The Week I Went Blonde

So about a month ago, I decided it was time for a change. I do this periodically and it usually involves my hair, i.e. donating my hair three times, and semi-permanently dying it about five times. This time, I decided, was a chance for something more drastic. I've been faced with the idea that once I go into the "real" world, I won't be able to drastically dye my hair as I wish and still remain respected and professional. And so, if I were going to do something drastic, while I'm still in school is the only choice.

And so I decided to go blonde.

I threatened to do it for a few weeks and kept checking Groupon for good deals on color. But THEN I called the Aveda Institute, right here in Chapel Hill, to see what their prices were.

Now, as you may have guessed, the stylists and colorists are cosmetology students. I figured I'd be going back brunette in a couple months anyway, so I mind as well help a student learn how to turn someone blonde, while at the same time not breaking bank. So last Tuesday, I marched into the Aveda salon channeling Marilyn Monroe, with this picture in hand:

I was ready. I was anticipating walking out of that salon a new woman. They told me something about having lots of dimensions and layers of highlights and doing a full foil. I've never had my hair professionally dyed so I just said, "Yea sure! That sounds great!"

And thus begins the photo montage:

After FIVE HOURS of highlighting, I leave Aveda looking like this:

NOT. REESE. I do NOT look like Reese!

So I called them back a couple days later, realizing that I really only wanted to be blonde a few months and didn't have time for four highlighting sessions six weeks apart. So I went back in on Friday to make them fix it and came out looking like this:

Blonder, but still not Reese.

By the time Monday rolls around, I'm pretty positive I don't like being blonde. Blondes don't have more fun. Fun people have more fun. I can be fun without being blonde. I wanted my brown hair back. And so Jason (visiting on spring break) and I go to Wal-Mart to buy boxed hair dye. What better way to fix a bad dye job than $3 Wal-Mart box dye? None. Exactly. So we buy this:

And my hair comes out looking like a leopard. Like a bonafide jungle cat.

Yup, that's my feline self walking through Wal-Mart - looking for another box of dye. This is about the time that the jokes started flying.

Me: The dye says it has to stay in at least 25 min, but 45 for lighter hair.

Jason: So how do we know what to do with yours?

Jason: Look on the bright side...

Me: Which one!?

Me (talking about something else): If you don't like something change it, right?

Jason: And then change it three more times to get it back to how it was originally.

So this time we got something darker to try. And this box was $7, so you know it's legit.

Once this one went in, it was very clear that the dye was actually purple. After rounds 1, 2 and 3, however, purple sounded alright - I felt like I could be a purple-head if it meant I didn't have to put anymore chemicals in my hair.

When I was rinsing it out, I realized how purple the water was and thats when I started to really worry.

But, alas, my hair came out all dark brown. And I look much more normal today than I have for the past ten days. And thus, thankfully, ends The Week I Went Blonde.

Wild and Rowdy: SB12

I am back in Chapel Hill and almost recovered from the most ridiculous spring break of my life. But not the drunk-n-naked kind of ridiculous.

My spring break at age 22 included a cruise to the Bahamas with 16 girls in my sorority. My spring break at age 23 included a weekend looking at wedding venues for my sister, an academic conference, and watching my high school best friend walk down the aisle.

And, per most of my long breaks from school, and thanks to the iPhone, I am going to explain my spring break in pictures.

Stop 1: Wilmington, NC. Here's a sneak peek at Lisa's wedding location. Eek!

We also went to a wedding showcase, where mom and I found a photobooth!

Stop 2: Alpharetta/Atlanta, Ga. I got to see my dogs!

And my mom made me go to the dentist. Part of a filling had fallen off so they had to fix it. This is what my half-numb face looks like when it's smiling.

And Jason made me caprese salad. Or at least his version of it. Proportions negotiable.

Stop 3: Blacksburg, Va.

I dragged my man friend to the AEJMC Southeast Colloquium where I presented a paper on student online speech rights. Thrilling, right? I thought so, actually.

Count on UNC students/professors to be gathered around a TV showing the game - even at an academic conference.

Stop 4: Auburn, Ga. to see one of my best life friends, Locher, get married. Luckily she kept Locher as her middle name so it's still legit to call her that. Congrats, Lauren Locher Carnes! And Chip, too, of course.

Getting ready!

Watching his bride walk down the aisle!

One of Locher's closest friends couldn't make it to the wedding because she's in Italy for a year. But she still made it! Thanks to modern technology...

Getting married!!! (My "honorary bridesmaid" status got me a front row seat, I couldn't help but get a couple pictures.)

The first dance!

Bob helping them make their getaway.

Why Jesus Doesn't Matter

Don't get too offended yet, hear me out.

