California Adventures: West Coast Whistle Stop!

There are few things more sacred to me than my time at West Virginia Wesleyan College. It is, for me, the happiest place on earth. It is really like a family (one that you really enjoy!). There's creepy uncles, the drunken cousins, the dramatic aunts, the loving grandparents, and everything in between. The entire community is a wide range of crazy characters that would not exactly fit in on an MTV reality show, but stand a chance for an NBC sitcom. I spent four years there learning and appreciating the little quirks! As with any family, there are sometimes that I have to remember that others on the outside might not exactly see the normalcy that I do when I return. However, I own it. It is what it is-- and there is NO part of my college or community that embarrasses me. I like that some of the letters are missing from the K-Lounge sign. I like that I feel confident that I'll see everyone there at the end of the night. It makes me happy to know that there will likely be a Sheetz run at some point before I pass my ass out. (Even if it means a pit stop at the car dealership on the way back). I like that the only all night restaurants are Sheetz and the Donut Shot. I love WVWC and Buckhannon, WV.

And like I always do, I assume that if I love something, so will everyone around me. (Fatal personality flaw, I know. As a student of PR and Counseling, I recognize I should know better-but don't). So-- I invited two of my dearest friends from grad school to join me in the journey from Delaware to WV. And, boy, what a journey it was.

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I believe an awesome time was had by all. We hit all the hot spots! Allburgers, CJ's, K-Lounge, 88, Sheetz, Theta Chi, Aggie front porch-- and one of my favorites, the Whistle Stop. While I was a student at WVWC, I spent time at each of these wonderful establishments. I'd say K-Lounge was a favorite, as my friend Tom and I had our own barstools. However, the 88 was a great place for strong drinks with some of my strongest role models. Allburgers was music and the greatest variety in crowd. (I really miss Beer & Bards...)

Famous or infamous flaming Dr. Pepper shots. Remember
to put out the flame completely before drinking. Photo
courtesy of Emmy Wingard. 

But the Whistle Stop was reserved for especially rowdy nights. The night that I broke my blackberry into many pieces-- and later stashed in a bag full of garlic fries. (I'm sorry N-Telos & Blackberry). Whistle Stop was the stop on the way back from campus because my friend Meaghan insisted that I try a Rattlesnake Shake. It was off the beaten path, and for some reason I remember seeing people drinking out of Mason Jars.

My kind of place.

And as it turned out, Beth and Nicole, my friends from Delaware, liked it, too. Or at least, played along.

Merced, 7:30 PM in mid-June.

Now, fast forward two months. June 2011. Poor Beth-Berry is stuck in crappy Massachusetts, while Nicole and I are basking in Sunny California! Well, I don't know if basking is the right word: I'm baking (Merced, CA), and Nicole is trying to stay warm (SLO, CA). And I think it's fair to say that we're having an awesome time! While our internship sites are like 3 hours apart, and neither of us have cars, we've made this the summer of travel! We have been doing our best to explore the best of the Golden State-- and trip one included me heading south on Amtrak to Cal-Poly! (I should say that Amtrak is now my preferred method of travel. Seriously, the best.)

I arrived nearly an hour early! I made friends with a truck driver on my way there who was going to pick up a truck. He had like 7 kids, and did huge hauls across the country. I wish I could remember his name. I do remember that he was originally from Phoenix, and I shared that I was planning on going there for a conference next March. (NASPA, here we come!) His mom runs a Mexican restaurant. Again, I probably should have written it down-- but I figure if I go to one, I'll just ask if the lady working if she has a son with 7 kids that lives in Sacramento.

Check out my album for
more pics. 

ANYWAYS! This was only the beginning to an amazing trip! Nicole and I were pumped to get out and experience this tourist town-- we were going to close the bars down! See what this town had to offer! I, unfortunately was not prepared for how cool the evening was--but I had my awesome UC Merced sweatshirt-- so I thought I would be fine! And we were off-- camera in tote! We walked down and over the woods, heading for Pappy McGregors. Only half of us was assaulted--while the other half felt threatened (A deer came from the woods-- Nicole felt sure that it was a cannibal, and proceeded to try to knock the living hell of out me. (Okay, that may be a tiny bit exaggerated, but if a comedy director stumbles upon this blog before a drama, I want him/her to see the potential- and also recognize just how funny I am. Kristin Wiig, please love this.))

From Pappy McGregor Fail Photo Shoot.
A knight in shining armor! 

So, spoiler alert for those of you who haven't seen National Lampoon's Vacation, it was closed. And no night life to be seen for miles. We could walk for another mile, maybe more, to get to the next bar, but since it was after 12, we were worried it might not be worth it. Especially if we got lost-- and it took us even longer to find the places we were trying to find. We decided to call it a night after a quick photo shoot-- and really hit the road the next morning. So, that's what we did!

We woke up, and boom-- there was Enterprise to pick us up! When they asked where we were going, we answered honestly, "We dunno yet."

We started at the Breakfast Buzz, which Nicole tells me, is rated highest for Breakfast in San Luis! And it was very tasty-- and packed! Luckily, we got seats right away at the breakfast bar. We didn't make friends there, but it was only because the guy next to us sent a weird vibe. Usually, I'm all over that, but for some reason, today it didn't feel right.

After our delicious breakfast, we headed down to Pismo Beach! Where, of course, I forgot my camera in the car. It was freezing there. So, I felt no need to wear sunblock. I later regretted that decision, as I was red, gross, and later peeling. I tried to be a beach person, just hanging out and catching some rays, but I quickly became bored and told Nicole I was going for a walk. AND GUESS WHAT! I SAW A SEA LION! Yes, there was a sick sea lion in the ocean coming from towards the beach. I imagined him to be just like the ones I love at the Pittsburgh Zoo. Playful and sweet! So,  you can imagine my surprise when a lifeguard asked me to back up. It was sick. Apparently they're not supposed to be that close to humans. My heart broke a little. It looked like it was just hanging out there riding the waves.

I kept walking-- seeing families, couples and little kids chasing seagulls. The kid was probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. The water was really cold, so anytime he got close, he'd run from it. I'm not sure where his parents were, but I thought to myself, "Wow, if I were to ever accidentally have kids, I would definitely want to live here." The water is too cold for the kid to jump in and drown. The sand is soft-- so  if it falls it can't get hurt that badly, and I could just read books-- while the kid chases uncatchable creatures. Perfect. Don't get me wrong-- it didn't give me baby-fever--but it made me think that there likely are some tolerable moments with children.

Moving forward, Nicole and I walked out on the pier, and admired how beautiful it was! We stopped in at a bar on the deck called Harry's. It was dark-- and there was no outdoor seating, which Nicole noticed since we were at a beach, after all. I agreed, but liked the feel of the place. She commented that of course I would. After all, I do love places like the K-Lounge and Whistle Stop. This stop was important in the scheme of the trip, because after only minutes, an older gentleman walked over to tell us that he'd been watching us (for hours there, apparently), and thought Nicole was the most beautiful woman ever. It was awkward; of course I loved it-- and got a good laugh along with the bouncer at the door nearest to us. With that, we closed our tab, stopped in at a tattoo parlor to check on kangaroo tats, and then decided to hit the Pacific Coast Highway.

