Frank was three years older with the body of a wrestler: thin, wiry and incredibly strong. Bad for him. Great in Dad's eyes. The recruiters loved him almost as much as the ladies did. He would rebuild the warrior spirit for our father. Dad could barely contain his pride in Frank. I wanted to speak up after Frank 's recruiter lied and told Frank that The Army National Guard rarely would be called to War. (Liar! Liar! The Guard was the first units sent to Vietnam in 1963.) Frank followed Dad everywhere as a child but he hated the idea of shooting anyone. I always kept his secret until now.

Me, well I read (along side) Dad, every book on Dad's generation's war, World War Two. I could only dream about being the great hero that our Grandfather was. I also was a great listener. I loved the war stories I heard of my dad's friends. The problem was that they were filtered by his mind. I heard the truth about combat from my brother-in-law. He served as a Marine thru three tours. The economy sucked in those years and combat pay paid better than civilian jobs. He had to kill a woman and her child when they shot at his post. He asked me if I could live with memories like those. I knew I could not.

I listened to Dad talk endlessly about what a great soldier Frank would be. We also knew that I could easily pass my physical when my draft notice arrived. Dad was in his glory, thinking of how proud he would be of his two warrior sons. We would be great heroes for our nation. I finally broke one day, I lost my temper and confronted Dad with my opinion of Vietnam. I ignored the fact that my Dad was violent. I disregarded his powerful upper body and massive arms. I had to speak from my heart.

"Dad you are wrong about this war."

"Have you gone insane, your nation is at war...you serve...without question!"
"If you do not serve you are not my son!"

We were face to face and he pushed me away with his middle finger. I pushed back and got nose to nose with him. I never flinched. I was very angry and also expecting to be knocked unconscious. I was taller but he had once twisted the head of a 1500-pound cow hurting her and forcing her to fall.

It took twenty years for me to hear his apology.

Step One: Ex-Detox. This step will enable YOU to be your main focus. Begin the total detox by getting rid of the things that remind you of your past relationship. Eliminate the pictures, the clothes, the letters, cards and anything else that triggers past emotions. De-friend the person on Facebook and resist the urge of going on friends' accounts to take a peek. Self-control is key. By detaching yourself from those feelings, you are opening yourself up to new opportunities.

Step Two: Create your own closure. You may not need closure with the actual person as much as you need closure with the feelings you had toward that person. Get out your laptop or a paper and pen and write a letter to them, expressing everything you could think of saying, good and bad. Be completely honest and true by writing based on your feelings, and not your thoughts. Finally, put it in an envelope, and do nothing with it. The point of the letter is not for the other person; it's for you to finally be honest and truthful with how you feel and release it. Through this self-reflection, you are developing the most significant relationship you will ever have--which is the one you have with yourself.

Step Three: The rebound relationship. They say the best way to get over someone is to be with someone else. However, rebound relationships are only a temporary fix. So why don't we consider getting into a rebound relationship with ourselves? This way, you will always have a strong long lasting relationship to rely on. The relationship with yourself is the only permanent relationship you will ever have. Look forward to getting to know yourself. If you are currently in a relationship with another person, make sure you focus on yourself as much on your partner and that any defining parts that make you 'you' have not changed or faded. Take this day to focus on those things that have taken a back seat since you have been in your new relationship.

Remember, you always have your friends!. Relying on them is good, but only to a certain extent. When you start making them feel like they are in the break-up too, you have pushed it too far. Your friends love you, but they don't need to take on your problems as their own. If you're not careful, you could push them away. Only time will heal old wounds and feelings, and it's important to let yourself feel them, but not focus on them. The reality is if you are not able to make yourself happy, then no one else will be able to.

If thoughts of an ex have ever filled your mind when anyone mentions the "V" word, you need to participate in this day. If you're still living in the past, that is exactly where you will stay. There is a whole world waiting for you out there, so catch up and move forward.

Don't go digging through the trashcan regretfully for that old sweatshirt. Focus on things and people that make you happy. Celebrate love this Valentine's day, whether it is love for you, love for your dog, love for family, or love for a significant other. There is a light that brings you forward and it comes from within you, embrace it.

[Steps to National Get-Over-You-Ex Day Recap]
1. Ex-Detox
2. Create your own closure
3. Enter a rebound relationship, with yourself
4. Have fun with friends
5. Fall in love
6. Enjoy Valentine's Day

According to TreeHugger, in a study conducted by CTIA (an international association for worldwide telecommunication) and Harris Interactive, it was found that amongst 2,089 teenagers, ages 13-19, 57% say that they view their cell phone as the key to their social life. In the same study, 47% of teens say that their social life would end or be worsened if they had no cell phone. A couple of scary statistics, don't you think? How about the fact that four out of five teens carry a wireless device, a 40% increase since 2004? If that doesn't do it for you then maybe this will: 42% of teens can text with their eyes closed.

With one billion texts going out per day in America, it's pretty easy to believe when teenagers say that they are now texting more than actually speaking. Isn't this what we are all so afraid of? Losing face-to-face contact? A world where we no longer have to seek out time in our daily lives to sit down and have conversations about the weather or the Yankees? Could this be happening to us? I sure hope not.

