Too Late to Apologize

This song was in my head when I took a look at this multimedia presentation on the apologies of many well-recognized men. The last few years have brought about the "fall from grace" of many sports, celebrity, and political heroes. We've had to hear the words "I'm sorry" so many times from these beloved figures that they all begin to mesh together.

I got quite the kick out of this piece. I don't know whether this was the intent or not, but the whole multimedia thing trivialized all these great men's apologies, making them all sound alike and just that much less sincere. It was better than writing some news brief about it or even shooting a video that encompasses all the televised contriteness. What's cool about multimedia in general is that it involves the reader more than any other news piece. It brings them into a story in a way other forms of journalism can't.

It can also add a little humor, which never hurt anyone.

Not Just Another Casualty

You've heard a million stories about the war in Iraq. So many stories, in fact, that most blend together and begin to sound like white noise.

Not this one. Not this one.

Father Tim Vakoc is the first--and only--military chaplain gravely wounded in the Iraq War. When he returned home, his condition was so grave, no one expected him to live. And yet, he defied the odds. This photo slideshow with captions and voice-overs literally gave me goosebumps. There was something about the voices and the low singing placed over these profound pictures...it was a combination that told the story in a unique and moving way.

The part the got me the most was when Father Tim spoke his first words after two years of silence. I had to pause the slideshow and take a deep breath. There was something so powerful about it, the sound of it over the picture of it. The whole thing hit me right in the chest. It was better than watching a video or reading about it in an article. Hearing it made me feel like I was there. Amazing, just amazing. What a way to tell a story.

A Prison In Your Mind

After reading so much about Nathaniel Ayers' struggles with schizophrenia in The Soloist, this Los Angeles Times article just hit me that much more squarely in the chest.

January (Jani) Schofield is 6 years old. She's severely schizophrenic. Most people are diagnosed with the mental disorder in their late teens/early 20s. Jani appears to have been born mentally ill.

A video accompanies the article, putting faces to the names. I chose to read the article first; I wanted to get all the details about Jani's illness before I watched her in action. The article is extremely powerful. I can't imagine what it must be like to have a 6-year-old who has no control over her own mind. She has numerous imaginary friends, some of which are "good," and others, who encourage her violent behavior, are "bad."

Many different psychotic medications have been tried for Jani, but only doses that would stagger most adults have the slightest positive effect on her. Her parents have had to make numerous sacrifices to maintain as much stability for her as possible. They traded in their 2-bedroom apartment for two 1-bedroom apartments, a move made to protect the safety of her 18-month-old brother, whom she tries to attack at least once a day.

It's not expressly stated, but her parents' marriage is suffering immensely. Jani's father did most of the video's commentary, while her mother only appeared once. To me, her father seems to be her primary caretaker, the one who loves her in such a heartbreaking and devastating way; it seems like her mother wants to scoop up her healthy son and forget about her ill daughter. Such a shame.

The pairing of the video with the article was a very effective way of telling this story. Reading about Jani talking to imaginary friends is one thing; seeing it is another. It adds an element of reality that you can't always get from words alone. The sad truth about this young girl is that she'll never get better. But maybe, through the telling of her story, another family like hers can begin to cope with this immense tragedy.

Wait For Me

How long could you wait for a loved one? How long could you hold out hope? How long could you last until every shred of reality slipped away?

Wait for Me is a three-minute documentary about a mother's undying quest to find her son. John Ewing Dreyfous was only 24 years old when he disappeared while biking across southern Europe. He kept in contact with his mother throughout his journey, sending her letters and postcards. This communication abruptly stopped after John entered Bangladesh and India. He vanished while hiking through the Himalaya Mountains.

In 1985.

His mother refuses to believe that her son is gone for good. She holds out hope because of a letter published in the newspaper from a soldier to his mother. The main thing he begged of his mother was to wait, even when all others had given up. So, for the last 22 years, she has waited. John's whereabouts are still unknown.

This was the most moving 3 minutes I've ever watched. I didn't want it to be over. While the director did a fantastic job of telling a story in a small space, I feel like the story is much bigger than the time allotted. I look forward to its expansion. Either way, it was a truly unforgettable video. Had it been written for a magazine, it would not have been as powerful. Seeing the images, the video of a younger John juxtaposed with pictures of a letter and the streets of Europe--that was what made the story that much more amazing.

