S CLUB TAKES LONDON

Greetings from London! I arrived here on Sunday morning around 935 am (435 am eastern time) and have been on the go ever since. It was such a strange feeling to land at an airport and not have a cell phone to turn on! However, soon enough I was in the long line for customs (which was in a non-air conditioned room, mind you) and being interrogated by a woman who was very perturbed by the fact that she had "nevah heeeeard of such a program here in the UK". I found Heathrow to be rather nice in the end though and thoroughly appreciated the free dollies available to collect your baggage. With the two 50 lb suit cases, 80 lb carry-on duffle, a jacket that I carried on annnnnd my rather large personal item (aka basically another duffle), I was extremely happy to discover these dollies. I was even more pleased when the man that my father called to pick me up from the airport was waiting for me at the exit of the baggage claim despite the fact that my flight had landed almost an hour early (thank you, jet stream). As he drove me through London for the first time in my life, we discussed the unique buildings along the highway, the weather, why he, unlike most (if not all) British people and Europeans for that matter, does not enjoy football (soccer) and much prefers other more violent sports like ice hockey. I found it particularly hilarious when, in his British accent, he imitated "those weepy footy players" when they get injured. As my driver spoke, I realized how much more eloquent the Brits are. Not because of their accent, though it helps, but because the common phraseology and word choice is just more elevated. Rarely did he use any slang. If something was bad, it was rubbish. If something was good, it was beauuuutiful. It made me want to be more choosy with my verbiage and avoid using slang because it just made him sound much more intelligent and made me feel like a dim-witted American. Once we rolled up to 14 Queen's Gate in Kensington, the BU staff immediately whisked my baggage away and brought me inside to sign in and get everything sorted out. A few minutes after I got to my room, one of my fellow demon deacons Chelsea knocked on my door! I was so excited to see a familiar face (one that didn't belong to my parents) for basically the first time in two weeks. She stayed with me as I unpacked and then we made our first outing to a nearby cafe to get a quick bite. Eventually, my roommate Ally rolled in and I met up with some of the Wake Forest boys living in a quad on the first floor. We went on a walking tour of the area with our RA's and saw where our classes will be, where the grocery stores are, where to find the tube stops, etc. I was SO loopy because I had barely gotten any sleep on the plane, but being the GREAT influences that my friends are, I was convinced to spend my first night in London in the pubs instead of in bed. At around 5 pm we made our way across Hyde Park, which is basically the Central Park of London and is right next to our building, and trekked through a very Middle Eastern neighborhood to find the "cansino", as the boys called it, so they could gamble away. Us girls somehow managed to convince the boys to eat first so we found our first, and favorite (so far), pub in London, which was called the Duke of York (pictured). The people who worked there were so kind to us and the food and drink were great. It wasn't exactly cheap, but we were drinking beers that were twice the size of what you would be served in America for the same price of any beer that I found in New York City. We bonded quite a bit with the staff at Duke of York and even received a few hugs from them when we made our final departure, 5 hours, 3 pubs, and a casino later. It was a great first night in London with great friends even if I was not in the best shape to be on a boat the next day.... which I was. This morning, we somehow made it out of bed, grabbed some breakfast, then went to Sainsbury's to get some groceries. We also got a temporary Oyster Card, which is what you use for the Tube and the busses (which are all your quintessential double deckers). After all of these earlier morning shenanigans, we joined the rest of our building on a boat tour on the Thames River, which is the river that runs diagonally through the city. I got to see my future place of work (the Westminster Palace where parliament meets), the Big Ben (which is SO BIG, seriously... it deserves the name), the Tower of London, the Eye of London (the ferris wheel), and everything else you hear about London when you're not actually there. It was great to go to that area on our first real, less jet-lagged day here and I can't wait to go back. Here are some pictures that I took with my regular camera, but hopefully I will get some better quality ones once I make my way back with the better camera that my brother in-law gave me (thanks Joe!!). I must go so I can eat dinner with the S-Club (as in S-Club seven, as Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Kessler so cleverly labelled us... though they regretted it after when they saw that I liked the name and would continue to use it and give them credit for it). I believe we have red wine, pasta with meat sauce, and a salad to eat. I will update again as soon as possible! Much love!

Compassion For Terrorists?

I've barely followed the story of the release of the terrorist Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi who bombed Pan-Am 103 killing 270 people including those on the jumbo jet itself and people on the ground. However, I just read over Ann Curry's blog on this topic and I want to issue my response and sentiments here.

A little background... 

