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Monthly Archives: September 2013

Internet trends that need to DIE. And selfie mockery.

At the end of last year, I made a list of 13 phrases to eliminate in 2013.

Well, apparently y’all didn’t listen, because people are still talking about “vacas” like they’re going out of style. And the cows don’t appreciate it. But I’d like to add a few things to that list.

With no further ado…

1. Hashtags. I hate to use Jimmy Fallon again when I just used him yesterday, but he and Justin Timberlake hit it on the head in this video.

Read: Your hashtags are annoying. Oftentimes they make me want to make mean, sarcastic comments about your intellect. It’s one thing if it’s a real hashtag, like you’re posting on Twitter about a trending news event, like #election2008 or #benghazi. But when it’s Facebook and it’s just #imahotty or #lovemyboyfriend or #dontwannagotoschooltoday, then it starts to annoy me. And then you have Mississippi State with their whole #hailstate campaign… y’all, I can’t put my finger on why, but hashtags are possibly the single most annoying thing on the internet.

2. YOLO/ BOGO/ FROYO, etc. Just because it sounds like a hobbit’s name does not mean it’s a cool word, especially when 13-year-olds are the main ones using it. And really… why do we need a catchy little rhymie word for “Buy one get one free?” Or for Frozen Yogurt? So two more syllables are going to kill you? And really, this YOLO trend is like the teenage internet version of, “Hold my beer and watch this.” Also, you’re right, you only live once, but you also only die once. So I’d like to see some people with some individuality use YODO. It would at least speak to your morbid, fatalistic sense of humor, which I like. (You’re welcome. You don’t have to thank me for the idea.)

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3. Gratuitous selfies. A couple of pictures every once in a while, like of you and your friends, or you at the Washington Monument, or you on a good hair day: that’s cool. Nobody judges that, because we’ve all sat there and thought, “Geez, I wish I had any friends in the world. Then someone could take a picture of me looking good…” (Nobody else thinks that? Oh… well forget I said anything.) But point is, selfies are not evil in themselves. It’s you people who post 10 selfies a day that really all look the same either (a) as each other, or (b) as the ones from the day before. You know what I’m talking about. From the bathroom, the high angle, so everyone can see down your cleavage. From the front seat of your car (seriously, why does everyone do that? Is the lighting just better in the car? Are we more narcissistic when we’re driving? Do people do that for the same reason they pick their noses in the car? Because they think nobody’s looking?). At your desk, at work, looking bored (What is that about? “I’m so bored all I have to do is take pictures of myself?”). Sad, y’all.

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But I have a weird selfie story: Some friends of mine and I have taken to posting selfies on Wednesdays, making fun of major selfie trends. I’ve done the pic with the toilet in the background, the one of my feet at the pool, the one of my food, the one from the gym… but you know what blew my mind? People actually asked at least two of us to post more of them. There are people who cannot get enough of Selfie Wednesday. They write with ideas for selfies they want to see (most are family friendly…) or to tell us that we need to post more… it’s kinda funny. All I can think is that it’s got to the humor factor, because I put some really obnoxious hashtags on those things, and y’all already know what I look like from the 612 pictures on my facebook.

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I tell you all this to say that maybe you disagree, and maybe I’m just old and grumpy. But if you use YOLO, hashtags, or gratuitous selfies, I will get to the point where I will probably hide you from my feed so that we can stay friends.

But that’s cool, because you probably hid me years ago for being a George W. Bush fan. Now we’re even. 🙂

 
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Posted by on September 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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The interactive science of happiness, and some unrelated Jimmy Fallon craziness.

So I have recently watched a bunch of videos on Facebook, including one of Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake mocking hashtags (#whichithinkisawesome #becauseihatehashtags #becausewhycantpeoplejustsaywhattheymeananymore), one of Jimmy Fallon, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Stephen Merchant lip-syncing which was also pretty great, and then one about “The Science of Happiness.”

This is pretty epic (more than Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s Nicki Minaj performance). Did you know that the more grateful you are, the happier you are? Watch this video, then let’s talk about that.

See, this caused me to think about the times in my life that I was the happiest. In them, there was always an overwhelming sense of gratitude for what God had given me, who He had put in my life, and where I felt like my future was going. Now I know why.