Books Always Win

As a book-lover, I'm always on their side when it comes to books-turned-into-movies. To me, making a movie out of a book takes something away from the story. The beauty of reading comes in the form of imagination and creativity. The characters, settings, events, are exactly as you picture them. The story speaks to you. It's personal.

Movies fill in the blanks. Movies show you what to think, how to feel. You sit down and watch everything unfold. You're not nearly as involved as when you're curled up with a book, transported to that exact place and time. Movies pick and choose which parts of the book to stay loyal to, and where to add something that never appeared in the text. Sometimes, it works. Most of the time, it doesn't.

The Soloist was one that didn't work. It was another casualty in Hollywood's attempt to cash in on a story that literature was already reaping the benefits of. Jamie Foxx, Robert Downey Jr.--two great actors. But it just didn't quite hit the right notes for me. First of all, I hated the character of Steve Lopez. This is really saying something, considering I'm half in love with Robert Downey Jr. and really felt connected to the character in the book. In the movie, Lopez is single (he's married with a young daughter in the book) and pretty bitter about his life. While the real Lopez was down on his luck in some ways, he certainly wasn't as dark and blah as the movie version. I never truly accepted that this was Steve Lopez; after reading the book, I just didn't believe the character the film was trying to portray.

Jamie Foxx was pretty good as Nathaniel. He seemed to capture the rambling, scattered nature of Ayers' personality. However, even that character felt a little off. From the costumes to the flashbacks, I felt such a disconnect from the book and the Nathaniel I read about. There was an almost comedic air to much of Nathaniel's "antics," and that was never a vibe I got from the book. If anything, Lopez did a phenomenal job of relaying just how serious and borderline scary Nathaniel's moods were. I felt like the movie never really got into the nitty-gritty of the schizophrenia, and had it, the movie might have been better.

One thing I did praise were the scenes around and outside of LAMP. The destitute, dreary, and downright disgusting squalor in Los Angeles was portrayed exactly how I imagined it. Those images were pretty powerful, so I commend the movie for that.

Overall, I was underwhelmed by the film. I don't think it did justice to the characters or the true message. In trying to make a commercially successful film (which it really wasn't), movie producers sacrificed the heart of this story. I wish a film could have done more justice to Lopez and Ayers. I guess I'm satisfied in knowing that the true magic still lies in the book. Bypass the DVD and head for the nearest Borders. No disappointment there.

My Mission

I am a writer. If you're reading this blog, you already know that. I've loved to write for as long as I can remember. It's a passion that stemmed from, I'm positive, a love of reading. I'd stay up late at night, with a flashlight under my covers, reading the latest Amber Brown installment or Mary-Kate & Ashley mystery. Cliche, but true.

In college, I've explored the type of writing I want to pursue. Freshman and sophomore years were devoted to journalism. No. Hell, no. Don't have the personality for it. Junior year has been devoted to fiction. Bingo. That was it, the X factor I'd been looking for. This is what comes naturally. This is what I love to do. This is what I'm meant to do.

Okay. Now what?

My mission, as a writer with aspirations of that elusive New York Times Bestseller list, is to write something that matters, something with substance. Something that people will look back on in ten, twenty, thirty years and say, "That made me look at things a little differently." No matter what we write, all writers want to write something that will have an impact, whether it be big or small. I want to write something relatable, something that will keep young people up at night, turning page after page into the wee hours of the morning. I want to write something meaningful.

Something I can be proud of.

That's my dream. That's my mission.

"I'm Mr. Lopez and You're Mr. Ayers"

By the end of The Soloist, Steve Lopez stops calling Nathaniel by his first name and refers to him instead as "Mr. Ayers." To me, this was probably the most unsettling part of the entire book. Right up until this change, my emotional investment in the characters was at an all-time high. I'd spent over 200 pages on the roller-coaster ride with Lopez, experiencing Nathaniel's tumultuous personality as well as Lopez's desire to help.

And then they fight.

For the first time, Nathaniel lashes out personally at Lopez, telling him that he "despises him," and threatens his life if he visits LAMP again. With a few moments of unabashed shrieking, Nathaniel destroys every fiber of being inside Lopez, who stumbles to his car in a dumbfounded daze, both shocked and devastated.

After the incident, Lopez realizes that he's gotten too close to Nathaniel, who he later says should have always been called Mr. Ayers. He sees that a line was crossed, and even if it wasn't unethical or wrong, it had wreaked too much havoc on his personal life. Something had to give; his intimate relationship with Nathaniel couldn't continue as it was. He had to take a step back.