Al-Megrahi had been convicted of 'involvement' with the bombing and was sentenced to prison in Scotland for the rest of his life. The bombing, which is also frequently referred to as the Lockerbie bombing or Lockerbie air disaster, took the lives of 189 Americans including multiple university-aged students from around the United States and four or five (it was never confirmed publicly to my knowledge) U.S. Intelligence Officers. Also lost were 16 crew members, the UN Commissioner for Namibia, a number of prominent UK artists, eleven residents of Lockerbie where the plane fell to the ground, and the loved ones of hundreds of people who bid their fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends goodbye on that day not knowing that they would later watch what was left of their physical presence on Earth rise into the sky in the form of smoke and ash. I apologize for the image, but in order for you to see this story in the way that I do, it is essential that you picture the complete, untainted reality of the situation. 

Beyond the fact that Al-Megrahi apparently helped bomb a civilian airplane and forgetting that an act of terrorism, no matter how violent, is still a punishable act of unnecessary, cold-hearted evil, there were 270 innocent lives taken on that fateful day. Imagine 270 of your closest comrades or relatives being taken from you in a flash without warning, without reason, and without resolution. I understand that Al-Megrahi is suffering from terminal cancer that is supposed to leave him dead within in the next three months. I understand that it is highly unlikely that he was the sole actor in this situation and that it may forever be unclear whether or not Al-Megrahi acted alone. Yet, what I do not understand is how anyone, no matter how removed they are from the situation, could release this man from life-imprisonment knowing that he was heavily involved with the act that resulted in the brutal murder of 270 innocent people from across the globe. This act of terrorism is not isolated. Acts of terrorism do not occur in a vacuum. The horror, the anger, the threat of a situation like this permeates the world and strikes all people who are aware of the incident with a sudden realization that no man can be safe with fanatical killers like Al-Megrahi roaming our streets. I am sorry if this sounds harsh and I extend my greatest sympathy to the family of Al-Megrahi because it is quite likely that they have felt a loss quite similar to those who will never see their loved ones again as a result of the Libyan terrorist's actions. However, I am not sorry that he was sentenced to life in prison and I will never cease to believe that unleashing a MURDERER, not just a terrorist, but a MASS-MURDERER back into society because of an ailment is just absolutely abominable. Three months is a loose time-frame. For all we know, Al-Megrahi could be enjoying Libyan sit-com's and sipping cocktails a year from now because sometimes miracles happen. Yet, where is the miracle for those whose lives were viciously taken on December 21, 1988? Will those who lost their friends and relatives on that fateful day too be set free from the unseen shackles that have held them down and jailed them since Al-Megrahi bombed that airplane? 

The 270 men, women, and children who passed away on that day will never be set free from their premature deaths. Their loved ones will never be set free from the unwarranted, malicious actions of Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi. And yet, Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi walks free to enjoy his last days on this Earth in his home country with his family knowing that those he murdered were never given the opportunity to do the same. 