North or south was the question--and south was the answer. What we didn't know then was that the Pacific Coast Highway goes rogue for a while, and instead of picturesque views of the ocean, we go through miles and miles and miles and miles of California farmland. We loved it, don't get us wrong--but we decided it was time to have a chat with our GPS. So, knowing Nicole and I, and recognizing that we had crossed the line into Santa Barbara County, the only logical search was for wineries.

And so we started making our way toward Babcock Winery. Which is precisely where we met David. Or as I like to call him, the one who got away.

If you know me or Nicole, or especially if you know us collectively, you know that we enjoy meeting new people. However, we usually need to have sidebars about which people to pursue to cultivate stronger friendships. Unfortunately, this small tasting room left no space for us to discuss the potential friendship we both saw for our new friend. We don't really know his name, but we imagine it to be David. There were other noisy drunk guests that were also tasting wine, and I think it's fair to say that we bonded with David through our observations of that party. BTW, we LOVED their Identity Crisis . We even dedicated a toast to Erik Erikson! (Who said theory was good for nothing??)

Afterward, we waited creepily in our car, trying to decide if we should invite our potential new friend, David, to join us in the rest of our adventure. Oh right, who's David? The guy that poured our wine. He seemed awesome. After entirely too much time discussing this, and trying to decide what to say when we did see him, we decided against it. This may be our only regret from the entire summer. We have a rule-- and it's same as the one rule in Improv, which is never say no. I should add that both Nicole and I have been reading Chelsea Handler's books and I've recently started (and nearly finished) Hilary Winston's My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me and Other Stories That I Shouldn't Share with Acquaintances, Coworkers, Taxi Drivers, Assistants, Job Interviewers, Bikini Waxers, and Ex Current Future Boyfriends But Have.  I want to be more like them-- (and I'm not sure if she knows it or not but) so does Nicole.

So, back to the Garmin. Let's enter Places of Interest. Near Here. Entertainment. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.

I look at Nicole and tell her we MUST! MUST! MUST go to the Whistle Stop! And her response is, of course we must! We agree it would be a crime NOT to go. And so we do. And oh wow.

On the way, we pass by what has to be the most celebrated Flower Show ever. I mean, there's a ferris wheel. We're talking a full-out carnival, people! We make a mental note that we should go there on our way back-- but for the time being, we're on a mission for a whistle. And this place doesn't disappoint. After several photos in front of the beloved place, we make our way inside.

We're the youngest people there by 20 years. While the place is about 4x the size of my Buckhannon Whistle Stop, it keeps the same feel. My friend Evan commented that there was too much natural light, which I can't really argue. There was. But they also had their own gem that I don't know that we could ever really get-- or even aspire to get. Unless, of course, I find myself alone in 40 years in Buckhannon. And that gem's name was Gene.

Gene knew a lot about nearly everything. I didn't realize it, but in the few minutes it took me to go to the ATM and back, she had quickly created a friendship with Nicole. When I returned, Nicole didn't share the details of the encounter-- we ordered our drinks, and then Gene turned back around to chat with both of us.

"You know, the education here in California is no good. If you want your kids to go to a good school, you gotta send them east."

"This jewelry? It's from Afghanistan. And you know what's happening over there" LONG PAUSE. Then, as if we didn't know, "WAR!"

The bartender actually looked at us and mouthed, "I'm so sorry," and we just smiled. It was fine, we said. The older gentlemen at the end of bar said, "She never shuts up." We finished our drinks, played the lottery, snuck some pictures, and then headed to the flower show. We ate lots of carnival food, and then, as if I could foresee the future, I bought some kettle corn. Which was PERFECT, as we made a pitstop at the Sunset Drive-In just in time to see Cars 2 and The Green Lantern.


Did you catch that this all happened within 24 hours? Trip 1 set the bar high. And so far the trips that followed have done a pretty good job at keeping that bar high. Click here for more pics.

What song would be playing for this part of my movie? I think this song would be ideal. Although, I feel like this could really describe almost any Pepin-Short adventure!

Pop Evil: 100 in a 55

Amy Fusselman wrote that after her dad died, she just wanted to say it.  She wanted to hear it.  She wanted to see it in writing.  I was intrigued.  I thought, why?  But she’s right.  I want to say it.  Over and over and over again. I want to say, my mom is dead.

What would you like on your sandwich? Turkey, cheese and my mom is dead.  I want to see that expression on their face.  My mom is dead.

Officer: Do  you know why I pulled you over?
Me: Yes, sir, I didn’t realize I was going so fast.
Officer: Have you been drinking?
Me: No, sir. (but I am speeding so that I can try to make it to Rite Aid before nine so that I can get drunk.  No point in trying now.)
Officer: Drugs?
Me: No thanks.
Officer: No thanks?  (Who the hell says no thanks?)
Me: Sorry, Officer, my mother just died… because of drugs.  That’s why I’m home.  I don’t touch the stuff.
Officer: I’m sorry to hear about your loss.  Drugs are bad around here.  Are you from around here?
Me: Yeah, I know.  You’ll recognize my last name.  You probably know most of them.
Officer: Who?
Me: Joey Short… Lorrie McCourt… Randy Short—but I’m nothing like them.  I swear.  (I want to tell you everything.  I want to say everything, but I’m shaking and I can’t find the stupid insurance card.  This isn’t even my car. shit.)
Officer:  Yeah, I know them.  Just keep looking for that insurance card, I’ll be right back.

Blue lights flash.  I’m pretty sure he’s not going to give me a ticket.  At least my mother’s death was good for something.  At least it got me out of a speeding ticket.  I do slow down.  The car just runs so smooth.  But it’s not my car.  My car has a ‘heads up’.  It tells me how fast I’m driving on my windshield.  Not that it would have made a difference.  I need Malibu rum, to mix with my Tropicana orange juice and my Donald Duck pineapple juice. Mmm.

The next day I drive my car.  I drive my car because it’s familiar.  I know I’m not supposed to; it’s not safe—but I’m not supposed to speed in my uncle’s car.  And if I have a cocktail, I want to drive my car.  I don’t plan on drinking and driving—at least not drinking more than one and driving, but I don’t feel comfortable drinking even one and driving their car.  I don’t think they would care—but, besides my car needs gas.

I feel like my car is where I can think.  I can think about my mom dying.  I can think about my reaction when my aunt called after class.  I can remember asking, “Is she going to die?”   I can remember the eerie silence, then the melancholy answer, “Liz, they just don’t know.”
When my aunt called she prefaced the fact that my mom might die with the question,  Liz, I don’t have to tell you, but do you want to be updated about your mom?

I wasted time—I packed some clothes for a few days.  I found my fish a babysitter.  MY FISH A BABYSITTER.  I went back and forth over what the implications of me going would be.  If I go, and she lives, then is she going to think that we’re okay?  If I don’t go, and she dies, what kind of daughter does that make me?  Would I be sad that I didn’t get to see her.  My cousin Becky asks, if you go, will it be because you care, or because of guilt?