By referring to Nathaniel as Mr. Ayers for the rest of the story, the reader becomes painfully aware of the barrier Lopez has now built between himself and Nathaniel. While he still cares for Nathaniel, the friendship has changed. It's not the same--it can't be the same. A paranoid schizophrenic who refuses medication will never technically "get better." Lopez had invested too much of his emotional and physical state in a person who could stretch out a hand to shake, but strike him instead.

Even though I felt the dynamic changed with the name change, it was one of the most emotionally powerful parts of the entire novel. Lopez couldn't have symbolized the relationship's change any better. It became both painful and promising--now they could be friends, but without Lopez's emotional burden of constantly trying to "save" someone who refused to acknowledge he had a problem to begin with.

Lopez's The Soloist Not An Exploitation

For those of you who haven't read Steve Lopez's book The Soloist, I suggest you do so. Above is the trailer for the movie based on this extraordinary book about mental illness, friendship, music, and undying hope. Mr. Lopez is a journalist for The Los Angeles Times. He's looking for a story and just hasn't stumbled upon the right one yet.

Then he hears the music.

It's coming from a tunnel and it's being played by a messily-dressed, middle-aged homeless man. Mr. Lopez introduces himself to Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, a once-promising student at Juilliard who dropped out after he was diagnosed with a crippling and incurable mental illness: paranoid schizophrenia. Lopez becomes fascinated by Nathaniel's story and decides he's found the subject of his next column. But it's not long before Lopez realizes that he feels more deeply for Nathaniel than a journalist should for his subject. He wants to help Nathaniel, get him off the streets and into treatment. They become friends, but their relationship is tumultuous. Nathaniel's mental illness rears its ugly head more than once, testing Lopez's ability to invest his emotions in someone so volatile.

After a while, Lopez starts to wonder about the effect Nathaniel's columns are having. He asks himself, "Everything I've written about Nathaniel is extremely personal, and yet I've shared it with thousands of readers. Have I exploited him? Is it possible for me to keep writing about him without doing so?" Someone on the outside could wonder this as well. Los Angeles' "Skid Row," the place where over 60,000 homeless spend their days, is not news. Its existence is widely known and, given the lack of political action, seemingly accepted.

But Lopez's columns are not exploitation. He does not see Nathaniel as a paycheck, as a means to writing great stories that put himself in the spotlight. He cares deeply for Nathaniel as a human, as a person. They become friends, and he goes above and beyond to give Nathaniel access to all the help he needs. I believe that exploitation is selfish, and nothing about Lopez's relationship with Ayers is such. In fact, Lopez ruminates, "I don't know whether, in the end, I'll have had as big an impact on Nathaniel's life as he will have had on mine." That seems to be the underlying vibe throughout the story. While it seems initially that Lopez sets out to make Nathaniel's life better, the roles are reversed by the end. Nathaniel unconsciously gives Lopez an introspection on his own life he never had before.

Theirs is a true story of friendship. There was no exploitation, and I hope The Soloist isn't criticized for the uplifting tale it tells.

Admirable Angela

In Class Matters, Angela W.'s move from deep, hard-set poverty to comfortable middle class is both admirable and eye-opening. It didn't seem long ago that her and her five children (all by different fathers) were living on the streets, in crack houses, and in squalor. But after she met Vincent A., who later became her husband, her life turned around.

The book's experts say that Angela's rise on the social ladder "shows the importance of work and marriage. She found a good man and a good job. The thinking now is, it takes both to move out of poverty." Angela's marriage allowed her to find some financial stability while she returned to school to become a nurse. After graduating, she found a job that required her to work strange hours, but paid her $83,000. That's a lot of money for someone who usually didn't have $8 to spend on food.

I agree with this. By getting a job, Angela proved her own self-worth and found a way to stand on her own two feet. She ended up earning more a year than her police detective husband! But the marriage was equally as important. Having a dual-partnership, just the basic necessity of human companionship--knowing someone is on your side--helps with the psyche of someone who's trying to make their life better. Having two people working together to raise a family and bring in income is always better than one person struggling to have ends meet.

Angela's story is a true tale of companionship, and the financial and emotion benefits of it. She is a true testament in self-belief and hard work.

What "Great Equalizer?"