Writers, Writing, and How Life Continues To Imitate Art... and Its Decline

Writers. I envy Writers. No typo, the capitalization of Writers is deliberate because they are the professionals, the real ones, those who give words a place on a page or a space on a screen. Writers, capitalized, do not merely write or commit the act of writing. They manipulate consonants, vowels, syllables and rhythms to create a song and dance without melody or movement. When I read an article or a novel, that is what I seek: a rhythm. It does not have to entice me or yank me into the plot so that I don't even have a choice as to whether or not I continue on. In fact, I much prefer the work of literature that requires focus, deliberation and perseverance like Faulkner or Hemingway as opposed to the cheeky, unfortunate, romance 'pieces' by Nicholas Sparks, like the one that nearly made me vomit at the mere sight of it in my mother's car today. Pardon the image. I love to get caught in words in the most natural way. Without effort on my part or on that of the author. It is the type of novel, magazine feature, or article that holds you ever so gently like the nonchalant canvas of a hammock. I love the type of writing that you can lay on without grace or purpose and merely sway as your mind wanders, or doesn't, into an oblivion of nonsense and self-directed discourse. Yet, at the same time, there has to be a challenge. It can't just make sense right from the start. I remember my literature teachers before college would always shed a silent grin as the over-confident adolescent grimaces of my peers and I would slowly turn into visages of vulnerability and confusion at a poem's every turn. Or when we read Mask of The Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe in high school and it was completely beyond us that the colors of each room represented the stages of life (I think that's what the metaphor was) until our teacher turned us to the beginning again and guided us through the genius' intellectual jungle. I know that the poetry and prose that I have written is often difficult to comprehend even after a few read-through's for most people. Some may argue, as my first English teacher at Wake Forest did, that I use overblown prose and that my writing is frustrating or pointless. Yet, in my mind art should not be an outline or a scientific diagram of an emotion, situation, or thought. For me, art, or in this case writing, is my means of defining in an abstract form what I feel inside the contours of my body. A quotation from my favorite book as of late, Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife, that epitomizes my outlook on writing. Niffenegger says, "The compelling thing about making art - or anything I suppose - is the moment where the vaporous, insubstantial idea becomes a solid there, a thing, a substance in a world of substances." Without somehow putting what I feel within on paper, a concrete home for an abstract entity, it would all dissipate and cease to exist. That is why I keep a journal, because it is great to look back and see what I felt, even in the most trivial of circumstances, because it is real and true and documented and forever emblazoned on parchment that I can have and hold as long as I can keep it from Earth's more unforgiving elements (like hurricanes, watch it Bill). And that is why I write poetry, to encapsulate a certain sentiment, a list of words that make sense in my mind, and create a dramatic metaphor that distorts or understates an emotion or idea that I hold within so that I can reflect on it in the future and hold it as a reminder that I have felt before and am willing to honor those feelings, no matter how childish and regardless of longevity. I think part of me pities my past self... I feel as though I have been wronged in so many social, interpersonal situations that it is impossible for me to simply move on, forgive, and forget. I know my perils are no deeper or more traumatizing than anyone else's. In fact, I don't even suffer really in the true sense of suffering. Yet, I was born with an artist's mind. An artist's mind was placed within the hollow cavities of a helpless body for one reason and that is to torture the artist until all cobwebs have been cleared from the heart, all fireworks have exploded within the chest, all knots have relieved themselves along the spine, all visions have been cleared of orbs or fuzz, and all breaths have dug to the most unreachable depths of the heart. And yet because we are artists, the spider is relentless, the fireworks are dampened, the knots are forever tightening, our sight is cloudy, and we are perpetually unable to gasp the amount of air necessary to free us from ourselves. And so as we bleed onto notebooks, hollow staffs, and blank canvasses, we toil in the name of our sole goal, our freedom. We cling to our art and we pass with our art. As art declines, as we have seen with the decline in the art of news writing, news delivery, and journalism without .com's and google readers, so do those beacons of perfection that once shined with it. Your art does not have to involve paintbrushes, pens, or instruments. It could involve a ball, a movement, an understanding, a skill. And yet it will perpetuate your existence and manipulate it until you are forever indebted to that art itself and that is when it will take you with it as it falls. Goodnight Faulkner, Goodnight Poe, Goodnight Henry David Thoreau. Goodnight Picasso, Goodnight Manet, Goodnight Cezan and Claude Monet. Goodnight Conkite, Goodnight Hewitt, Goodnight Novak and all who understood him. Goodnight paper, Goodnight fold, Goodnight news of today and of old. 

Insert Cliche Line About Ends & Beginnings Here

I hate to admit it, but I actually considered putting "the end of the beginning" as the title of this post. But don't worry... as you noticed I was able to restrain the hopeless romantic within and call to the gods of Faulkner and Tolstoy and come up with a more cynical, straight-forward title instead. I don't really know where I am right now though to be honest. My internship with the New York Knicks finished gracefully with a few lunches with supervisors/higher-ups and some unfortunately half-hearted goodbyes. I will not miss the early mornings. I will not miss the windowless pit. I will ABSOLUTELY not miss Mike Francesa or WFAN as an enterprise overall. I will not miss the Dell desktop computer. I will not miss photocopies. Yet, I will miss being ridiculously well-groomed in Knicks jargon. I will miss my supervisors because they all had a certain uncanny type of humor that made everything about being an intern that much less painless. I will miss approaching Madison Square Garden every morning knowing that that's where I was working. I will miss Macaron, that tasty little french place that made the best meat-less sandwiches I could ever hope for. I will miss my Texas roommate... that's singular... juuuuuust one of them. I will miss Greenwich and those who belong to Greenwich... and those who belong to the dirty Jerzzzz, you know who you are. I will miss killing hours on menupages.com and nymag.com searching for places to eat. I will miss having calais.zagarow@thegarden.com as my email address. I will miss feeling productive (at least until the fact that I'm moving to another country in two weeks finally sets in). And on that note...