My response: What, involving my parents in the last 11 years, have I done that hasn’t involved guilt?   So, I go.

When I get there, she’s laying in the bed; the doctor says she’s heavily sedated.  My aunt puts on gloves, as she holds her hands that have the pink nail polish on them.  She rubs her feet, and wonders why they don’t have socks on her.  She tells me that her feel are so cold.  She says things like, Lorrie, Liz is here.  Liz came to see you.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  Be strong.  Lorrie, you have to be strong.  Liz, you can talk to her.  She can hear you. We love you, Lorrie.  

When the doctor comes in, she asks questions.  My aunt doesn’t live near her.  She gets cards in the mail from my mom every now and then.  My mom calls her every now and then.  I don’t talk to my mom.  I told her she couldn't come to my graduation. I haven't accepted her calls, or responded to her letters for a month.  I suspect she’s addicted to Valium.  I know she has heart problems.  I know she smokes cigarettes.  My aunt tells the doctor that she heard that Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, has been trying to wing herself off drugs.  I think to myself that it sounds to me like my aunt is living in the same fantasy world as my mom.  My mom has been doing heavy drugs since I was eight years old.  What, in the last two weeks, would have made her change?  I say, she’s a dope head.  I say, she’s a druggie.  I say that I doubt she’s changed.  I say that the last hospital she was at is an incompetent group of idiots, and that they’d better check for everything.   I say nothing to my mom.  I don’t touch her.  I leave and let another aunt come in, because there can only be two visitors at a time.

My mom codes.  My mom is temporarily dead.  They bring her back.  They, the doctors, the doctors that are trying to save Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, say they are going paralyze her.  They, the doctors, are going to let the machines run her for a few days, so she, my mom, my mom that is dead, can build her strength back up.  My dad comes, and my aunts say I can take him back.  He hugs me.  My Aunt Francine, the aunt that raised me, took care of me, bought me the things that I needed, went to court for me, loved me, loves me, and still maintained respect from my mother, told me to be careful.  You just don’t know, Liz.

She had IV medicine for the drug addiction; IV for the MRSA; IV for the Sepsis; IV for the pneumonia.  She had a tube down her throat to breath, a tube in her chest to reinflate her lung; a tube down her throat into her stomach to suction out the green and black vile that was in her stomach; a catheter for her urine.  She was helpless.  Her hair was in a high ponytail.  Her head looked bruised from when she passed out in the bathroom and busted her face.  Her face was peaceful, but her chest looked like she was still working so hard for every breath. My dad tells me that she doesn’t care if she lives or not.  She doesn’t care.  Her son is in jail; her daughter hates her.  She doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care. She’s shooting up again.

I leave.  If she’s going to be paralyzed for a couple days, what’s the point in staying?  My Aunt Francine and I go to Wal-Mart.  We get snacks for the hospital; Ritz crackers, cheese, and off-brand pop tarts because I like the crust.  We buy toothbrushes, Crest ProHealth, Dove powder and Secret deodorant.  We buy scrubs for my aunts to sleep in, and we look in the beer section for Bud Ice.  We decide we’re going to need to stop at Sheetz.

I stop by my best friend’s boyfriend’s to pick my best friend’s key to her apartment.  She’s letting us stay there.  I tell her what’s happened.  She tells me she’s there for me.  I leave her boyfriend’s house to go back to the hospital, and on the way, we get a call.

My mom is dead.

I’m in my car.  I feel the seat under me; my legs are attached to my ass that is attached to my seat.  My legs extend down and the ball of my foot connects to the floor of my car.  It never moves; it pivots.  It allows me to hit the gas, or move to the brake.  My arms are attached to my shoulders that is attached to my torso that is attached to my ass that is attached to my seat that extends to my legs to my feet to the accelerator and the brake.  My hands don’t shake when they’re on the steering wheel that is protected by a black fuzzy steering wheel cover.  My mind is thinking that my mom is dead; the roads are bad.  Not bad like icy.  No, it is a beautiful Spring night.  It’s the day after St. Patrick’s day.  Every year, from here on, I will have a hangover, and I can somberly remember, this is the day that my mom died.  But these roads are terrible.  It’s bad in that Morgantown doesn’t take care of their roads, and there are potholes the size of couches; couches that are burned in Morgantown; couches that my mom caught on fire with sparklers and cigarettes.

I go home to Webster the next day; a place I decided to avoid this semester because I wanted to enjoy my last semester.  A place I didn’t even stop at on my way South for spring break.  I knew the curves of the road.  I knew the speed in which I could safely slide through.  Though the 16 miles of Birch River, I cried, regained control of my emotions, sped, drove slow, listened to music, lost control again. I felt guilty, angry, sad, upset.  I kept saying, my mom is dead.

I wanted to send a mass text message.  I wanted to get on facebook and write, Ding Dong, my mom is dead.  The mom that put me in pageants.  The mom that fought to get the last Dear Diary for me at Wal Mart.  The mom that, even when I loathed her, loved me.  The mom I made cry.  The mom that made me cry.  The mom who always threw me a birthday party, and made sure my friends and family were there.  The mom who chose drugs over me.  The mom who took me to my first Billy Ray Cyrus concert.  My mom who made me pancakes that were crunchy and my brother French toast on Saturday mornings.  My mom who took us camping, swimming, four-wheeler riding.  My mom that got high, and told me that my brother was an accident.  My mom who warned us about telling the teachers that they smoked, sold and grew pot.  The mom who took me to the doctor.  The mom who embarrassed me at my high school football game.  The mom who took us to the fair.  The mom who believed in Jesus, as the savior.  The mom that wrote in 2006 that she wasn’t afraid to die.  The one that thought she had a full life at the age of 45.  That mom was dead.  My mom is dead.

My brain in my head that thinks all of this, all the time, is connected to my neck, that is connected to my shoulders that is also connected my arms that are connected to my hands that are connected to the steering wheel that allows me to pick my destination, when accompanied by the accelerator that my right foot controls that is connected to my leg that extends to my ass that rests on the seat where my upper body including my torso, shoulders, arms and head.  I am one with the road, as I battle with this.  I thought I wanted her to be dead; I don’t think I was prepared for her to die.

My mom is dead.


*I wrote this shortly after my mom died. April 2009

Turn back on the broken heartache
Some things are just meant to be
I still believe that we got a chance
Still believe that we got a chance to be
Too much is never enough and
Too little is never enough
Full speed got me looking out my rear view
I can’t go back

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

It's messed up but I got this mission
Drunk again wont remember anyway
She said it’s just a game boy
Don’t be gone don’t be gone for long
Ten years I’ve been doing this forever
Its all I know baby please don’t turn away
I know you don’t believe in me
But I do believe in you

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

I’m still falling
Away from here
Away from here
I’m still falling
The wings are falling off
I can’t go back
I’m in too deep

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be
 
I still believe
Some things are just meant to be

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/p/pop_evil/#share

One year today...