I went a week without a cell phone for a reason. Not to spew out statistics in an article and not to have an excuse to dodge calls from my mother every night, but in fact, to prove something. I wanted to prove to myself and anyone else who cares: we can live without cell phones. As contrary as that may be to popular belief, I made it through that week, and I am still living to this day. I still managed to have friends, I still went out on the town on Thursday and Friday and Saturday like a regular college kid. I still woke up on time with an alarm and went to all of my classes and had lunch with all of my friends. My life truly continued!

It was simple proof that our generation doesn't need to be labeled "technology obsessed" and "couldn't survive a day without a cell phone attached to their hand," even if we do easily give off that image.

I walked to class every day that week and decided to observe the students and faculty of our campus. Nearly every single girl that I passed by had a cell phone in hand. This is not to say that girls are the only ones feverishly addicted to the technology, but seeing as we don't have the luxury of huge pants pockets, most of us carry our phones in our hand. Although even with the large pocket excuse I saw a great number of guys traveling with it in their hand as well. Step one in creating our "phone attached to the hand" image.

The next thing I observed was the in-class texting. It actually blew my mind. I can't say that I'm perfect and have never texted in class, but I saw some people go at it like they were writing a damn novel on their phone! I couldn't believe how many people had their phones out in my lecture class. I look to the right and there is a guy with his phone down by his left leg trying to hide his texting. In front of my I see two girls sitting together and simultaneously texting behind their purses! Such clever ways of breaking the rules nowadays.

Now, with all of this talk about how I survived the week of cellular abstinence superbly, I must admit that I did run into a few hardships along the way. One day I forgot
my SUNY Cortland ID card that also serves as my meal card. I had to pay cash that day. Another day I managed to forget a paper on my desk, which could have been brought to me, had I had a phone to call my wonderfully nice roommate and ask her to drive it over for me. Simple things like that manage to happen about once a day; however, I managed to press on anyway. It wasn't the end of my world. And it shouldn't be the end of anyone's.

I'm sick and tired of having adults whine to me about how "kids these days wouldn't be able to breathe without their cell phones attached to their ears and hands."

Well, you know what adults?

I did it...and with breathing room left to spare.

However, by a twist of fate, we ran into each other a year-and-a-half later. Both of us had gone our separate ways of course, but it was nice seeing an old friend and catching up for the whole five minutes we got to see each other. After that, I spoke with Josh through texting a few times. We caught up, talking about school and where life had taken us. He told me about the girl he had recently fallen head over heels for, and I was so happy that he was getting things in order for himself.

A few weeks later, I was in my dorm room, when I got a text message from one of the RA's asking if I had heard about Josh's accident. At first, my heart fell to the floor, but after thinking about it for a minute, I remembered how much of a rough-houser Josh was, and reconsidered my original thought to myself. "It's probably nothing" I remember thinking. She told me to come see her so she could tell me about it. As I walked over to her office, I got a chill down my spine. I had that eerie feeling that something wasn't quite right. I walked in and she struck up normal conversation, asking how I was and what I had been up to. The tension I was feeling began to relax. If she wasn't making a big deal out of it, it must not be that bad. I reassured myself over and over that he was fine. And then she started telling me.

He had gone around a corner on his motorcycle, and it went out from under him just as he was rounding a corner. Rain had started to fall and his tire gave out. He went into the ditch, where someone stopped and found him. And then she said it... "He can't feel from his waist down as of right now." The words cut through me as tears filled my eyes. She finished by saying she had seen him that day and he was doing well, but that didn't make things better.

I called his cell phone, knowing I probably wouldn't be able to talk to him. I was tempted to drive to Syracuse to see him, but knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on my finals, which were the following week. His mom answered the phone. I tried not to cry as I talked to her about what had happened. She was strong. She never faltered in telling me what had happened. She retold the story that my RA had just told me, only in more detail and with more precision. I listened intently telling her they were all in my thoughts and prayers. I asked if he was ever going to walk again. I heard her voice crack as she whispered, "It's not looking good right now."

How could this happen? Josh is not a careless person. He likes to have fun, but he is safe. He rides snowmobile, and four-wheeler, and motorcycle. He lives on his toys. He had been working on his car. He lived to be in nature. What was going to happen to all his dreams? My heart went out to him because I had been in a car accident two years before and I felt like my life was going to end. I was fine three months later, but Josh was not going to walk again.

I went to visit him the next week. I walked as slowly as I could to his room because I knew I was going to break down in tears when I walked in and saw him lying there. His girlfriend had been texting me letting me know when it was okay to come visit. When I walked in the room, a curtain separated me from him, his girlfriend, and his friend. I wanted to turn around and walk out. I could feel myself pulling backwards. Then, his girlfriend smiled and motioned for me to walk in. She was so composed at such a hard time, and I give her credit for being able to stop everything to be by his side. She was the girl Josh had described to me only weeks before. I smiled inside as I walked around the curtain. As I started coming around the corner, Josh greeted me with a loud, warm "hello." He was lying in the bed with nothing but a positive attitude by his side. I couldn't believe it.

It's funny how some people can rise above what is happening to them and look at the bright side. He was alive, and that is all he needed. I don't know why I ever questioned whether or not he was going to be okay. I should have known. Josh is strong, and when you have hope, you don't need anything else.