I'M MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY IN LESS THAN TWO WEEKS. Can you believe it? I can't. I know it's ONLY London and they ONLY speak English so it can't be THAT foreign, but seriously... all of you naysayers sitting in your home office in whateverville, USA need to take a step back and realize that regardless of how American a country is (which is actually the opposite... America is English.... England is not American... but that is neither here nor there) it is still not America. I have barely really traveled outside of the United States. I have absolutely no knowledge of the geography of England or London or Europe really (sorry Spassoff =) ). I do not have any concept of how to pay for things with pounds and pence and euros and whatnot. I'm apparently heading to Munich, Germany at some point on an airline called EasyJet... how safe can that REALLY be? I mean this entire thing is just absolutely absurd! And yet I am so unbelievably stoked! I just need to do myself a favor and fill out these last parliament forms because I have a feeling that they are time sensitive and that my hopes and dreams of meeting the Prime Minister's son (does he have one?) or Prince Harry and marrying them will not come true if I don't fedex this stuff to London asap. 

I am home for two weeks though... With maybe 10 people that I want to spend time with in a 100 mile radius... So count on a few more blodge updates before I part for Londontown.

PS: Dr. Louden, don't forget to send in my grade for my internship. =)

the last lap

So today is my second to last day of this internship. Don't be sad... I'm going to update throughout my semester abroad as well. Yesterday I got to go to lunch with the head of the PR Department for the New York Knicks. I had emailed him a few days before about meeting and he was glad to find time for me. The lunch was really great - I learned a lot from him and about him that will help me in the future. He hasn't been around the office much because his main office is in Tarrytown at the Knicks training center, so I didn't really know much about him other than that he was the one telling us to try and find the cemetaries where former Knicks were buried or that we missed an article in clips (if our supervisor(s) didn't catch it first). We talked first about social networking and social media as twitter has become a very controversial point of discussion in the sports realm now that athletes and television personalities alike use it to dish out their thoughts and feelings. I found it interested that he said sometimes the 'tweets' of athletes alienate their fellow athletes because some people, like David Lee for instance, don't want their personal business broadcasted for the world to see like Nate Robinson and Eddy Curry often do. We also talked a lot about females in sports media since I am interested in sports broadcast or just the sports media industry in general. His best advice for me in that department was to develop a strong sense of professionalism from the start because even so much as a giggle or a slightly inappropriate choice of dress can completely deplete a female television or media personality of their credibility despite their analytical abilities or talent. He referred me to one of my supervisors, one of the only females on this floor and the only female in Knicks PR, because he said that she demonstrates a very respectable form of professionalism that does not completely erase any trace of being female, but does eliminate the idea of gender differences from her work. He explained his path to the position he currently holds for me, which began as a math major in college, went to an intern at the New Jersey Nets then to a part-time college and high school sports writer for Newsday then eventually to the PR department of the Charlotte Hornets. He explained how he received a phone call from the former head of Knicks PR completely out of the blue and had no intention of moving back to NYC, as he grew up in Brooklyn. Yet, the Knicks gave him an offer he could not refuse so he moved up here in 2000. He also had a lot of interesting stories about trying times in his career from which he learned a lot about how to deal with crises. He spoke to me about how he dealt with the death of a Charlotte Hornets player when he lost control of his vehicle while racing his best friend/teammate to their traditional post-shoot-around, pre-game pancake breakfast. There had been a lot of controversy around that regarding whether or not they would play the game that they were scheduled for that evening and later that week with the NBA. It was also important for the PR department to protect the player who had been racing the man who died because the media, especially in New York, which is where the first game after the accident took place, is always willing to hound people to get any information, any bit of a quote. He also told me about similar circumstances like after Eddy Curry's child's mother was murdered right in front of his child or right after a player in the NBA died of a heart attack after Eddy Curry (or maybe it was a different player, I forget) had refused to take a DNA test to see if he had a condition similar to that which the player who passed away had before the incident occurred. In situations like that, PR people have to protect the player and protec tthe other people involved in the situation. In the case of his child's mother being murdered, the player had to refrain from saying anything that would compromise his case in the court of law regarding the custody of his child. In the case of the player who had refused to take a DNA test regarding the heart condition, he had to downplay his fear, but exhalt the life of the player who had passed away for the sake of the wife and children he had left behind. You would never think that so much thought and consideration for other individuals and circumstances goes into the work of a team's PR department... I found this interesting. He also talked to me about the "nightmares" that took place with the controversy with former coach Larry Brown and the GM because Brown thrived off of internal conflict and would do anything to create tension between team members and between himself and the GM. The other "nightmare" was the notoroious Isiah Thomas sexual harassment case... or just Isiah Thomas in general. I'm not going to disclose the details of what he told me over the internet, but know that it was a trying time for Knicks PR when Mr. Thomas was around... not just during the lawsuit, but also beforehand. I loved finally learning about how hands-on PR works... the experiences you gain when you're outside the office. I wish I would have the time to do an internship during a sports season so I could really come to understand the field-play of public relations. I don't know if I've really been exposed to the right side of PR to make a decision on whether or not I would want to do PR in my future. Maybe if I hated Wake Forest I would be willing to give up another semester. Or if I wasn't going abroad... wasn't on dance team... wasn't double majoring... and minoring. Yea, maybe then I'd do it. Anyway, I can't believe how quickly this summer went by. Even though there were a lot of days that I killed hours playing solitaire, I did have a lot of great experiences. I've met quite a few influential people. I got to work at the NBA Draft. I got to work at the Knicks City Dancer auditions. I got to compile an article for Dance Spirit Magazine, on which I'll have a byline (apparently). I just contributed to an undisclosed project that required research of all-stars and playoff contenders from the past few years. I got to try and find where dead former Knicks playres are buried. I got to wake up at 630 am 6/7 days a week. I'm a big girl now! I knowhow to do things! Woohoo! Well, I'm sure I'll want to provide some more information tomorrow or when I'm on the airplane on the way home or something, but that's all I really have for now.