What if we all did this, say once a week? Maybe twice a month if that’s too much. Just think of someone you’re very grateful to, for starters, and write that letter. Then read it to them and watch their reaction, or if you have to, just send it. There’s your happy fix.

Once you’ve used up the obvious ones, think about the people you don’t think about, that you take for granted. Maybe you’re so used to them being there to bail you out of things, or being there to listen when you need to fuss, or being strong for you, or knowing what to say at the right time, that you just don’t think about it anymore. Those people need to hear it more than the people who actively buy you a car or get you a great birthday present. Those people are doing a consistent labor of love, and it’s not easy. So make a list of those people. Or maybe make a list of your friends and find what you’re grateful for that each of them does, and write them about it.

Just a suggestion. Jimmy Fallon will make you laugh temporarily. Thanking your best friend for being selfless, or your parents for raising you right, or your teacher for seeing in you what nobody else did — that’s got substance.

Try it and let me know how it goes. I’m curious. I’m going to do it too. I’ll blog about my experiences with it from time to time… I might even blog the letters.

Next blog: Internet trends that NEED to DIE.

 
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Posted by on September 25, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Things I learned from Myspace… yesterday.

Some of you remember the Myspace phenomenon. We all had these loudly-colored pages with glitter graphics and music players and scrolling text. For some people, it was a competition, and for some (like me) it was a billboard all about me, with favorite quotes and photos and who my heroes were and whatnot.

Yes, this was on my Myspace. I'm not making this up.

Yes, this was on my Myspace. I’m not making this up.

I hacked into my Myspace the other day and started downloading all my old pictures (yes, you have to do it one at a time. There is no mass download), and it brought back some pretty funny memories. It was full of little jpgs that said things like, “Please go be stupid somewhere else,” and political commentaries and a cartoon pig gif that flipped back and forth that said, “Some days you ride the pig, some days the pig rides you.” Then there were the customary, “Here we are with our beer” pictures. Dozens of them, with people in them I was sure would be my BFFs, but I never hear from them anymore. And a guy or two that I should have been nicer to.

So I looked up and imported this old blog about the “Top Friends List.”

And I remember it used to be that if a hot guy added you to his top friends, you rushed to change yours just to make sure he knew the feeling was mutual. Of course, we all also did that thing where we were like, “Hey, who is this girl on his top friends before me? She’s number three and I’m number four… WTH??”

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about who my friends are. In your old age, when you’re not a bartender, you have a lot fewer friends to choose from. You do have the people who have been there all your life, and then you have the ones who are there now, but if I had to choose my top friends now, it would be a different list of criteria than it was back then.

I would give high priority to those who reciprocate, who make the relationship a two-way street. The ones who don’t always let you pay for lunch, sometimes they pay for yours too.

Up near the top would be those who ask me how my day has been, not just tell me about theirs. The ones who notice that I’m not as chipper as usual and ask if I want to talk about it. The ones who are as thrilled with my victories as I am with theirs.

There would be room for anyone who stood by me when things were tough, who held my hand through the storms, who wept because I wept. Who hated the jerk that broke my heart. Who distrusted the girl who always flirted with him. Who stuck up for me when I was brought into unflattering conversations when I wasn’t there to speak for myself.

If there’s someone I know I can call at 3 a.m. because I just got dumped and I think my heart is actually physically breaking out of my chest, that person is on that top friends list.

The one who knows I’m deep, not just tough and sarcastic, and talks to me on both levels. Yep. That’s a top friend. The one who cares about my opinion and my feelings. That one too.

And no, there aren’t many of them. I really couldn’t fill eight spots anymore, I don’t think.

Seven years after I wrote the funny blog about the top friends, I have concluded maybe I’d still have some of the friends on my list back then in my life now if I’d picked them on loyalty instead of popularity, and on the content of their character rather than their resume or how photogenic they were.

Nowadays, a hot guy texts or sends a Facebook message and it’s a different thing. There’s a whole screening process before I go make time in my schedule for him. I know now that if you drive a Corvette, you surely pay the insurance. If there’s some other girl who’s more important than me in some guy’s life, I don’t obsess over her, I do what I can to move on (Therese’s rule #13: Avoid alpha female competitions. When you’re top dog, there’s no reason to compete). I don’t keep political friends anymore just because it would be too much trouble to get rid of them: If you’re not here for the right reasons, I’m not here at all.