I saw Josh a few times after that. I went to visit him in the hospital a few times, and I also went to the benefit held for his behalf. That was the first time I saw him in a wheelchair, and honestly, he was the same Josh I had always known. He was funny, cracking jokes about others, and at his own expense. He was smiling, never letting anyone get him down. He was happy. He is still the same Josh. He doesn't want people to feel sorry for him. He is strong, independent, and determined. The last thing he wants is for people to look at him as though he has changed. Just because he has had to make a few lifestyle adjustments, doesn't mean his personality is different. He will always be the heartfelt, kind, caring, strong-willed Josh I have known since community college. He has everyone he needs by his side, which is half the battle. He has proven to me that things happen in life we cannot control, but if we rise above it, we can overcome it.

Josh would blush if someone told him he was their hero. He would insist that he was no one's hero, and that he is just another person fighting his way through life. Well, I can say that Josh is a hero to more people than he may think. He is an inspiration to all those who have watched him over the past few months to overcome his struggles. He has gone back to school, and he insists on finishing his college degree. He won't stop until he gets what he wants in life, which is something we all can admire in another human being. The best thing about him is he will never stop fighting. There have been days of pain and suffering. He has gone through hell in therapy sessions, building strength. No one can say this has been easy for him, but he will come out on top in the end.

It is funny what a positive attitude and a little hope can do for someone.

We started off with the Gospel Choir. Their opening song "How Much We Can Bear" was very touching for me. I was so surprised that a bunch of students on no scholarship could sound as good as they did. I believe it is good for people to have some kind of connection with some God somewhere. By listening to the words of that song I began to realize that God, in his infinite wisdom, will never give any of his children more than they can bear. This was kind of a reassuring idea for me. With all of the obstacles associated with transferring to a new school, being far away from home and having little to no friends in a 100 mile radius; I began to feel a little lonely and a little overwhelmed with the 17 credits I am taking this semester. Attending the Celebration made me step back and relax my mind for a few hours. I found myself reflecting in the voices and words of the choir, thinking of where I have been in recent years. I thought of the people that have walked in (and out) of my life, the places I've been and the things these eyes have seen. And in all honestly I was a bit taken back, because I haven't thought that in-depth about myself in a very long time. This intense thinking spilled over into the choir's next selection.

The next song "Faithful is Our God" was a song I had never heard before. It seemed to have fit the bill as far as Gospel songs go. It was very soft on the ears. "Bless His Holy Name" was a great song as well. I feel as though I've heard this selection before, or another song similar to it, and enjoyed it a lot. The choir overall was a very impressive spectacle.

Khalia Brown. What is there to say? Her beautiful voice speaks for itself. Now that is a woman with a boat load of talent. Her rendition of "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" was tastefully and handily done. She has a voice that requires no drum beating, string plucking or ivory tickling. She had me, as well as the rest of the room, with her first note.
I have to say my favorite part of the entire Celebration was the acapella group. "Wade In The Water", from the beginning of the song, gave me chills up and down my spine. From a young age, my mother taught me about harmony and the importance of being in tune. She explained that being in tune was not just about singing the right notes. She explained that harmony was about feeling the right notes with the people around you.

When a group comes together, and has an audience hanging on every note, they're doing something right. I don't know if the little girl in front was named Cassandra or Noelle, but wow was I blown away by the power behind her voice. The sweet sensual sounds rolling off of her lips effortlessly in front of hundreds amazed me. And of course "Amazing Grace" was patriotic and beautiful in its own right.

The greatest love of all was well sung. I think it's very difficult for a person to get up on a stage with just their voice and a piano. She did a great job and I commend Donna for how well she did. And the performance of "My Way" was great. I was very happy they had a solo piano piece.

The Africana Dance group was a shock for me because I didn't know what to expect. I thought they were colorful, elegant and full of life. I rather enjoyed the native dances and hope to see them again at the next performance.

Salsa is one of my favorite types of Latin dance. I have friends from Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic and Belize that have all taught me how to dance Salsa, Bachata and Merengue. They're all beautiful, elegant and very difficult to learn. I enjoyed their selection because it reminded me of friends I used to dance and have a great time with. Chocolate Thunder had a great sound and could really rock I enjoyed their performance as well.

As for the Gospel Choir's closing performance, I liked "I'm Covered" and "Perfect Praise" but my favorite by far was "Oh Happy Day". Anybody that has seen Sister Act has heard the song "Oh Happy Day" and for me it strikes a chord from my child hood. I picture Mos Def belting it to a crowd sitting in awe of his raw, youthful talent. It's a great song that is meant to inspire youth the world over. I believe it did then, still does today in the wake of the disaster in Haiti, and will continue to do so in the future.

Music is art.

Music is timeless.

Music is powerful.

Music is love.

The small bullet does one of two things; passes through and through or lodges inside. It creates a crevice of destruction and darkness, a deep darkness on a long dark broken slope to nowhere. Scars are created like maps, maps showing our war wounds but all may not be seen with the bare eye. Scars change us; change our state of mind and burn the heart from within, anguish overtaking all common sense and reality.

Cries form, deep inside the soul, unheard by everyone around, almost everyone. They listen intently, with logic and compassion, piercing the souls with lightening eyes, powerful enough to see through any fool, see the rotting wrong deep inside or the pieces of the broken, the broken looking into the darkness deep within.