College should be "The Great Equalizer." College should blend students from many different financial backgrounds and hand them the same opportunities. College shouldn't be about how much money you have, but rather, how much drive and talent you have.

But is it? No.

I'm a junior at Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia, PA. It's set on the Main Line, smack-dab in the middle of a wealthy suburb and the scary, don't-walk-alone-at-night city. We've been labeled a lot of things, but the one I've heard the most is "the poor man's Villanova." Villanova is our "rival" school that's about twenty minutes away. We always seem to be in competition with them, whether it be through sports or academics.

But one thing's for sure: St. Joe's isn't for the "poor man."

With tuition rising above $40,000 a year, this just doesn't make sense. I come from a middle class family, and I'm able to attend St. Joe's because of a scholarship. Loans cover the rest. With most of my friends, this is the same story. We'll all be knee-deep in debt when we leave Philly, and most of us wince at the prospect of grad school loans. But that's not the case with everyone here.

I've met quite a few "privileged" people. People who don't have a scholarship and whose parents pick up the 40 grand tab like it's a pile of pennies. People who drive super-nice cars and live in upscale, $1000-a-month apartments. People who have designer everything and can drop $300 on a shopping trip and not break a sweat. People with 5 different credit cards and a trust fund the size of Texas.

They don't "blend" as well on campus as they think they do. Sometimes, you can know someone's financial situation just by looking at them. It causes a lot of envy, a lot of bitterness. Some kids are here by the skin of their teeth, eating Ramen Noodles for dinner every night. Not so equal.

And then there are the well-off students that you'd never notice. The ones who don't let their financial status define them. The ones who can afford the designer outfits, but don't wear them. The ones who save their money and don't ride around in convertibles and Lexuses. Those are the ones that make me think--make me hope--that one day, college will be an equalizer.

But college will never be an equalizer if the tuitions continue to climb. $40,000 a year automatically excludes people who can't afford it. How is that fair? Setting a tuition that high sets you up for a wealthier population. The others will make it on scholarship and financial aid. But will they become the minority? I hope not.

Is the American Dream Still Alive?

The New York Times compilation, Class Matters, takes an in-depth look at America's class system. It aims to debunk unfounded claims and reinstate hope in the "American Dream." But are the ideals this country was founded upon still at work in our society today?

I say no.

The idea that hard work, determination, and a little bit of faith are all you need to carve yourself a niche in America is completely outdated. There are plenty of hardworking people who will never do as well for themselves as they want. Sometimes, hard work is necessary to just tread water, just pay the bills.

I know this reality. I live this reality.

I just returned from a trip to Naples, Florida with my best friend from high school. We stayed with her grandparents at their newly-purchased home. I spent a week in one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen. If there is one word to describe Naples, it's upscale. I lost count of how many BMWs, Lexuses, and Beamers we passed on the road. The shopping centers were brand new. We passed a bank on every corner. The movie theater had leather seats and a full-course menu. The highways were impeccable, and the beaches were littered with designer bathing suits and family-owned boats. A meal at one of the many restaurants down there cost no less than $20.

I should talk. I rode around her grandfather's classic BMW convertible. Preferably with the top down.

My friend praises her grandfather, lauding how hard he worked his entire life to be able to afford such great circumstances. And that's true. Her grandfather did work very hard, and he continues to work while his wife is retired.

But I couldn't help my lower-middle class self from being slightly resentful. As much as I loved Naples, I found myself becoming angry that this kind of happiness seems so unattainable. I'm hoping to work in the publishing business. Not a lot of money there. I'll end up right back in the middle class once I get out of college--if I'm lucky.

My father has been working for 40 years. My family is buried under a mountain of debt. We've never taken a vacation to an island or Europe. We've been to Disney twice. My mom drives a mini-van and my dad a Ford. We live in a 3-bedroom house that barely holds us all in. We hardly go out to dinner. My father is one of the hardest-working men I know. He's 61 years old. Sarah's grandfather is 67.

And I know that unless he wins the lottery, my father will never have a second house, let alone one in Florida. I could argue that he's worked just as hard, if not harder, than Sarah's grandfather. But he will never have that kind of luxury. My family will never have that kind of luxury. And we don't even need a house on Florida's coastline. How about just being debt-free? How about being able to afford our education? A good house? A meal out? A vacation? We don't need much, but the basics are hard to come by. How is that fair?

American Dream? I don't think so.