One year ago today, I woke up at 5 am, turned on my phone, checked my voicemail, and discovered I was officially an orphan. As I think about it today, I realize that it wasn't just the loss of my dad that devastated me, but the feeling that I suddenly lost both of my parents all over again. While the last several years of their life, I wasn't super close, and in fact, hadn't lived with them since I was 11, I still miss them--- and it's still really hard.

So, on the anniversary of their deaths (March 18 & October 5), I try to think about some of the more positive experiences that I had with my parents.

- When I was a small child, people would ask where I got my dark eyes, and I said that my dad bought them for me.

- My mom bought me and two friends matching outfits, and let us use her stereo and back porch to create a dance to "My Boyfriends Back." She encouraged us to practice our dance; we won 1st place in our age group in grade school; we won 3rd place in the older age group-- and then we practiced all summer and got 2nd place in the "big" talent show at the Cherry River Festival. We were in 2nd grade. And we were awesome.

- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."

- My dad would let me read to him all the time. I loved opening mail, and reading to him. He would tell me how proud he was of me, and encouraged me to do well in school.

- My dad bought my brother a gun once, and then got another just like it that he planned to trade. When I saw it, I was ecstatic, because he bought it for me (even though I NEVER played with guns). I was like 5 years old. He didn't have the heart to trade it, and instead kept it until I was older and asked me if it was okay for him to give away.

- When my dad's parental rights were terminated, my mom let him come visit my brother and I; I was really upset about this-- and she ended up losing her rights over it, but looking back, while I still don't agree with what she did, I understand that she really loved my dad and brother-- and really wanted to go back to the happy family that once was.

- I ask myself a lot of questions about things I could have done differently-- but none of it really matters now. I've learned just to always try to be as nice as you can to people; even those that drive you crazy... and cherish those who care for you, even if you think you don't care about them. Guilt is a terrible weight to carry-- and can be suffocating...

So, for today's song:

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 

speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, ...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

~~The Beatles

Kid Rock's All Summer Long: I'm Gonna Give My Son Your Car

There are certainly differences between growing up in rural West Virginia, and currently living in Pittsburgh. One benefit to living in Camden-On-Gauley, West Virginia is plenty of parking. When I lived with my parents in Camden, we had a huge front yard.... And a lot of that area was graveled so that there was a ton of places to park. That was beneficial, seeing as how there were always a ton of people coming and going from our house, buying drugs.

When people did come to buy drugs, they often ran in to other buddies or friends.  It was like having every night being a high school party-- and my parents were the cool successful dealers whose house was always the center of the party. One day, one man, we'll call him "Gilbert" happened to run into a friend, left with the friend, and left his car in our driveway.

Typically, this wouldn't be a problem. However, this man had parked in front of our garage. We didn't really ever keep cars in there, but we'd keep our four-wheelers, and when my dad and his friends would illegally kill deer in the summer, that's where they would hang and gut them. Also, I don't think my dad was crazy about Gilbert... otherwise, the ending may have been a bit different.

After a night of Gilbert's car sitting in front of our garage, my dad called him and told him he needed to come get his car. Gilbert, according to my dad, was all, "yeah, yeah, sure Randy, I'll be over to get it later today."

He never came. The next day, my dad called and told him again-- adding this time that if he didn't come get his car, my dad would give the car to my brother.

My dad gave Gilbert another day.

The next day, the man called our house, and I answered the phone. All of dad's friends knew me.

"Hey, Lizabeth," he said,  "Where's your dad?"

"He's outside," I replied.

"Is he busy?" he asked.

"Hold on," I replied, as I set the phone down. I ran outside, yelled and asked my dad if he wanted to talk to him. My dad said no, and to tell him that he warned him.

I picked the phone back up. "Um, he's outside cutting the top off your car."

"What?" he asks with a nervous laugh. "Really Liz, where is he?"

"He's outside cutting the top off your car. He's going to give to Joey."

"Oh, shit."

Outside my dad had the blowtorch fired up--cutting around the windows. The old car had been transformed into a topless old car. My dad then pulled the wires out from under the dash, and pretty soon, the car was on. (Btw, how does one learn to hotwire a car?)

When Gilbert finally did show up, my brother was driving the car around the yard, and all the druggies were standing in the driveway laughing at the eight-year-old driving around the yard. My grandmother was standing at her back door, shouting at my dad, as my brother narrowly missed her home. His head was barely over the steering wheel, and all you could see was his giant smile.

Gilbert almost started to cry, and my dad just put his giant hand on the his shoulder, and said, "I told you I was going to give it to my son."



It was 1989 my thoughts were short my hair was long
Caught somewhere between a boy and man,
She was 17 and she was far from in-between
It was summer-time in Northern Michigan


Splashing through the sand-bar, talking by the camp fire,
It's the simple things in life like when and where
We didn't have no internet but man I never will forget
The way the moon light shined upon her hair


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Catching walleye from the dock watching the waves roll off the rocks
She'll forever hold a spot inside my soul
We blister in the sun we couldn't wait for night to come
To hit that saving place of rock and roll


While, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Now nothing seems as strange as when the leaves begin to change
Or how we thought those days would never end
Sometimes I hear that song and I start to sing along
And think, Man I'd love to see that girl again


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


We were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long

Cutting Crew - (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight

The day started out strange enough. Though I can't remember the specifics, what I do remember is my dad spending the day with my brother and me. Dad often stayed at home, and let my mom do all the grocery shopping, taking us to the doctor, etc. We had a pretty stereotypical set-up when it came to raising children, which is why my dad taking us out was such a big deal.

I remember he took us to Summersville, where we ate at McDonalds. Afterwards, we got ice cream from Dairy Queen, and he took us to Summersville Lake. I can't remember what we talked about or even what we did. I just remember feeling so happy that my dad was spending time with us. My dad was always my favorite, and I'd like to think I was always his. I couldn't wait to get home, though, and tell my mom what a wonderful day I'd had.

However, when we got home, my mom was not there. I went to my grandmother's to find her, but my grandmother said she had borrowed the car to pick us up. I knew my mom knew we were with my dad, and even then, at only around nine years old, I knew this was bad news. I started calling all of my aunts and uncles asking if they had seen my mother. My dad didn't seem concerned.

I remember I was frantically worried about where she was, demanding to my father that we find her, while he smoked pot in the living room of our home with his friends. He told me not to worry, be quiet, and go to my room. Despite my dad's size (350+ lb), and generally scary appearance, he didn't scare me, and I wouldn't let this go.

Again, at nine years old, my dad said to me, "Liz, your mom cheats on me. She's probably with another guy right now."

I was devastated. I screamed at him that he was lying. She was probably hurt--in a car accident-- maybe she was in a hospital. She would never do something like that to him. She couldn't do that to us.

He responded with specific examples, "Liz, I walked in on her on the couch with Ronnie, kissing him. She said she got lost."

I couldn't believe what he was saying. I just became more hysterical. I knew my mom couldn't do this. She was my mom. She wasn't capable of doing those things. They were my parents; they were still perfect. I couldn't understand...

He said, "Liz, she's probably at a bar with another guy. You need to just go get ready for school."