Silence is piercing, words unneeded, truths need not be spoken. The unknown truth a better solution than the absolute truth. The absolute truth causing the bullet to lodge. To stick deep inside and hold in the past, something to be felt, touched, a memory, a feeling, a song, a book, a moment that allows the hole to appear again. An unspoken truth allows for dreams, dreams built high in the sky that instead of trapping the soul allows it to flutter free.

Change happens all around us, we barely notice the beauty of it, changing seasons, changing destinations, change in direction, change in life. It is so painful to us all, we don't appreciate change for what it is, what keeps these war scars from enveloping us; from swallowing us whole and allow us to move on, to embrace life in its very sincerity. So that you may look at life, at the crisp colourful leaves, at the breathtaking views, the beauty in the world, and sigh, sigh at what life is, at what life is meant to be, something to be grasped.

"What?"

My throat feels like sawdust.

"Reptar just called. He said you have to be at the house in twenty."

Interviews started at 12. It was 11:43. I struggled out of bed and threw some clothes on. When I got to the house the interviews were in progress. I waited quietly in one of the bedrooms with the potential candidates.

Two weeks ago I hatched the idea of following a fraternity around for a year. I'm not dumb. I know what being in a fraternity can get you: parties, girls, friends, good times, memories you might not tell your kids. But I also know there is another side to the experience. There are board meetings, public service and volunteer events. If given the chance I wanted to know what it was like being part of a fraternity, a brotherhood. I wanted to watch members go from pledge to brother.

The pledges ranged in age from freshman to sophomore. Some had parents who were okay with their choice; however, other parents were not as allowing.

"My mom hates it," Pledge Uno said, "My dad was cool with it, but my mom flipped."

I can understand why some parents would be against it, especially moms. Fraternities are seen for the parties, drinking, girls and sometimes drugs. It's college and if parents won't accept that their kids are going to drink or smoke, or at the very least experiment, than they must belong to the ignorance is bliss fan club.

When I approached Chauncey, the frat's president, about my idea he loved it. He told me I should come to the Greek Convocation the next night. He said all the fraternities and sororities would be there, and that it was semi-formal attire. Semi-formal attire? Was I attending a Tupperware sales convention?

The Greek Convocation was a pleasant surprise. It almost felt like a business convention with the awards and keynote speakers. Everyone was dressed nicely, which the keynote speaker Jose Feliciano commented on. "There's going to be a lot of well dressed mixers tonight."

Alpha Phi started the night off by talking about philanthropy and public relations. Alpha Phi Omega highlighted academics, volunteering and fundraising. All of the different Greek organizations spoke about bettering themselves and the community. Partying was mentioned once. Some of the speeches would have bored a corpse to death but some were very well done.

Kappa Sigma spoke about brotherhood. When the president's mom passed recently, he looked to his brothers for support. His other family. Lambda Upsilon Lambda made a great speech about salads. The world is a salad, and so is greek life. Sororities and fraternities are both made up of different races or nationalities. He noted that cultural diversity shouldn't be tolerated, it should be embraced.

Pi Kappa Phi spoke about volunteering and having moral standards. The president said that not everyone is born with the same advantages and that we have to help the less fortunate. "Giving back is not a topic of discussion. It's an obligation."

Later that night I got my first taste of the basement. It was a mixer: "white trash" was the theme naturally. There were enough wife beaters, fake tramp stamps and jean shorts to fill a trailer park. But the atmosphere was loose, the music was good and the punch bucket was full.

When I arrived at the house I got the tour. From the outside I had never expected the house to look how it did on the inside. It was a twisting maze of staircases, hallways and rooms. I sat down in one of the common rooms with Chauncey, among the awards for the chapter and its members throughout the years.

Chauncey made it clear that certain things I saw or were part of was strictly between me and the fraternity. I could come to board meetings and mixers, but I had to keep my lips sealed when it came to the sweat shop and black-market organ trafficking. After we had established the boundaries, we went downstairs. The party was already in full swing, evident by the reverberating walls and base heard throughout the house.

The basement was hot. But nothing like I would feel the next night. The second night my sweat was sweating. Every step farther into the crowd felt worse, like I was walking into the thick jungle underbrush. The basement was dark except for a few dim lights and the glow of cellphone screens. If you wanted to find a girl that night you just had to look for a cellphone. It was like the lights airports use at night to guide planes in.

Looking around I spotted plenty of planes looking to land. These pilots fell into three categories: approaching, landing and delayed. The approaching pilots are the ones who have just spotted a girl, or vice versa. Let's remember that both men and women are pilots here. Now there is a difference between approaching and circling. Approaching means you have a runway, circling means you are just standing there looking around. It's okay to circle, just don't do it the whole time.

Once the pilot has approached he begins the landing. This involves dancing or interacting with the female in some form. Making out if also appropriate. Delayed means the pilot is unable to touch down successfully. There can be a number of reasons for a delay, such as: the girl is too drunk, her ex-boyfriend just called or she's making out with someone upstairs even though she said she was going to the bathroom. Even the best get delayed sometimes.

Playboy rarely got delayed. Asking Reptar, one of my sources in the house, who was getting the most girls, he needed no time to think.

"Playboy. He gets tons of girls." It didn't take long for me to realize why he got tons of girls, he worked for it. Plain and simple, practice makes perfect. Even after slightly upsetting a female friend, who proceeded to storm off, Playboy kept his cool.

