The Writing Room: Due March 23, 2010

My favorite place at school to write in is just in my bed. I have tried to reflectively write in sections of the library or in study lounges, but I can never seem to focus. In order to do my best writing it needs to be the only task on my mind, but in public places this is impossible. Whenever I get stuck while writing in my bed, there are personal objects around to distract me yet not lose my focus. In most instances, I look around my room at pictures or my clothes and imagine the people in them or put together new outfits in my head. While writing, it is easy to get stuck. The way to get past that is to limit yourself to a small break that won’t break your focus; this is what writing in my bed allows me to do.

The objects in my room tell countless different stories. All the pictures of so many different people in my life have the most meaning out of all the objects in my room. The wall is completely collaged of pictures, plane tickets, and name tags from so many experiences throughout my life. Many pictures and tickets bring me back to my family and help me when I realize how far apart we far. The pictures of my oldest friends and important people in my life from home allow me to still feel connected to them without having seen them. Pictures, for me, are a way to reflect upon my past and subsequently allow me to feel content in the present.

The Shoe That Drops: Due March 16th, 2010

When I think about a void in my life the first thing that comes to mind is home. When I think about something that I have had and lost, home is the most obvious thing. Growing up and being carefree throughout high school, I felt secure with where I was at in my life and had a strong sense of home. Since graduating and spending the last two years five hours away at Penn State, this is a feeling that I have lost and would love to get back. Sometimes I consider my surroundings here my “new” or “temporary” home, but that feeling of safety never lasts long. As soon as I get adjusted and feel like this is where I belong, the shoe drops and snaps me out of it. Now, when I go home to Connecticut during a break from school I don’t feel as home there as I used to. I am not sure if it is the changes within my family or the changes within myself, but something is missing there. I see all of my friends here so anxious and excited to go home, but I find it hard to share that feeling. I initially enjoy going home and the change in scenery, but I have lost that feeling of safety and contentment that I used to associate with home; that is a feeling I would give anything to get back.

Writing Assignment Due March 4th: Redefined

1) Retarded: occurring or developing later than desired or expected; delayed.
-This word has become a disrespectful word in society today, being used to describe something “stupid” or even been used to refer to how drunk a person is; “I was so retarded last night”

2) Pot: a container of earthenware, metal, etc., usually round and deep and having a handle or handles and often a lid, used for cooking, serving, and other purposes.
- This word has grown increasingly prevalent in illegal drug culture and is a common word used to describe the drug marijuana.

3) Gay: having or showing a merry, lively, bright mood
- This word does not mean happy in today’s society; it is most commonly used to describe a person’s sexual orientation as a homosexual

4) Beast: a cruel, coarse, filthy, or otherwise beastlike person.
- This word is now used by the youth in society to describe a person who is really good at a particular thing; for example, referring to a basketball player, “He is such a beast on the court”

5) Screw: a metal fastener having a tapered shank with a helical thread, and topped with a slotted head, driven into wood or the like by rotating, esp. by means of a screwdriver.
- This word has changed in the recent years from describing a piece of metal to a verb indicating sexual intercourse.

Writing Assignment Due February 18th: Brush With The Stars

Over the summer at home I work at a Tournament Players Golf Club a few towns away. Every year we host a PGA Tournament named the Traveler’s Championship. The first year that I worked the tournament I was star struck by all the professional golfers that I got to serve and watch. Growing up around golf because my father and brother are both avid players and huge fans, I was familiar with most of the athletes in the tournament. As a bartender and server however, I was in much closer contact than the previous years as a spectator. Even though most of the athletes are well known, some stand out more than others. In this particular tournament, that golfer is Vijay Singh. He is one of the most prominent players on the tour, and certainly the most legendary player at our tournament. But when I think about Vijay I do not always think about his golf game; Singh is very well known for being a chauvinistic person who has a history of being degrading to women. Knowing this, naturally I was very excited to serve him. I remember being so nervous to even clear his plate or ask him what he would like to drink; I was so intimidated and avoided his table at all costs. Not only does Vijay have a reputation on tour for being degrading to women, but he is known as being one of the cheapest tippers as well. Even though the man has millions upon millions of dollars, I did not expect very much from him. So the nightmare was almost over, he was packing up his things and preparing to leave, when all of a sudden he motioned for me to come back to his table. Shaking in my black slacks, apron, and dress shirt, I went over. Thinking I would be reprimanded for something I did wrong or asked to do a ridiculous favor, Vijay handed me a 20$ bill, creepily winked, and said “Thank you for your excellent service, Christina.” Shocked, I said “You’re welcome Mr. Singh, good luck tomorrow.” This moment was definitely my closest brush with a star, and one that I am sure I will remember for a while.