After enough crying and fighting, my dad decided to prove it.

I got my brother, and we climbed into the truck. I was still convinced that she had been in some kind of accident. Driving from Camden to Craigsville, I watched over the hill looking for tire tracks. We drove towards Richwood, and as my dad turned into a bar to turn around, our headlights shined into the windshield of my grandmother's car, where my mom was engaged in a deep kiss with a man who often bought drugs from my father.

My dad was infuriated. He jumped out of the truck, and punched through the passenger side window where the man was. He started cursing, trying to fight the man, and then crying asking my mom why. My mom was drunk. The man ran out of the vehicle, and over a hill into the woods. I stood, staring and crying. My brother, only seven, was crying and punched the gutter. My dad actually dented the gutter with his fist. He kept asking my mom why? Why, Lorrie, why?

She pulled out of the parking lot, while my dad screamed something like, "Yeah, go get your fucking boyfriend."

I thought my dad would kill that man, and I felt so guilty for calling my dad a liar. I kept saying I'm sorry. I remember looking at the speedometer and seeing the needle race past the 100 mph mark, and to the 110. The song Just Died in Your Arms tonight was on the radio was on. It was years before I could hear that song without feeling like I was going to vomit.

That night, my dad took my brother and I back to my grandmother's house. She put us in the back bedroom, and told us to go to sleep. Even then, despite having the exact same experience, we were unable to comfort each other. I remember saying, "I love you, Joey" and he replied, "I love you, too, sissy." I don't think either of us slept that night--and knowing that we loved each other didn't make anything better.

My mom called and I talked to her. I can't remember why I wasn't mad. I think it's because I was so scared. She told me that she was in a safe place, and that she would talk to me soon. She said that my dad just needed to calm down.

It was shortly after that when my mom checked herself into rehab for the first time. It was the next day that my teacher, Mrs. Leslie, hugged me during a bathroom break, and said, "I heard you had a rough night, Sweetie. It will get better."

I hope she knows how much that meant.

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight

I keep looking for something I can't get
Broken hearts, they're all around me
And I don't see an easier way, to get out of this
Her diary sits by the bedside table
The curtains are closed, the cat's in the cradle
Who would have thought that a boy like me could come to this

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

Is there any just cause for feeling like this?
On the surface I'm a name on a list
I try to be discreet, but then blow it again
I've lost and found it's my final mistake
She's loving by proxy, no give and all take
'Cause I've been thrilled to fantasy, one too many times

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

It was a long hot night, she made it easy
She made it feel right
But now it's over, the moment has gone
I followed my hands to my head, I know I was wrong

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

Queen: Bicycle Race

My brother, Joe, and I always had an intense sibling rivalry, but at age nine nothing got under my skin like him daring me to race him on a bicycle.  He had dared me in front of Ricky and Scotty, our neighbors, to race him down a hill behind our house, making me look like a chicken.  I told him simply that I couldn’t race him because it wasn’t fair.  He had been practicing, and I hadn’t had a chance.  I told him that of course, I wasn’t scared.  Tomorrow, I said, tomorrow, we would race, and I would show him.

That evening he went with the neighbors to baseball practice, as he did every evening, giving me two solid hours to conquer that hill on my pink princess bike.  I told myself that I would make it down that hill, and become so confident that I would blow him away the following day.

The hill in question was just to the right of my house.  My dad had a logging business, and we had 16 acres of mountainous land.  Of course, as soon as we moved, my dad logged behind our house, giving my brother and I several trails to walk, play or ride one of our many recreational vehicles—and not to mention practically paying for itself.  Living in the heart of West Virginia, it was only appropriate that most of the roads and trails were both steep and curvy.  The path my brother wanted to race down was no different.

In my first run, I didn’t go to the point where my brother and I would start our race.  I knew better.  I didn’t even go half way.  I went about a quarter of the way up, then rode to the bottom, holding my brakes all the way down.

My second time, I decided to do the same distance, only a little easier on the brakes.  Going about a quarter up the path again, I release the brakes, and rode freely down the hill.  The wind was in my face, and the crisp spring air gave me hope that I could conquer this mountain.

I then got ambitious.  This was not going to be nearly as horrid as I had originally thought.  I could go all the way to the top of this hill.  My brother was going to eat his words.  Ricky and Scotty were going to see that this was something that I could finally be as good—if not better than my filthy brother.  As I walked my bike to the top of the hill, I could hear victory in my mind.  It would be the proudest moment of my life: the moment I was better than Joey in something that wasn’t academic.

..........................................................................................................................................

At this point in my dad’s career, things weren’t exactly how one might imagine a logging business.  He was successful.  He employed five guys, and owned several pieces of heavy machinery.  Sometimes, in between logging jobs, he would bring home bulldozers or skidders and let us play on them—or put me, Joey, Rick and Scott in the bucket and drive us around the yard.

Life was good—so good that it allowed him to pick up a second business on the side.  The second business was that of a drug dealer.  This was the business my dad was looking to expand.  He decided that the best way to do it was to begin growing our own marijuana plants at home.

My dad is the kind of person that always has people that owe him a favor.  So, when he asked a friend to get him some fertilizer, the friend delivered.

When one is growing pot, there are certain appearances that one should uphold.  In other words, we had to start a garden.  That’s what we told people when they asked what the big pile of shit was doing in our yard, anyways.  That’s right, an entire dump truck full of cow manure and compost had planted itself in our yard just down from the hill where my brother and I would be racing.

          .........................................................................................................................................................................

I stood straddled over my pink princess bike, knowing that this ride was going to be the one that changed my life.  I didn’t even need to do it—it was only going to boost my confidence.  I put my feet on the pedals, and prepared for the ride of my life…

The bike started moving too fast.  Before I knew it, I felt like I was going faster than most cars go.  I kept slamming my feet backwards, beginning to panic.  My brakes weren’t working.  The further I went, the faster the bike would go.  I knew that I was going to wreck, and didn’t know how long it would take for someone to find me.  I knew in my nine-year-old mind, this was going to be how I died.  People would blame Joey for my death.  Had he not dared me to race him down that hill, I would have never practiced, and my brakes would not have went out, and I would not have crashed into a tree—or the driveway of gravels, and died.

As I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw my salvation.  I couldn’t get my brakes to work, and if going down a hill would make me go faster, then going up a hill, might bring me go a stop.

The pile of manure looked ten feet tall.  My bike raced forward, and I thought if I slowed down enough, I could just lean it over on top and walk down the mountain of shit.   This entire time, though, my feet were planted firmly back in the brake position.

I made it down the hill, and started up the heap.  I wasn’t slowing down as I thought I would be.  Perhaps after making it up this small hill, I would still die.  I feared that if my bike didn’t slow down, I would only pick up momentum going down the other side.

Miraculously, on top of the hill, my brakes started working again.  This blessing led to an unfortunate series of events.  Having my feet in a rigor mortis state in a backwards position didn’t allow for a slow and subtle slowing.  Instead, it allowed me to flip over the handlebars of my pretty pink princess bike, landing face first, full body in the swell of shit.

I never raced my brother.

Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle


I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like


You say black I say white
You say bark I say bite
You say shark I say hey man
Jaws was never my scene
And I don't like Star Wars
You say Rolls I say Royce
You say God give me a choice
You say Lord I say Christ
I don't believe in Peter Pan
Frankenstein or Superman
All I wanna do is


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my


Bicycle races are coming your way
So forget all your duties oh yeah
Fat bottomed girls they'll be riding today
So look out for those beauties oh yeah
On your marks get set go
Bicycle race bicycle race bicycle race


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle
Bicycle bicycle bicycle
Bicycle race


You say coke I say caine
You say John I say Wayne
Hot dog I say cool it man
I don't wanna be the President of America
You say smile I say cheese
Cartier I say please
Income tax I say Jesus
I don't wanna be a candidate for
Vietnam or Watergate
Cause all I wanna do is


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like

Memorial Day: This Afternoon

My brother has attempted to call me about six times this weekend. For those of you who don't know me, my brother was arrested sometime last fall for a plethora of charges. I have to admit that I do value family, but I think I value friendship more. The combination of the two makes it a special kind of bond-- and I'm thankful for my family that I also consider friends. However, I don't think that just being family should entitle you to anything more, and the fact of the matter is that my brother and I hadn't really talked in several years until our parents passed away. He's looking for someone to lean on, and I don't want to be that person.

I understand that "I'm all he has left," but I also know that we haven't built a relationship of trust. When I was 15, and he was 13/14, he moved out and we've never lived together--or really talked since. He blamed me for my family's problems--mainly because he didn't see the lifestyle of drug dealing and drug doing as a problem. He steals, he lies, and he cheats-- and I don't want someone like that in my life. And besides, I have to pay like three bucks to talk to him for 15 minutes. Why would I pay to awkwardly try to fill 15 minutes of time?

He's burned a lot of bridges, and I know that very few people have accepted his calls-- and I do feel incredibly guilty for not accepting them-- but it tears me apart. And I don't want to feel that.

And on Memorial Day, I don't want to focus on the bad. I want to remember good times-- summer times, and when things were good with my parents and brother. And for period, I think of Nickelback's This Afternoon.




There was one summer when my dad's logging business was doing extremely well. Additionally, his 'side business' of dealing drugs was also going well. There were always people at our house, and kids for my brother and I to play with. I had friends named Felicia and Dawn, and we spent days at each other's houses-- riding bikes, making up dances, playing in the woods, etc. My brother spent most of his time playing with the neighbor boys. Their parents considered him one of their own. They signed him up for baseball, took him to practice, and sending him home was the worst possible punishment was to send him home.

That summer, my dad had told us about these caves up on the Ridge, and I became completely obsessed with seeing them. He promised me that he would take me before the end of the summer, and as school inched closer, I thought he was going to forget... and I wasn't about to let that happen. With our living room full of people, passing around a joint, I marched in, and asked my dad when we were going. He laughed that wonderful laugh, and said, "later, sis"

Later was unacceptable. Despite being about 9 or 10 years old, and really knowing better, I decided to take action. I told everyone to leave, and started throwing a tantrum that would embarrass even the most shameless person. My dad, even though pissed, could never really be mad AT me, told me to go get my brother, and told my mom to pack a lunch. My mom hated that I always got what I wanted from my dad, but what can I say? I was the favorite.

We took our two ATV's, my mom and brother on one, and my dad and I on the other, and headed up the road. I remember on the way there, we had to make a pit stop because my dad lost a bag of pot. If you think Where's Waldo is hard, you should try finding a bag of green pot in a heavily wooded area. I was still pouting because this was delaying my trip, but I kicked around some leaves, and tried to help. My brother, of course, would be the hero that found it, and promptly put us back on track to finding the caves.

I've learned now that my parents, and more specifically my mom, made up a lot of crap that wasn't true and told us. I would be mad, but looking back, it was really funny. I hope that if I ever accidentally have kids, I can think of fun lies to tell them, too. On this particular day, my mom told me that the drawings on the side of the walls in the caves were done by Native Americans "many many moons ago."  She and my dad then sent us into the cave to try to figure out what it said.

Now, I can't disprove what she said, but I believe it was probably something that she and her stoner friends probably drew when they were in high school--if there was really anything in there at all. My brother and I got our flashlights out, and started crawling back through the caves. As soon as I could no longer see the entrance, I started to cry and want out... I think I remember my parents being a little mad, but I also realize what a brat I was being. I had thrown a fit to go, then didn't go into the caves, and complained when my brother took too long to explore.


We spent the rest of the day together, driving around on fourwheelers, and enjoying a beautiful summer day in the mountains of WV. This is probably one of my favorite memories-- and when driving around in mountains and smelling the scent of woods makes me think of it... While there were a lot of drugs that summer, I was safe, my parents weren't fighting, and there were always fun things to do...  It really was a summer full of them partying, selling and doing drugs, while my brother and I did pretty much whatever we wanted. No rules, no worries, and enjoying the afternoon.

Lookin' like another Bob Marley day
Hittin' from the bong like a diesel train
And I'm down with hangin' out this afternoon

We've got weeds in the backyard 4 feet tall
Cheech and Chong prob'ly woulda' smoked 'em all
So I'm out on the couch this afternoon

Beer bottles layin' on the kitchen floor
If we take 'em all back we can buy some more
So I doubt we'll go without this afternoon

You better hang on if you're taggin' along
Cause we'll be doin this 'till 6 in the mornin'
Nothin' wrong with goin' all night long
Tough to put the brakes on,
Doesn't matter when you'd rather

Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, We fall down
And then we do it all again
Just sittin around, hangin out this afternoon

Landlord said I should buy a tent
But he can kiss my ass cause I payed the rent
So I doubt he'll kick me out this afternoon

Down on the corner in a seedy bar
Juke box crankin' out the CCR
Had a few to Suzy Q this afternoon

Don't wanna wristwatch or an alarm clock
To see what time it is
From the moment I wake up
I just love being with my friends
We barely get by, but have the best times
And hope it never ends
We drink all day till we fall down
So we can do it all again

It's not the human walk
It's the human race
If you aint livin on the edge
You're takin' too much space
So I doubt I'll figure out
Just what to do
'Bout to kick it around
Hangin out this afternoon

Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, we fall down
And then we do it all again

Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon

Soundtrack of my Life...

My friend, Emmy, has inspired me to start blogging again... And, I think I'm going to change my focus to Soundtrack of my Life. I've always wondered, if there was a movie made about me, what songs would be on the soundtrack?

So, I'm giving myself a little assignment to pick songs, and why I would want them to be in the soundtrack of my life, what period they stood for-- or what I'll hope they'll be. Now, don't judge the music. I know, I know, I have terrible taste. But I like it.

A lot has happened to me in my life; I wrecked a car when I was three or four into our landlord's house; my parents started their own business, then got heavily into drug dealing; I testified against them in court; I was placed in foster care; I got an amazing scholarship to go to an amazing school; I went to England and Australia; I was student body president and General Manager for the radio station; my senior year, my mom passed away ; I graduated, moved to Pittsburgh for a wonderful job, and less than seven months later--and 20 days before my 23rd birthday, my dad died in a house fire .