"Hey toots," he simply said. "Hey toots come back." Like a fish on the line, she came back. I don't know if anything happened between them that night. I wasn't worried about Playboy. Being part of a fraternity had its pros, namely girls. And I'm just talking about the groupies.

Yes, like rock bands, the frat has groupies. While these girls don't follow the frat on tour around the country, although I wouldn't put it past them, they enjoy the company of the frat. Only sometimes they enjoy more than that. To qualify as a groupie a girl had to hook up with three brothers in three different pledge classes. What exactly hook up means has yet to be determined, as I've heard varying qualifications.

A few days later I rejoined the boys for a chapter meeting. When I arrived they were already getting down to business.

"Alright fundraising," Chauncey said. "What are we doing?"

"Well we have the t-shirts."

"Okay what's going on with that?"

"I've sold the most so far," Blondie said. "Like five."

"I'm finding that women don't like these shirts. They're very derogatory," another brother chimed in. I haven't seen this year's shirts yet, but some before it have been moderately pushing it. One had the school dragon bending a girl over near a keg, so that it could still watch the game. Tasteful.

"Yea but guys love them."

"Sell them to guys," someone said from the peanut gallery.

"Okay well how about a weekly competition," Chauncey proposed. "Winner gets a 40. How about that?" There was minor dissent among the room. The 40 idea was not being received as well as Chauncey was hoping. "Okay what about a Four Loco?" Now we were bordering on a full scale riot.

"No way. That stuff is awful."

"I've never had one," a brother said.

"You don't want one. Tastes like gasoline."

The weekly competition idea was dead. The next order of business was the mixer on Thursday, which was had a masquerade theme.

"I hate the French," Country said to me.

"Okay public relations," Chauncey stated. "What do you have Country?"

"Well I had a great time at the white trash theme mixer. I liked the atmosphere and there was good public relations. Lots of girls. Overall the potentials had a good report. Saturday was good, again good PR. Beer olympics was good, like I said freshman girls. So yea I thought it was good. I mean freshman girls love us, freshman guys want to be us."

Normally at this point I would begin the second part of my report, but there is no second part. The frat "fired" me from my position of in-depth reporter before the first article was even published.

I had just walked out of my first class, it was a Tuesday morning. I saw Reptar ahead of me in the hallway and called out to him.

"We have to talk," he said.

"What's wrong?"

"The frat was talking and they don't want you coming back."

"Why not?" I was stunned. Had I done something wrong without even knowing; broken some unwritten commandment?

"It was the article."

Reptar told me that most of the members of the frat, all but two of them, had voted against me. I felt like the bachelors who don't get a rose on the first episode of "The Bachelorette". If this was "Survivor" I would have gone home before my beard started to grow and my skin felt dirty. I hadn't even submitted the article and they hated it.

Reptar said the frat felt the article focused too much on partying. Okay so I discussed the partying aspect more than anything else. I neglected to mention the community service they had done or the bonds of collegiate brotherhood I had witnessed. But they could have told me this, I would have changed it.

At first I was upset. Was it really the article or something else? I hadn't really gotten to know the brothers yet, but I was only following them for two weeks at that point. After a few days I got over the news. I went from feeling like a failure to realizing that I had done something I never thought I could. I wanted to immerse myself in a fraternity and see what it was about, and I did.

I saw meetings, parties, interviews and everyday life. I saw what being in a frat is and realized it was never for me. The crowded parties filled with freshmen wasn't for me. The paying for friends and brothers wasn't for me. So the frat fired me, fine. I would rather go down writing what I wanted than change it to make them happy.

"What now?" I ask. I was staring at a hole in the ground. The biggest hole I had ever seen, because it was all that remained of the five bedroom house. The fireplace, kitchen, three car garage and marble patio were gone. All memories of the house, physical and emotional, had been taken away in dump trucks and other vehicles of that sort.

"Well now we build," he said without hesitation. He took another drag of his cigarette, his third in the last ten minutes.

"What comes first?"

"The basement. Naturally." His condescending tone made me feel ignorant. But I have never built a house, let alone from scratch. "You pour the cement, you know, set the foundation." Set the foundation I thought to myself, kind of like writing a paper. Only instead of starting in the basement and working your way up, you start with an introduction and work your way down.

Any good paper, like any well built house needs a foundation. It needs something to trace its purpose back to, a floor with which to build on. While a house has a team of people working on it: the architects, contractors, electricians, plumbers, roofers and interior designers, a paper is built by one. Building a house requires having people to make decisions every step of the way. The writer is a jack of all trades.

Someone needs to decide whether cherry or oak works for the floors and if central air is the right choice. If something needs to be taken out of the plans it's gone, after the right parties have been consulted of course. But in a paper what stays and goes, or what style works best is up to the writer. If a house doesn't get finished on time there can be a number of people to blame. If a paper doesn't get completed there is only one person to point a finger at.

The cement truck rumbles down the street, its gigantic barrel of cement spinning endlessly. The truck slows down as the breaks squeal and thousands of pounds of metal and machine come to a lurching stop. Like a writer surveying a blank page, thinking of where to start, the driver looks at the vacant lot. He thinks about his past, about the jobs that have come before this. He positions the truck and releases the cement in one pull of a lever. The thick, cold liquid pours out and into the foundation blocks. Like a writer unleashes those first words upon a blank page.

