no matter your background, I hope you can appreciate the chorus lines at least, and reflect on them. The chorus, at least for me, sums up quite well one of the many feelings I’m working through as I realize I truly am living in our nation’s capital. I have no idea what all I can do or what I am meant to do here, but I know I am here and not going to waste a moment or opportunity and I want to make a difference with my skills, whether through writing or serving in the community.

For greater things have yet to come

And greater things are still to be done in this city

Naturally I think now of “this city” as DC. So many amazing things have happened here. History is literally made here, and yet there is so much more that can and will be done. I am honored to have the opportunity to be a part of it.

The Problem with Labels

"So, what would you do if someone asked you for money for food?," my mom asked me four weeks ago as we sat under a thatched-roofed veranda at the beach in Ghana. We were talking about the role the church and followers of Christ should play in dealing with hunger and poverty in that West African country.

"Well, I hope, I would give them food if I had any. And if I didn't, I'd take them out to get some, and sit and talk with them," I responded.

My mom rolled her eyes at me knowingly, as if somehow she knew that two and a half weeks later I would walk past a homeless man at a Metro station in D.C. and do nothing more than shake my head no.
 

Viewer's Choice Awards Results: WJC Scavenger Hunt Spring 2010

Team Three Wins!  Thanks to SIJ/WJC alums for their participation in this endeavor. The appropriate awards have been distributed...Check out the video here.

Things I wish I had learned sooner

 

This post is coming to you after about eight months of procrastination. I had planned on writing it during my summer internship in DC. Those plans moved with me to New York, where I finished my internship remotely - and never wrote this blog. I procrastinated through four months in Northern California writing for a small town daily and taking some long distance credits and - alas, I am finally now sitting down in Long Beach, CA, four moves and almost a year later. I suppose it's time.

In hindsight, I'm glad that I waited - the experience that I have had since Washington has changed the way I think about lectures, assignments and conversations I had while I was there.  I hope you're getting the best of my thoughts. 

I suppose I'm about to do to you what everyone did to me. I'm going to pile a bunch of advice and information on you that you're probably not going to take in until you leave Washington. It could be that I'm an astonishingly slow learner - or it could be that I'm normal - but I didn't really get the things that people were telling me until I left the district. In that case, I hope that my "things I wish I had gotten a little sooner" list stays somewhere rattling around in the back of your mind, and that you have an "aha!" moment in the months to come about at least one thing that I have written here.

InkLink! WJC Spring '08 Alum Ashley Peterson is blogging in her position as a night editor. Her piece remembering WJC is here.

Scavenger Hunt Spring 2010

Vote!  The WJC Spring 2010 students have made their digital scavenger hunts available via YouTube. We're asking all SIJ/WJC alums to cast your votes by Sunday at 9 a.m. for the best scavenger hunt video. Help your heirs win something cool!

To cast your vote, simply place a comment at the end of this piece with your vote the winning team.

For each team, you'll see their assignment and their video.

InkLink! Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood just elected a new leader. What this means for "reforming" Islam as a way to end extremism.

Why WJC will be your Best Semester

By Marcus Powers (WJC Fall '08)

I hate to jump right into the clichés here, but there’s a reason why it’s called Best Semester. My semester in Washington (the fall of 2008) was easily the best semester of my college career. I’m sure you’ve been hit over the head with the reasons a thousand times now (by alums, WJC staff, that fancy brochure, your professors), but I’m going to reiterate three reasons why WJC will be your best semester.

First off, DC is an amazing city. I had the privilege of being there during the historic 2008 election. And, thankfully, the guy I voted for won, making it even better. But that doesn’t mean that just because you’re there in the spring of 2010 means it isn’t going to live up. You need to go out there and explore. Get lost. Use the buses and the Metro. Meet some locals. Eat at weird restaurants. Take a cheap bus trip to Boston, New York, Philadelphia. Where I come from (Texas), the cities and states aren’t so close to each other. Take advantage of the east coast and its compactness. Whatever you do, don’t play it safe. That’s for when you go back home.

Team California’s Guide to Survival in D.C.

By Rachelle Brown and Karin Hamilton (WJC Spring ’09)

When we flew into D.C. from sunny CA, we were immediately struck with the 70-degree temperature difference. It was obvious we were in for the ride of our lives — but it was one of the best experiences we’ve ever had. We now pass on these tips to live vicariously through you, so pay close attention.

Push your comfort zone.