Since then, my brother's been arrested, I was accepted to grad school, was offered an amazing assistantship, and am now planning to move again. I sometimes feel like the luckiest girl to have all these opportunities, and other times, it's overwhelmingly depressing to think of all the terrible things that have happened. They say that writing is great therapy, and my best friend's mom, who is like a mom to me, insists that I can help people with my story. I don't know if that's true, but here it goes.

Opening credits: MGMT's Time to Pretend





I found this song with Pandora. I imagine a flashback-- starting where the story ends and going backwards-- and moving back toward the start...  moving from cities to towns, and through my various ages... with highlights... 

I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life.
Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.

This is our decision, to live fast and die young.
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.
Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what else can we do.
Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.

Forget about our mothers and our friends
We're fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend

I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home
Yeah, I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.

There's really nothing, nothing we can do
Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce
We'll find some more models, everything must run it's course.

We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end
We were fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Why 2009 blows.

So, generally, I try to keep my online self a pretty upbeat person. I don't think the web is necessarily where I would like to air all my grievances. But sometimes, like now, when things build up-- and all the people that you usually turn to are probably sick and tired of hearing from you, I believe there is no other choice than to go where everyone can see (but no one probably cares to see) everything.

Tonight-- December 5, 2009, my car's (well, technically my uncle's car, since my piece of shit GM caught on fire in like Feb or March) brake lines busted while in the neighborhood of East Liberty of Pittsburgh. If you aren't familiar, google it-- I dare you. So, not only did my brakes go out-- but they are so bad that I'm going to have to be towed--LESS THAN A MILE to a garage to get them fixed. Awesome.

Now, granted, if this was the worst thing to happen to me all year, I would be like, "You know, this sucks... but shit happens..." BUT it's not. In fact, as my friend, Julie put it, "At least it's not the worst thing that's happened to you."

No, it's not. The year started awesomely enough. On January 1 last year- the year I was actually 22, and was old enough to be CRAZY for New Years, I was sick. I sat on a couch and watched the ball drop-- or maybe even went to bed early-- who knows...

And then, in February, I was worried about the economy-- so I took the GRE and the GMAT- and then only applied to like one or two grad schools-- that I didn't even go or really even finish applying... Also in February, I got into a huge argument with my Mom and told her I didn't want her to come to my graduation. I then gave her the silent treatment-- not calling or answering the phone. Ignoring the letters she wrote. You know-- generally being a bitch.

So, no surprize that in March she died w/ complication from pneumonia. FML.

My dad didn't take it very well. Instead of being there for him, I locked myself in a house and just felt sorry for myself for a while... Which was awesome, b/c in October, only six months after moving to Pittsburgh, and seeing him once between the two dates,, he died in a house fire....

With two huge tragic events, you would think that all of these little things wouldn't matter--- but they do... and it sucks. My Pontiac caught on fire in March.... My college roommate and I stopped speaking in April... I graduated and left the only town that's ever felt like home in May... I was rear ended in my uncle's car later in October... My fish died the first week in December... My family hates that I'm in Pittsburgh-- and aren't afraid to let me know it...

And the thing is, I know I'm really lucky. I have wonderful friends who are amazing. I have a wonderful job with wonderful people that I really enjoy. I have a family, that, while doesn't always agree with my decisions, are always willing to help in their special ways...

But I can't help but feel overwhelmed... 2009 has been a horrible year... and I can't wait until it's finally over....


On a side note-- does anyone know of any good garages/towing services in Pittsburgh?

GRRRR General Motors

My car was one that caught on fire under the recall (Pontiac Grand Prix). I had to talk to two different agents, send it all the information, pictures, title... and then wait. After a month, I called to check, and it's protected under bankruptcy.

Businesses without ethics, adaptability, and accountability should fall victim to the market. I just graduated from college, and have my first job. I'm starting to pay back student loans, paying for my own rent, and all the bills that come with. I have had to borrow a car for the last 4 months. I worked through college to pay off my car-- and now it looks like I'm going to have to start from scratch and try to squeeze in a new car payment, as well.

This poor service from GM makes me certain that my next car will NOT be a GM. I hear that Honda has great warranties, and customer service.

Internship Jackpot!

For those of you that don't know, I've been looking for an internship for sometime... Not really going out and digging, but reading the paper, and checking online for something that would give me a lot of different experience. I'm interested in a variety of things, and am not sure what I want to do after graduation in May. Last semester I did a ton of project and event planning and management. I planned a birthday party for an institution, held an alumni event and also was part of a team that planned a Debate Watch for the second presidential debate.

My advisor, and personal hero, Dr. Kay Long, gave me a couple of leads where she thought I might find myself some different types of internships. I had it narrowed to marketing, crisis communication, and anything else. Ha! So then, I did what the typical me does. I emailed all of those contacts and went with who emailed me first. Luckily, I can't imagine a better internship.

Steve Foster of the Upshur County Development Authority had a 'small' project that could use an intern or two. Apparently, last semester another intern, and friend of mine did some asset mapping of the area. She found that over 30 local artisans were featured in Tamarack, West Virginia's most prestigious art gallery. The opportunity that we have here is that some space has become available to open our very out artisan co-op on Main Street Buckhannon.

The internship includes everything from creating by-laws, to developing a website concept and PR plan to designing the layout for the studio. Steve says it is about as close as you can come to starting your own business as you can without actually starting one. Again, I have been blessed that I will have help of another intern and a great friend, Jaclyn Randolph. Our professor, Dr. Kevin Lee, has also been proactive in helping with the brainstorming sessions. He suggested a weekend roadtrip visiting different artistic towns that have similar co-ops. Currently, the only one that I am familiar with is Poplar Forest that had been located in the Flatwoods Mall. This co-op did not work-- but there is thought to be many reasons they didn't, and Steve has throroughly researched why it will work in our town... and I totally agree!

I think that this has huge promise in this town. First, this town seems like one you would see on a television show. It is more than a small college town. It is a town that is continually looking to improve the town, economy and quality of life. While West Virginia has this reputation, and seems to be experiencing what Governor Manchin describes as the 'brain drain,' where our young and brightest are leaving the state, many students are finding jobs here in this community.

I will continually update how the work is going. I think this is going to be both a fun and rewarding experience.

Final BBC analysis! :)

The British Broadcasting Company, or BBC is an interesting organization that had a unique perspective on the 2008 United States presidential election. Unlike many of the other news media outlets, the BBC seemed fair and balanced, almost to the point of laziness. In a country where news is told, then analyzed then used as premise to make predictions, having news told without the extra fluff seemed unnatural. To understand exactly the way in which the BBC provides unbiased news, one must understand the history of the corporation, its perspective on the United States and our government, and how that influences the issues the reporters cover.