Just as the cement is slowly and meticulously poured in place, I choose my words wisely. Unlike cement, which is permanent once it dries, my words can be taken out or rearranged. If a sentence doesn't fit it can be taken out with one stroke of a red pen. Even though writing is never final, it helps to take your time and think things out.

Sometimes as I'm writing an idea will come to me faster than I can process it. It's like trying to catch snowflakes on your tongue. There is only so much you can do at one time. It doesn't help when every snowflake looks perfect though. When this happens the best thing to do is write your ideas down as they come to you. If the idea truly works in the paper, it will find its place. The interior designer might have found the perfect rug for your living room, accenting the paint and trim like you never thought a rug could, but it's pointless without a floor to put it on. Like your ideas, the rug is best stored until it's needed.

Once the cement has been poured, the trucks echoing off into the distance, and your introduction paragraph is complete it's time to build. The contractors come in with their donuts and coffee in hand. They stand around and after crass jokes and sports talk they finally get down to business. The right crew is assembled and the noise begins. Hammers pound nails into two by fours and four by eights. Words give way to sentences, which transform to paragraphs. Commas and quotation marks are carefully laid out like sheetrock and spackle. Foremen keep a watchful eye on the progress, like a writer is careful not to let the paper get away from its purpose.

Slowly the house, like the paper, has begun to take shape. Walls form rooms and hallways, while spaces in the woodwork wait for windows and doors. The introduction has given way to the body paragraphs, which have consequently overflowed onto a second page. Everything is moving along as planned, with the plumbers and electricians coming in for their respective work. Just like all the circuits and pipes need to follow a specified pathway, the paper needs to flow in a cohesive manner.

Point A comes before B, which sets up C. Or maybe C comes first, leading backwards to A. Whatever order the writer decides is best for the paper, even if there is no order, it's a good idea to be consistent. You wouldn't want to read a carelessly written paper just like you wouldn't want to live in a house with faulty plumbing. Let me know how that works when you flush the toilet and the shower turns on.

After the electricians and plumbers have done their job the contractor comes back and surveys the house again, making sure nothing has been forgotten. Going back and checking your work while you write can be a useful tool. Sometimes it helps to scan over what you have written, even if the paper is incomplete. You can find simple errors, or trains of thought that have no destination. You can get rid of the clutter before it derails your paper all together.

"Does the roof go last?" I knew it was a stupid question before I asked it. He stared ahead, concentrating on his cigarette and not my question.

"No."

"But you said bottom to top. Isn't the roof the top?"

"Technically yes, but with no roof you wouldn't be comfortable putting in new floors and furniture. What if it rains?" He had a point, as usual. He had a point from the start, that he knew what he was doing and I didn't. But I knew how to write a paper. I had that over him, just like a roof.

Once the roof has been laid and the door and windows have all been put in, it's time to make this house look like a home. Now the rug can be put in the living room, right between the Italian leather couches. The bedroom can be painted and the shower curtains hung. That idea I got back on page one can finally go down on page three. The dialogue I took out of the second paragraph actually fits better in the conclusion, and that quote about horses isn't as funny as I thought it was. In fact it's just plain dumb, so I take it out.

The paper, like the house, is complete. I started with a blank page, a hole in the ground, and built our foundation. We added walls, floors, and rooms. One page became three, which grew to five. Ideas were thrown around, some good and some bad.

Metaphors and hyperboles were added to the paper, while spelling and punctuation errors were removed faster than they had been made. A family has a home and I have a paper. That contractor isn't the only one who knows how to build something of substance. I'd like to see him ask me how to write a paper.

"Where do we start?" he inquired, glancing nervously at the blank page.

"The introduction," I said. "Naturally."

The story I am trying to portray is about a girl who is impacted by the media and suffers from self-esteem issues.  The self esteem issues lead her to engage in activities involving drugs and alcohol that leave her with regrets and feelings of even lower self worth the next morning.

The beginning of the day starts off with plans being made with a phone call to a friend.  The phone booth serves as a border with the attention being on the subject, the girl.

Our materialistic society bases our values of a person on image; therefore, shopping is often a significant part of a person's life.

The media sets unrealistic standards for young women to obtain and they are constantly bombarded with images and messages relating to “being thin” and conforming to an impossible ideal.

Every day magazines young women can grab at a store are falsified with the main message:
“if you are pretty you have value”

The girl is getting ready to go to a party and is putting on false eye lashes, which symbolizes the concept of “you aren’t good enough the way you are”.

The makeup bag symbolizes the pursuit of perfection.  When people apply makeup they are putting on a mask, or putting on a show because they are covering up what they perceive as flaws.  In other words, they are hiding their true selves due to the media projections.

Although the girl seems to be happy in the picture, we already have seen and will continue to see that she struggles with deep emotional issues.  She puts up a front based on what she thinks other people expect or desire of her, trying to conform to the social pressures.

The girl's reliance on a foreign substance is used to feel better about herself. 

This shows the futility of acting and that there will always be people, no matter which mask a person puts on, who will be judgmental.  If a person's self esteem is based on what other people think than they will always be unhappy because they cannot please everyone.

As the drinking continues throughout the night, the alcohol enables the girl to gain a temporary feeling of self-satisfaction.  The reliance on alcohol is used as a social lubricant.