Writing Assignment Due February 11th: Young Love

Recalling my first love is not difficult for me because I have only truly been in love once, and I still am. I thought that I was in love with my high school boyfriend, but after that relationship ended I quickly realized that I was not. After two years of short relationships and several “just friendships”, I discovered my first love. I like to think that it started as a friendship, but many people close to me assure me that we were never friends. It started as something different, and it still is. I met him at Fenway Park at a Red Sox game the summer before my freshman year at Penn State. I was leaving four days later because I started a semester early, and he was coming in the fall. We kept in touch slightly over the summer, but when he came in August we immediately became close. The reason I say that it started as a friendship was because we did not start exclusively dating until March, but looking back I always considered him to be more than a friend. After months of denial and not giving into the fact that we should be together, we decided it was time. I still remember the “big date” and when he asked me to be his girlfriend. Typical Penn State, he took me downtown to The Corner Room. Today I think it is terribly tacky and something I probably wouldn’t do, but back then it was perfectly cliché. Even though I had seen him almost every day and almost considered him a boyfriend, I was nervous. I was relieved to see, however, that he was too. I remember walking there from our dorm rooms, and the table that we sat at. We both knew why we were there, so before we even opened the menus he told me. I laughed at first because nothing felt different; we were so close and involved in each other’s lives already that it just felt natural. After that day I just felt more secure and comfortable that I knew where the relationship was going.
It is strange to think back to all of these details, almost a year later. A lot has changed in a year, but in a good way. There is much more invested between the two of us than there was that night, or even that semester. I look at that semester as the beginning, but this summer is what I attribute the most change to. When I think of the concept of young love, I think about this past summer. I can remember the night when I thought that I was actually in love and can recall many more details than I can about the Corner Room. If I ever had to pinpoint the most important “big date” in our relationship, this night would be it. I went up to visit him for the weekend at his house in Boston. On Friday night we went into the city for a Red Sox game, a passion we share. We sat out in the bleachers and shared a lot of laughs with an older gentleman and his middle aged son. The game was against the Royals, and they were probably the only Kansas City fans in the park. I remember looking at him and the way he joked around with these strangers with a different kind of smile. I could see qualities in him that made think further into the future, and it scared me. Since we parked a few blocks away, we left before the game ended. As soon as we left the park it began to rain so hard – no exaggerations, it was torrential down pouring. We tried to run for a block, but it was useless. We just stopped, completely drenched from head to toe, and laughed. I remember looking at him in this moment and realizing that this was much more than my first college boyfriend; I realized that I loved him. We finally got to the car, and began to drive home. I remember being the happiest I had been in a very long time, and that is a feeling that hasn’t really changed.

Writing Assignment Due February 4th: Working on a Dialogue

1. A husband and wife on the brink of divorce clean out the attic of the house they’ve decided to sell, the house they’ve lived in for twenty years. They come across albums of photos taken during their early years of marriage. They honeymoon, the trip to the Grand Canyon, and so on. Tracy opens one, flips to the shot of the two of them. She’s waving to the photographer; her husband’s kissing her cheek. She turns to Mark and speaks.

T = Tracy
M = Mark


T: With tears welling up in her eyes, “What happened to these two people?”
M: Disheartened but realistic, “They changed, that is what happens – people change.”
T: Still optimistic, “Do you think they could even change back, back to the way it was?”
M: Not sharing her same optimism and looking into the future, “No, no I don’t think so.”
T: Crushed again, but not surprised, takes a risk; “Where do we go from here?”
M: Realizing it is his chance to say what has been on his mind for a very long time, “I think that I want a divorce.”
T: The words she never wanted to hear, but knew were coming; she couldn’t respond.
M: Catching on, “I’m sorry Tracy, but I don’t know what else to do. It is to the point where that is the only path I see us going down.”
T: Succumbing to his wishes, even though she wants to try, simply, “Ok, Mark. Ok.”

Writing Assignment Due January 26th: A Quiet Moment

A quiet moment that is interesting to think deeper about is that moment after you say goodbye to someone and before you hang up the phone. I find myself on the phone a lot and I have never stopped to notice this moment, but now I will never be able to ignore it. Whether you have a quick, meaningless conversation or a long and in-depth discussion, this moment still occurs. No matter whom you have spoken to or what it is about, it will always end with your one final thought before you hang up the phone. This moment is so brief, however, that it is simply a moment of transition. Before I hang up the phone I am not yet thinking about and reviewing the conversation in my head. Even though it is there, the moment is too insignificant to impact my life in any real way. It is after this quiet moment when the real reflection about the phone conversation begins. This can often be the best part of speaking to someone on the phone: the laughter and thoughts that come after. Without the quiet moment of transition from goodbye to hanging up, you would never experience it.