D.C. is a humongous, bustling city waiting to be adventured and explored, and no matter how often you go venturing out these next four months, you will most likely leave feeling like you only got a brief taste of the nation’s capitol. Take this opportunity to hone your skills of spontaneity. If a friend asks you to go somewhere with them, ignore that lazy urge to sit in front of the TV for the rest of the evening to catch up on The West Wing or Grey’s Anatomy and jump at the opportunity. Who knows? You might end up spending an entire night walking from an IHOP in Virginia to get to the Lincoln Memorial in time for the most beautiful sunrise of your life like I (Karin) did. I’m thankful nearly every day now that I was up for something a little crazy that night.

What I learned at the Washington Journalism Center

By Melanie Ciarrone (WJC Fall '09)

(Pictured on the far right)

Hi, my name is Melanie and I’m a WJC alum. (“Hiiii, Melanie.”) Welcome to InkTank, a blog for past, present and future students of the Washington Journalism Center as well as all its friends. In honor of a new semester of incoming students, I’d like to share a few lessons for any spring ’10 students who have stumbled upon this site. Here’s some of what I learned at WJC…

Effects of New Media on Islam

How would you like to get an e-card with a Hamas suicide bomber's biography and final video on it?

Yeah. They make those.

I'm currently at the "International Islam and the Media Conference" at the University of Colorado-Boulder. Some interesting papers were presented today on the subject of how new media affects Islam. I think it would be hard to argue, in our digital age, that new media does NOT affect religion; but the way in which it occurs is particularly fascinating.

(1) New Media allows for Islamic discourse. In a study presented by Daniela Schlicht, she examined the German Facebook equivalent "StudiVZ" for it's discussion boards on Islam. On most, she found that participants generally came from two different groups: the "hyphen" Muslims and religious Muslims. The "hyphen" Muslims she described as secular in terms of most practices. Islam is simply how they were raised and the customs they follow. They would identify themselves with a hyphen i.e. "I'm a German-Muslim." Then of course on the other side are the religious Muslims (don't misread automatically as "conservative" Muslims--although many are).

InkLink! What's going on at the Washington Times? The Times they are a changing...

Spending Gone Soft

I (thankfully) have never ventured out into Black Friday madness like many of my friends. My day-after-Thanksgiving woes have more to do with eating too much again than with being trampled by crazy fellow customers. But in a year of financial insecurity, I was curious to see how people were responding to the recession on this day of spending.

The Washington Post article provided interesting insight into the spending frenzy gone soft. All year we've been hearing of layoffs and cutbacks, but this article provided several voices to attest to these changes.

In a story like this, a series of reporters will obviously talk to shoppers and get their take on the situation. People like Barbara Martin, Patsy Montgomery and Maria Russell told of how they are cutting back this year to no surprise.

It was a simple article, but it made one interesting point that I wish had been explored more in-depth. The economy is supposedly on the verge of a recovery. Reports were made that Black Friday participation went up this year. But spenders were "more uncertain about the economy this year than last."

The first hard sales numbers for Black Friday are not expected until Sunday. For the full holiday season, the National Retail Federation said it expects sales to fall 1 percent this year, to $437.6 billion, compared with a 3.4 percent decline last year. Many shoppers Friday said that -- despite having jobs and hearing projections of a recovery -- they were more uncertain about the economy this year than last. Their purchases, they said, would be curtailed.

Call me 'Ishmael'

Amongst the meandering pedestrians along 8th street, and right across the Dellenback apartment building, there is a great white beast.

Past the whiskers, fluffy snow-colored tail and ruby red eyes, is a creature which threatens to endanger nuts, seeds and possibly unsuspecting students walking to the Greenhouse every morning.

Always lurking in the shadows, the Great White squirrel rarely comes out during the day it seems. It only comes out to frolick along rooftops and tree branches in the wee hours of the morning, or late evening.

But! One late evening, while just about the leave the Dellanback, there it was! Staring at me, mocking me.

Luckily, I was armed with courage, and a camera.....

Journalists killed in massacre

Have you ever read a news story that actually shows and tells like Marvin Olasky mentions in "Directed Reporting"? Well, Jim Gomez, an Associated Press writer, reported about Philippine journalists being slaughtered. He not only writes an article, but he shows the reader what he's talking about.

As I was looking for a blog to critique for this assignment, I could not take my eyes off of this particular news story. The article titled, "Philippine journalists expect attacks to continue" starts out with an eye-catching lede.

Several white wooden coffins - all but one shut to hide the journalists' disfigured remains - were crammed into a rundown funeral parlor in the southern Philippines, not far from where they were slaughtered with guns, machetes and a backhoe.

You could not believe how many pictures came into my mind when I read the lede! I was amazed to see how much effort Gomez had put into making the beginning of the story one-of-a-kind. Details, details, details is all that I observed, especially in his first sentence. Specific words and phrases he used such as, "disfigured remains," or "slaughtered with guns, machetes and a backhoe" help the reader understand what happened to the journalists.