This is when the girl first meets the guy and is still contemplating if she should fill the desire of what the guy wants.  The media ties into this because being sexualized means you are pretty and according to media, being pretty means you have value. 

The girl is torn between maintaining the respect of her friend or feeling better by using sex as a way to feel attractive and therefore valuable.  On one hand, women are always told to be sexy, but we still live in a society where being sexual gives negative connotation where women are labeled.  It is a conflicting message of be sexy, have sex, and then on the flip side, you're slutty.

Due to the girl's low self-esteem and desire for self worth the decision of the girl is portrayed in this picture and foreshadows how that decision will be isolating for her in the end.

“You don't deserve to feel lonely, but the drugs you’ve got won't make you feel better.  Pretty soon you’ll find that it’s the only little part of your life you are keeping together.” Elliot Smith

The girl is committed to her decision where in this photo her body language is portraying complete interest in the guy in order to fulfill her needs.

This picture serves as a symbol; even though all of the alcohol has been consumed the girl still has a sense of emptiness that lingers.

The empty bottle continues to show her sense of emptiness.  Her facial expression is showing us that she has lost control to the external factors that she is trying to make to produce happiness. 

The girl leaves the party with the guy and her arm positioning shows us that part of her is trying to hold onto something or reach out for help because she does not want to follow the path she has chosen.  The girl is held responsible for making her decision even though she was under the influence of alcohol and other drugs.

The mess of the night based on the girl's decisions and the mess of her emotional state are portrayed in this picture.

This picture shows contrast with the black and white and the light and shadow. Note that the girl is still in the darkness the next morning and the alcohol, drugs and sex have just perpetuated the cycle of self judgment and self criticism. This shows that the double standard still exists in society; the guy is in the light sleeping at peace and the girl is being consumed with feelings of guilt and regret.

The Roma people , pronounced "rahma", are nomadic people who originated in northern India but currently live worldwide, chiefly in Europe. (wordiq.com) As I tried to research more about these nomadic spiritual people, I stumbled upon stereotypes of the Roma people...

"....They do not have a religion, are dirty, and a burden to society. They do not want to integrate and marginalize themselves. They are most happy when they are away from non-Roma. They do not want to be citizens of the country they live in and whenever they migrate, they ruin the reputation of the country that they have come from... They must be mentally deficient. Maybe they are not even human beings. They are greedy and never satisfied. They are lazy and not trust worthy. They are genetically predestined to become thieves and drug dealers..." (deviousdiva.com)

Is that really what the world today has come too? We stereotype, generalize, and discriminate people because of their race, ethnicity, and culture?
Decade after decade, the Roma people, also known as Gypsy and Sinti have been charged with crimes, persecuted, deported, and during World War II, even put to death.
During World War II, Gypsies were considered to be scum, and almost as evil as those of the Jewish faith. These poor nomadic people traveled around Europe, and were considered to be "racially inferior and degenerate and therefore worthless." (holocaustforgotten.com)

Starting in the year 1890, a conference occurred in Germany where the military had the right to regulate the movement of the Gypsies. After that in the 1920's, all Gypsies including men, women, and even children had to be photographed and fingerprinted. Also 8,000 Roma's were processed and placed into "camps" making it easier to track their movements. (osi.com). Countries all over Europe believed that the Roma people caused the crime rate to increase. The beginning of the end... Porrajmos, the Gypsy Holocaust.
With all of their civil rights stripped and human privileges taken from them Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party deemed these people as a waste of space; "subhuman". They were persecuted, arrested, put into a labor camp, and were then sent to the gas chambers at Auschwitz-Birkenau, Chelmno, Belzec, and Treblinka. (izieu.com). In the early 1940's gypsies would be eliminated, destroyed... become extinct. "Half a million Gypsies, almost the entire Eastern European Gypsy population, was wiped out during the Holocaust," (holocaustforgotten.com).

According to dictionary.com, death can be defined as, "the act of dying; the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism". Death can also defined as "extinction and destruction". (dictionary.com). As what Hitler did to nearly the entire Roma population.

Today, exactly 65 years later, the Roma people are still being brutalized. Nicholas Sarkozy, the French president, has begun another "purging" of Europe and deporting the Roma people. The French government has dismantled and bulldozed over 300 Roma camps.

"...the expulsions have actually been taking place for a few years. Ever since Bulgaria and Romania joined the European Union in 2007, France has been undertaking to expel the Roma who have traveled from those countries to France. And France has been seeking to return these people almost since the beginning. It's only very recently, in the summer, that the French government enunciated a policy at the highest level that targeted Romani migrants for expulsion as well as targeting French national Roma or travelers for eviction from illegal settlements."
Rob Kushen- Executive Director, European Roma Rights Center

Hundreds of Roma people, men, women, and children have been arrested, and were left homeless. Sarkozy has given these poor people the "option" of being imprisoned, or men and women are given €300 and children are given €100 to return back to their motherland of Romania. (fifthinternational.com).