Sometimes I'll have religious discussions with people, and hearing me talk about God leads people to ask why, then, I don't consider myself Christian.

Now, to be Christian, you must believe in the holiness of Christ, yes? Seems essential. And I just don't. So here's why.

I don't really "buy" the Bible. There are a lot of things I disagree with, there are a decent amount of ridiculous rules, and it just doesn't do much for me. So that's the bottom line. I just don't believe it. But let's pretend.

Say Jesus was, indeed, everything the Bible says he was. We'll go for fully divine and fully human (shout out to the Nicene Creed for that one...indecision at its finest..."we choose...BOTH!"). So say he died for the sins of humanity, for atonement. He was miraculously conceived, he performed miracles, etc.

It seems to me that Jesus was meant to do what God willed for him to do. Now I know there's the whole "he had freewill" argument, but how many times does God impregnate a woman and then the son doesn't obey his father(God)?

1- Totally against the Commandments, I'm assuming really against the commandments if your dad wrote them.

And 2-Never. According to Christianity, he's one for one.

So, in my mind, Jesus was being puppetted by God. Whatever Jesus did, he was either willed to do by God, or he had specific instructions from him. I frequently feel like decisions would be easier if I had specific instructions from God on what's right.

Also, I'm pretty sure that if I was told that my death would lead to salvation for every person to live after me, I would die too. Soldiers die every day. People jump in front of busses for others. And that's just for one person, community or country. Apparently, Jesus died for everyone. Ever. I get that it was still selfless, but I don't think it'd be a tough sell to most people.

In terms of theological study, many people find comfort in Jesus because he offers divinity in human form. People can relate to him and feel like he is a compassionate listener who provides a direct line (of prayer, communication) to God. What is a more direct line of communication to God, however, is actually communicating with God. I don't see any reason to have a liaison in my relationship with God, whether it's a priest or a prophet or an alleged son.

People delight in personal relationships with Jesus, but if Jesus is the son of God, and God is the almighty and all-knowing...why not cultivate that personal relationship with God directly?

So the main point is...I don't believe the stories of the Bible are hard fact. I think they're stories to make points. I think Jesus is a metaphor for God's love for us and desire to have a relationship with us. But if Jesus was real and did all the things the Bible outlines, it all still points back to God. Everything looks back to God, so whether it was truth or metaphor, I don't see how the importance of Jesus matches up to, much less supersedes, the importance of God.

And that is why, at least to me, Jesus doesn't matter.

Public opinion

I may or may not be in class right now.

And my Asian professor keeps saying "potty" instead of "party."

For example, "Republican potty."

Seeing how America's politics have resembled anarchy recently, I'm starting to think she isn't mispronouncing it.

I thought about running for president, but my lack of tack and consideration of forced sterilization would give the offensiveness of Rick Perry's campaign a run for its money.

Unleash the quiche(s)

I love getting pots and pans from my mom, especially if I can bake with them.

This summer my mom gave me a quiche dish. It has a quiche recipe on the bottom of it so you can bake a quiche in it. Observe.

When Tina and I moved into our apartment, I told her, "This is a quiche dish," and I'm sure she said something like, "Oh, how cool - yay quiche!"

So this Saturday was Barrister's ball for Tina (a.k.a. law prom) and she had some people over for appetizers before the event.

I noticed that she had my quiche dish out and later noticed how she used it:

Mini-quiches are quiches too.

A birthday celebration

My blog is almost three years old!

After writing emails to family and friends from Costa Rica in 2008, my sister Ashley convinced me to start a blog. I'm glad she did and I'm pretty sure she's still one of the blog's biggest fans.

Most of my Costa Rica emails were monotoned and simply chronicled each week. I wasn't nearly as rude or Bob-like back then. After seven weeks of emails, I got the best responses from my last one, which chronicled the first (and hopefully last) time I peed on a horse.

It happened. Just let that set in for a second.

So in honor of my blog turning three, here is the email excerpt that started it all:

"Monday we had a morning tour of the ranch where they told us about the plants and how it is also self sustainable. Costa Rica is all about sustainability and conservation. We got to pet the pigs (one of which I think we ate) and saw the mini-hydroelectric power "plant" they get their energy from to keep the place running. In the afternoon a few of us decide to pay a little extra and take a horseback tour around the volcano. This was probably the coolest thing I've ever done. While I've never gotten on a horse before in my life, I proved to everyone that I'm really a cowgirl at heart when my horse took off running and I wet myself. Always an experience. After riding the horses straight up a mountain to a lookout point, we again walked through some mud and across rushing rivers...this time on a horse. Halfway though the two hours it started to pour. We went straight through the jungle and once we hit a road the guide yelled, "YAAA" and all the horses took off running. No big deal, my bladder was already empty."

*Taken pre-urination*

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!