The warm weather is making campus a dangerous place. It’s nearly impossible to walk anywhere without ending up in the midst of an impromptu football game or an ultimate Frisbee tournament. While most people, being equip with basic motor skills, might not feel threatened, I remain realistic about my lack of coordination. I have no doubt that if the football happened to go astray, I wouldn’t be self-possessed enough to even try to stop it. I would just let it hit me.
I’m not proud of the fact that I’m terrible at anything that involves motor coordination. Just this week I’ve been hit in the face with both a hacky sack and a Frisbee. Today a football landed dangerously close to my legs. It’s cool though. I’m just waiting for my own personal Just Married scene. You know, get hit in the face with a football & then have the cute guy who hit you end up marrying you? Totally probable, I know.
Let me transition from my lack of coordination to my lack of ..well .. enthusiasm. I’m sure that I’ve mentioned that my intended major is advertising. However, at my college, the advertising program is within the journalism school, which technically makes me a journalism major.
Oh, journalism. What could be a better devotion? A life dedicated to telling the truth (or at least some version of the truth). A life dedicated to dishing out the facts and letting the people (always serve the people!) form their own opinions.
I am in awe of journalists.
At the same time, however, I harbor a small hatred of journalism. Don’t judge that declaration too quickly. Bless those who can stomach the stuff because I myself could never make it as a traditional journalist.
I first discovered this in my high school journalism class as a freshman. If I ever ran into the woman who taught this class on the street, I would have instantly assumed her profession – and it wouldn’t have been a journalism teacher. I’m just sayin. For some reason unknown to mankind, she felt that she had the right to wear Speedo swimsuit cover-ups to class. She wore them as dresses. Just to clarify – they AREN’T dresses. They are see-through and itty-bitty. Exposing yourself on the beach or by the pool is one thing, but to subject students to your self-expose is borderline unethical. She wore clear plastic slingbacks and thick magenta lipstick. I thought she was the reason I hated journalism class.
It took me a while to figure out that the real reason I was so inept at the subject was the whole ‘facts only’ thing. I don’t need to mention that I have issues with keeping my words concise. One can infer this from this very entry.
I can’t stand the thought of not flowering up a story.
I love paradoxes and ambiguity. I adore statements that, at first glance, don’t make sense. I love aesthetics and story telling and perspectives and opinions.
Those little boxes stuffed full of words and facts and hidden opinions scare me. They scare me more than trying to dodge flying lacrosse balls or speeding bikes. I would rather be bashed in the forehead with a baseball than try to tell a straightforward, facts only, leave-your-opinions-at-the-door story.
Sunshine Week, which you may have heard of, is this week (on our campus). If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a “national initiative to open a dialogue about the importance of open government and freedom of information”. I’m quoting an e-mail I received about it; I don’t want to give off the impression that I have anything other than a very superficial understanding of it.
Today, for our school’s correlating event, Frank Deaner, the President of Ohio Coalition for Open Government, came to speak to us. I went to the meeting, thinking it would be a good opportunity to learn something new. However, instead of learning about the importance of open records, I found myself getting lost in the faces of the others (few as they were) in the crowd. They seemed intent and interested, and afterwards asked intelligent questions that stemmed from their intelligent journalist minds. I, on the other hand, sat and thought of how dull it would be to spend the rest of my life reporting. Telling the facts.
I’m not sure why that diatribe occurred, but it was on my mind.
Now maybe it’s on yours.
I am so thankful for those out there passionate about communicating the facts to the masses. As for myself, I don’t mind getting lost in my non-factual thoughts, my opinions (which are most likely incorrect) and my fanciful, completely illogical ways.
Steffi Gabby
