Comforted by the spirit of Michael Jordan

Tonight was my first UNC basketball game, and it was against big rival NC State. But before I detail that experience, let me detail to you my own experience as a player of the game known as basketball.

Which was limited.

Many of you know this story, but for those of you who don't - buckle up cause it's going to be an emotional ride.

When I was a wee 7-year-old, my parents decided to sign me up for church league basketball. At the time my sisters were 10 and 12 and were starting to get more aggressive in soccer. There haven't been many things that Bob has said that I've listened to, but one of them was this: when playing [soccer], lean into your opponent with your shoulder - not your elbow - so you don't get called on a foul.

In my first-grade mind, this translated across all sports.

So when we played an actual game, my prematurely tall frame took out player after player until I was literally ejected from the game in the first quarter.

Now, because I used my shoulder - not my elbow - to level the opposing team, I was confused as to why I was getting kicked out. To make it worse, my parents were in hysterics in the bleachers, leaning on each other with tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Kids, that's what you get for listening to your father.

I am happy to report, however, that tonight's experience with basketball was much more positive. Let's recap:

These are the awesome spirit gloves my sister/brother-in-law got me:

This was my date for the evening:

This is what the stadium looked like before I put my glasses on:

This was my actual view about half of the game:

And this, my friends, was the score:

74-55. Go Heels!

Needless to say, I was in the "house of God" when I had my traumatizing childhood experience with basketball, and I believe it is possible that God has led me to UNC solely to restore my faith in the game and to heal the wounds it caused me so long ago.

This was a step in the right direction, God. Let the healing begin.

Another version of the dream

I've been thinking a lot about Martin Luther King, Jr. in my last four nights of insomnia. Partly because of the long weekend I got to take advantage of, and partly because his actions as a civil rights leader continue to challenge the way society is structured.

But how can we, as a nation, observe MLK day and pat ourselves on the back for being so accepting and open when we are blatantly denying gay members of society basic rights?

This issue is staring us in the face, asking us to make monumental steps toward something great, the way that King did. And somehow, even after witnessing so many eras of discrimination - women's suffrage, the Holocaust, civil rights - we shoo it away. Are we blind? Have we not grown enough as a society to recognize our mistakes repeating themselves?

There are other issues that I am passionate about, and for each of those I can understand the other point of view. Giving gays equal rights is one issue that I absolutely cannot understand the opposition to. I honest-to-god have yet to hear a legitimate counterargument to this issue.

My parents once brought up the point of gay marriage being a fiscal burden on society. I don't really understand why it would be, but I'm not all that fiscally savvy at this point. What I do know, is that gays pay taxes, too. And if we're willing to carve out a piece of society and say "even though you pay for others to have this right...it's not for you" then we are doing something wrong. And we shouldn't be giving married couples tax breaks when we keep the right of marriage away from tax-paying gays who are forced to be "single" under the law.

If your argument has anything to do with the Bible, that can be easily dismissed by the notion of church and state, recognizing the true sin of Sodom was rape and inhospitality, and accepting that "abomination" mentioned in Leviticus derives from a Greek word more closely translated to "taboo." And, I mean honestly, have you read the story of David and Jonathan? They were more than friends.

And if we are so willing to dismiss gays, then we are not entitled to enjoy Swan Lake, West Side Story, the Sistine Chapel, or any other brilliant work done by someone gay. Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Hans Christian Andersen, Tennessee Williams, Ralph Waldo Emerson. They were gay. And they were great.

These are people. With beating hearts. They are not the "other" that we can dehumanize.

Homosexuality has been around forever. And it's not going anywhere. Gays are our neighbors and friends and possibly someday our children. Are you willing to cast the vote today that will restrict your child's rights tomorrow?

I am amazed by the ignorance that we bring to the polls and the willingness we have to vote against something that would affect our personal lives in absolutely no way. America cannot say it stands for equality when it only stands for equality sometimes for some people. Think twice before you vote, people. There should be no second class citizens. Not blacks, and not gays.

Goodbye to a journalism god, Conrad Fink

Today, I am sad.

I am sad for myself, I am sad for the University of Georgia, I am sad for the field of journalism, but mostly I am sad for all the future students of UGA's Grady College that will not get to be taught by Conrad Fink.

The Red and Black reported that he passed away this morning after a 20 year battle with prostate cancer. He was 80.

I took his class in newspaper management my last semester of undergrad, which would turn out to be his last full semester of teaching. I took his last class.

Now, while Fink was not the mentor to me that he was to others, the man was a legend in every sense of the word. He was a professor, but had no degrees past a bachelor's. He was a marine, a war correspondent during Vietnam, and the vice president of the Associated Press. No doctorate needed.

He taught his students from experience, with a red pen and firm voice.

On the last day of class he let us ask him questions about his life, so we made him tell us stories like his scariest moment as a journalist (being unarmed in a field hiding from the Viet Cong) and how he met his wife (when he was very young - she traveled with him as they lived all over the world together).

He pushed you, cold-called you, and questioned everything The Red and Black did (the editor-in-chief, managing editor, and three daily writers were in the class with me -one of which wrote the article announcing his death). He taught me that sometimes using the F-word is essential in reporting a story (not this time, obviously). I turned into a bashful school girl when he praised my paper on how the New York Times handles stories on terrorist groups from different religions, but almost wet myself when he would put me on the spot in class.

He was tough, no question there. If he absolutely loved your paper you would only know from him passing it back and saying, "AUSTIN. Fine work." He never failed to write a paragraph at the end of your paper in sloppy red handwriting. But he really relished in his students' success. The mere fact that he taught until he physically no longer could, at the age of 79, is a testament to his dedication to teaching. He had knowledge, he knew it, and he wanted to share it.

It's hard to explain what this man means to Grady, however if you are a Grady student you know very well. From the second you are accepted to the college, you hear students talking about Fink. His classes, his papers, his eyebrows. But I have recently come to learn that it expands way beyond UGA.

In my first few days up here at UNC, I was asked about six times whether I knew Fink - whether I'd gotten to learn from him, talked to him, been in his presence. One professor proudly pulled out a book he authored from her book shelf.

People in journalism link Grady to Fink. I have no doubt that the other wonderful professors in the college will keep the program just as high in the rankings, but there is no question that Georgia has lost something it cannot replace. I knew I was learning from someone special last spring, but I will most definitely continue to realize what he taught me for years to come.

This pretty much sums him up:

The little noise he makes in the last second is classic Fink.

And this is the link to a Washington Post article on him, appropriately pulled from the AP wire. The fact that the Post wrote about it really says something.

Over break.

Back to Chapel Hill and back to the grind. I'm about to start writing a wholllle bunch so I decided my recap of Christmas break would be via pictures. This is what my wonderful three-week break consisted of:

Painting the nails of everyone around me in bizarre designs:


Some trap shooting:


A little wedding dress shopping for my sister:


Celebrating the engagement of some of my favorite couples and catching up with the brides (yep, I stole these pictures from Facebook):






Spending some time with my quirky family - this is Ashley "transferring energy" to the bread dough to help thaw it:


Calling the police to get them to kill a wounded deer - which they didn't end up doing, but three cop cars showed up to tell me that they couldn't shoot it because it was too close to a house. Any Johns Creek-ers wondering where your tax money is going?




Spent a few days here for my birthday:


Finding some old pictures:


Spending some time with this kid:


Getting some life lessons from car windows:


Christmas:


And, of course, lots and lots of dog time:






Happy spring semester!