But as this is their only "option", Sarkozy and the French government has slandered these people in the mud calling them "criminals", "thieves", and have stated the crime rate has increased. Magazines and newspapers all over France have compared what the French government is doing to these people to what the Nazi holocaust of the Roma. The genocide of WWII and the deportation of the Roma and Gypsy people today has become every topic of conversation in multiple countries all over Europe - "The Austrians, the Danes, the Swedes, and the Italians have been expelling European Roma immigrants. The Germans are preparing to kick out 12,000 Roma." (worldnews.com)

Although majority of the French population (79% of French favored the "crackdown" (aolnews.com)) supported Sarkozy in August, people from many groups have come out against the French government. The NPA, the National Anticapitalist Party are extremely vocal in their disagreement; "The NPA strongly condemns this policy of hatred and persecution against Travellers, almost all French citizens, and against Roma, who have the right to travel within the EU." (fifthinternational.com). The E.U., European Union, is made up of 27 countries, which gives the citizens of the 27 countries access to cross borders freely. (theepochtimes.com).

Viviane Reding, the European commissioner for Justice and Fundamental Rights, stated, "I personally have been appalled by a situation that gave the impression that people are being removed from a member state of the EU just because they belong to an ethnic minority. This is a situation I thought Europe would not have to witness again after the Second World War." (telegraph.co.uk). The last time France exiled people based on their ethnicity was during World War II, when the French government sent 75,000 Jewish people to their death. (aolnews.com). The European commission is supposed to state legal proceedings against France on grounds of discrimination and failing to protect citizens of the EU. If France does not comply with the Commission's wishes and halt the deportations, France could face some extremely high fines (telegraph.co.uk).
Approximately two weeks later, the EU recanted their statements comparing the French deportations of the Roma people to WWII displacements. Why? Nicholas Sarkozy demanded and apology as her statements were a "disgusting and shameful attack on the honour of France" (telegraph.co.uk). Reding retracted her original statement and summoned France to change their behavior towards the Roma people as an ethnic minority, as it is in "technical breach" of EU law.

What is most frightening about the injustice being perpetrated against the Roma people is that there is no legal basis and that the governing body of the European Union has not done anything to either aid the Roma people or put pressure on the French government to insist they cease the deportations or suffer serious consequences.

Edmond Burke, a political philosopher in the early 1700's stated, "All that is essential for evil to exist is that good men do nothing." (mendiburumagic.org). Since that time, history has unfortunately proved Burke correct. Be it the enslavement of African Americans in America prior to the Civil War or the extermination of the Jews during World War II or the civil war in Rwanda, mankind has born witness to the outcome of turning a blind eye to the dehumanization of those different from themselves.

Within the confines of Western civilization, the citizens elect the government to act on behalf of the "good men". The governing power is entrusted to provide all its citizens with stability and safety. Although the European Union provides lip service in support of the Roma's plight, they have done little else by way of fining or sanctioning the French government.

The French journalists have asked the question regarding the dangers of Sarkozy's policies. Sarkozy has targeted and dehumanized the Roma people and managed to do so without any obstruction. What is to stop Sarkozy from choosing another group to victimize? Sarkozy began with threatening the Roma people, and finally in August 2010, 79 Roma people boarded a flight and were returned to Romania.

Work Cited

1.) Krumova, Kremena. "Roma People a Sore Spot for France: Sarkozy orders the dismantling of makeshift camps." The Epoch Times. 15 Aug. 2010.

2.) Miller, Shirley A. "The Road to Porrajmos, The Gypsy Holocaust." Patrin Web Journal. 1998.

3.) Unknown. "The definition of Death"

4) Toma, Catalina. "Roma People Stir Another Conflict." The World News. 17 Sept. 2010.

5) Pröbsting, Michael. "Sarkozy's attack on Roma: Deporting hundreds to poison the minds of millions." The Fifth International. 25 Aug. 2010.

6) Deviousdiva. "Roma Stereotypes". 13 Dec. 2007

7) Unknown. "Definition of Roma"

8.)Waterfield, Bruno. "Europe compares France Roma expulsion to Nazi deportations." The Telegraph. 15 Sept. 2010.

9) Waterfield, Bruno. "EU backs down from comparing French expulsions to Nazi deportations" The Telegraph. 29 Sept. 2010. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/8033015/EU-backs-down-from-comparing-French-expulsions-to-Nazi-deportations.html

10) Kennedy, Dana. "Sarkozy's Roma Crackdown Likened to WWII Roundups". AOL News. 17 Aug. 2010.

11) Burke, Edmund. Quote.

12) Wikipedia. "Edmund Burke"
13) Unknown. "The History Guide; Lectures on Modern European Intellectual History. Edmund Burke, 1729-1797."
< http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/burke.html >

14.) Kushen,Rob. "Roma Expulsion Hints Of Racial Discrimination" 13 Oct. 2010.
< http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130538246>

"Who knows, I've been nauseated all night. See you Monday."

I hung up the phone and gazed up at the menu.
"Yes, can I have a wheat bagel with cream cheese and a caramel latte?"

Increment:

The longer I stared at the freshly pressed, one hundred and eighty dollar snow-white blazer the cash in my pocket went up another few degrees.

"You aren't supposed to wear white after Labor Day," said Heather "even if it makes you look tan."

"But feel the material," I said, fingering the creamy Egyptian cotton.

"You can't afford it."

"I'm just going to try it on" I said, lifting the out-of-my-league blazer off the hook and holding it out like a painting to be admired.

"Just walk away from it." she was already rifling her way through a stack of clearance tee-shirts, the ever frugal section of fashion.

5 minutes later

"I can't believe you bought it."

Extant

"Well anybody can write"

Not everybody can write well