History of the BBC

The BBC was started with four men in 1922 reading bulletins nightly, so as to not deter the sale of newspapers (BBC, 2008). It has since gained a broader audience and vehicles for communication as the largest news broadcasting company in the world (Sambrook, 2008). Understanding that currently not only the British go to them for news, they have adopted a broader worldview. Their news now must be newsworthy for the world, or presented in a manner that allows audiences to get the news that is most salient to them. Deputy Director of News, Mark Damazer (2008), says, “There is no one universal news agenda that applies to all. That is why we broadcast in many different styles and why a story given prominence in the UK may not even be mentioned by our international channels.”

Organizations that have a worldwide audience must have strong moral and guiding principles. However, one learns that values differ throughout the world. For example, Americans value choice and freedom; Australians also value the same but in a different way. For example, Australians must vote, and it is considered rude to ask to have your hamburger without tomato. In America, of course, it is your choice whether or not you vote, and it is the American way to have your burger ‘any way you want.’ The BBC recognizes this, and has worked to satisfy the needs and wants of those and many other cultures throughout the globe.

The BBC has a mission, vision and then list of values that guide the organization. The mission of the BBC is a simple one: to enrich people’s lives with programmes and services that inform, educate and entertain (BBC, 2008). Further, their vision is “to be the most creative organization in the world” (BBC, 2008). Finally, their values are listed below:

· Trust is the foundation of the BBC: we are independent, impartial and honest.

· Audiences are at the heart of everything we do.

· We take pride in delivering quality and value for money.

· Creativity is the lifeblood of our organization.

· We respect each other and celebrate our diversity so that everyone can give their best.

· We are one BBC: great things happen when we work together.

In America, when people talk about watching the news, most assume that they are watching CNN, FOX, or MSNBC. All three are owned by bigger companies or corporations with vested interests and usually an apparent skewed perspective. For example, FOX is owned by News Corporation, CEO Rupert Murdoch who gives generously to the Republican party and issues owned by that party. Not only are these three owned by bigger companies, but are all based out of the United States.

The BBC, the largest broadcast news operation in the world, is connected to BBC News and BBC Worldwide, both governed by the BBC Trust (Sambrook, 2008). The BBC news u umbrella encompasses BBC News 24, BBC Parliament, BBC World, interactive services, Ceefax and the BBC News Online (Sambrook, 2008). An article by the director the BBC News, Richard Sambrook, insists that the BBC is often the first place that the people in the UK and around the world come to find impartial news (2008). Some statistics he used to back up this claim came from an ICM, a British research company, poll saying that 93% of the United Kingdom population turned to BBC television, radio, text or online during the first two weeks of the war in Iraq. The survey also showed that in the first week of the conflict, BBC News 24 was seen by 70% of the population—40 million people.

In 2006, the BBC was granted a royal charter that has allowed them money from the government. However, in the agreement between the BBC and government, it was clear that the BBC would retain all editorial control over all media sources. This allowed them to stay true to the first value of being impartial, independent and honest. To drive the point home, and emphasize the idea of nonpartisanship and dedication from the BBC, let the chairman serve as an example. The Chairman of the BBC Trust is Sir Michael Lyons. He had been a very active and revered politician in Britain on behalf of the Labour Party for over 20 years (Conlan & Holmwood, 2007). The Labour party is equivalent to the American Democratic Party (Conlan & Holmwood, 2007). However, upon his appointment to chairman, he resigned from the party, and went on to give speeches and interviews promoting the necessity of a ‘spin-free’ broadcasting company (Conlan & Holmwood, 2007). In an article from the Guardian.co.uk, Lyons is quoted saying, “A BBC that is not independent is, frankly, not worth having. It certainly would not be able to meet the demanding public purposes laid out in the new charter, nor would it long continue to enjoy the public's affection and trust,” (Conlan T. , 2007).

This dedication was apparent in the news stories leading up the election. It was sometimes as if the reporters would wait for the fact sheets to roll in from the candidates and then write a story with varying opinions and little analysis.

Perspective

Five years ago, the BBC and ten other national broadcasters from around the world held a poll that asked the people of the world what they thought of the United States of America. It is important to remember that at this time, America had drug the entire world into essentially a 9/11 witch hunt in two Middle Eastern countries. The results were not very favorable to America in many aspects.

For example, the results, all presented in graph form showed the only Americans had a favorable perception of how we deal with the Israeli/Palestinian conflict (BBC, 2003). In another question, many nations thought that America was more dangerous than North Korea, Iran, Syria and many other hostile nations (BBC, 2003). The final question asked how much safer they were with America’s military.

While many might think that this unfavorable perception of the United States might influence the way that the BBC writes and covers the Presidential Election, this is not true. Stereotypically, America is both envied and hated across the globe. Some insist that ‘Globalization’ and “Americanization” are one in the same, meaning that America’s culture and influence the rest of the world (Owolabi, 2001). This makes it easy for the BBC to be unbiased.

Sticking with their second value, “Audiences are the heart of everything that we do,” the BBC would have to be unbiased. With news like BBC America on one hand, and then news going to Jordan, they have to report the facts; and only the facts. Because people’s perceptions are so different across the globe, and the audiences that the BBC reaches, it does not make sense to shape the news in a certain way or to have a set agenda of news.

Agenda, as defined by McCombs (2005), is “defined abstractly by a set of objects.” This, occurring especially within biased media sources like MSNBC and FOX News, is often defined by ownership of issues. For example, Republicans ‘own’ crime, national security, and foreign policy, while Democrats champion health care, social welfare issues, and income and job security (Petrocik, 1996). Again, since the BBC has a variety of different publics to keep in mind, and also given that those involved with Trust, the governing branch have removed themselves from positions of political influence, it is not surprising that they cover a large variety of issues in nonpartisan ways.

Reports show…

Tracking the BBC for over 10 weeks, then later analyzing the content, it is clear that the newsworthiness of some things differed from other US sites, but was less ‘spun.’ Many times the stories had a much broader perspective. For example, when the economic bailout became big news within the election, the BBC ran stories with comments and insight from the McCain campaign, as well as the Obama. When McCain decided to suspend his campaign, rather than praising him, as Fox probably did, or criticizing him, as MSNBC probably did, they stated the facts. The article headlined, “US rivals in economic crisis talk,” read, “Mr McCain has suspended his campaign over the crisis, but Mr Obama says voters should hear from the candidates. The two men are scheduled to attend a meeting with the president and congressional leaders at 1600 local time,” (BBC News, 2008).

Throughout the weeks, checking at least three times per week (Tuesday, Friday and Sunday), the BBC reportedly had 22 neutrally framed stories based on issues, meaning that they were not supportive or unsupportive of either the McCain or Obama. They also had 28 neutrally framed stories about the character of either candidates. This means that they might say that McCain is a maverick, but Obama is a progressive thinker. Rather than taking ownership and calling either of them anything, however, the BBC had this way of finding someone else to call them that. For instance, they might say, “McCain, the self proclaimed ‘maverick’” or “Obama, who Nancy Pelosi, speaker of the House, calls the most progressive member of the Senate…”

The BBC has stayed true to their mission, vision and values during this election. They stated the facts, without the ‘spin’ that many see in American news. It appears that in a country of biased news, one may have to rely on the British to hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Bibliography

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