One Week Left

I can't believe it's already Wednesday of this week. I had anticipated that my last two weeks here would drag, but it's already hump day and a week from today will be my last in the dear old public relations pit. I'll save the mopey sum-up for next week when I actually have some emotion regarding the end of this internship. Yet, right now, I'm filled with the desire to make the best of my last few days here. Last week had been quite busy because of the publicity book that we were working on. This Monday randomly went by pretty quickly and then yesterday was pretty productive as well. The NBA Schedules were released yesterday so that took up a lot of our day. First, we helped the PR department look over the Knicks news release of the schedule to be released within minutes of the NBA's news release. After going through and proof-reading, however, my fellow interns and I realized that each of our versions had different mistakes... then one of our supervisors made a side comment about how our boss had told him that he had 'caught all of the intentional mistakes'. So, it was a test... as usual. I liked proof-reading though. I remember when I was applying for internships that I had to do some fact-checking for Charlotte Magazine. I didn't really like it all that much, but that was because it wasn't a real project of substance, it was merely part of the application process. My motivation is limited for problems that don't hold some sort of weight in the real world. I love hypotheticals, but not when they require energy. HA! Anyway, I tried a new place for lunch yesterday called Bagel Maven and it was really good. I had been going to my favorite french cafe, Macaron, a little too much and the thought of a goat cheese or brie cheese sandwich right now actually makes me queasy. Then, after lunch, the world of sports news went berserk in its attempt to cover the break of the NBA schedules. So I labored over all fourteen articles that mentioned the Knicks from major news outlets and sent them out for priority clips. That made this morning a little easier, but we ended up with 37 articles for E-Clips, which is the most in a while. I think the other day we had 10? I remember the day after the draft though was 65 so I'm thanking my lucky stars that we stayed under 40. You probably don't even get what that means. Anyway, last night I monitored sports radio again and then went out with my roommate and her Texas biddies for one of their 21st birthdays. We went to Tortilla Flats, which was a pretty cool venue. Lots of sparkly streamer things hanging from the ceiling so I was entertained. Well, I'm in the process of trying to get in touch with Glen Grunwald, the VP of Basketball Operations who was my contact for this internship in the first place. We had touched base a few weeks ago about meeting when he was in the office, but he hasn't been in yet and I'm done next Wednesday. I also want to try to have a meeting with Jonathan, the boss that keeps testing me, before I leave. These people are fascinating and since I don't really know if I'm going to end up in the PR world again... ever... I might as well try to get the most of the people here who have come to love it and remain in it. Maybe there's something in PR that I've been missing that I should know about? Well, if I'm bored enough to be writing here at 10:43 am then chances are I might find something to rant about on here later... perhaps the fact that I want Bill Clinton to run for president again... orrrrr the fact that the psycho who killed all of those women at a gym in Pennsylvania actually makes me want to save the world... orrrr the fact that I cannot comprehend why a mother would get behind the wheel of a car while high and drunk with her daughter and three nieces in the car in BROAD DAYLIGHT WOMAN. Just don't even get me started...