Thanks, Myspace, for showing me how much I’ve grown up in the last few years. (Ummm, also, thank you for locking up all the stupid photos I thought were so funny back in the day… Whew. 🙂 )

 
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Posted by on September 24, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

On workouts and health kicks, 33% more belly fat, and chocolate cake for breakfast.

So I’ve been on “a health kick” for the last few months, doing the low-carb thing and trying to get to the gym at least three times a week, mostly because I got sick of looking in the mirror and thinking, “Whoa, who are those people? Wait… that’s just big ole me.”

I was doing okay. I had (I thought) lost about 25 pounds since the beginning of the summer, but I really plateaued at some point because I just wasn’t watching the carbs and getting to the gym like I should. You know how it is: You get home from work and working out is the last thing you want to do. You want a piece of pizza and a cookie and to watch some TV and not get up until bedtime.

Dreams: One day this will be my perfect butt on that treadmill in those shorts.

Dreams: One day this will be my perfect butt on that treadmill in those shorts.

So, within the last week, I have started to get up at SERIOUS zero dark thirty to get on a treadmill for an hour each day before work because I am a masochist. AN HOUR. That’s 60 minutes of SHOOT ME NOW to infomercials for Richard Simmons and whatever that stuff is you sprinkle on your food and watch the pounds melt away. Sixty minutes of, “Why are my toes on my left foot hurting again? I wonder if it’s because I wore those heels yesterday? How come I have been on this treadmill for almost a week and I don’t look like that girl on the Richard Simmons video?!? Wait… it’s only been 6 minutes since I got on this infernal contraption?”

You must understand: I have always, ALWAYS hated the treadmill. But I think it’s about coming face to face with the thing you fear most. But it’s not so much the treadmill I fear… it’s finding myself in the eternal boredom of the treadmill. There are days that I’m certain it’s eternal. Like, bad people go to the treadmill when they die, I think.

But you see, I reached critical mass (no pun intended) last week when I realized the scale at home may be (but I’m not positive and I don’t want to find out) 10 pounds low. TEN POUNDS. So all this time I’ve been thinking I’ve lost about 25 pounds since June… it’s actually like 15? No way. No freakin way I’ve been eating nothing but cheese and eggs and meat and celery for all this time and it’s only 15 pounds. If the worst case scenario is right, it’s time to kick this thing into high gear.

Here you see me and the roomie doing the treadmill thing one evening. Selfies are fun.

Here you see me and the roomie doing the treadmill thing one evening. Selfies are fun.

The early morning idea was born of a conversation with my roommate, in which she was saying the only way she’d ever get healthy was if she’d get out and walk every morning before work. Of course, I can’t keep from talking myself into stupid situations, so I said, “What if I go with you?”

I’ll let you talk to her about if she’s gotten up with me yet or not. 😉

I’ve had a lot of comments from people who want to know how I can do this, or what it takes to get started. Here’s my advice in a set of simple bulletpoints, mostly because everything I do has bulletpoints these days.

  • Set your alarm for about a half hour from when you actually want to get up. That way the snooze button doesn’t do you in.
  • You are allowed to say, “I really don’t think I’m going to go today… I’ll go tomorrow.” But once you have said that, you should realize that you’re already awake enough to be having both coherent thoughts and an argument inside your own head. You might as well get up now.
  • Just sit up and put your feet on the floor. You might as well stand up now.
  • Put on your workout clothes. You could probably work out in what you slept in, unless it’s your undies or something silky. But overall, it’s better to wear actual workout clothes. Some of us, not naming any names, have been known to sleep in the workout clothes so we can skip this step.
  • Get in the car and drive to the gym. This is the second-hardest part if you ask me. Just being there, though, is a victory in itself.
  • When you get to the gym, get on the treadmill. This is the hardest part. You might as well crank that baby up now.
  • Start it on a low speed if you want to. Nobody’s making you go all mall-walker, though it helps if you do.
  • If you can’t go but 30 minutes, start there. The next day go five more minutes, then five more, then five more. Just build up to your target goal.
  • Have good songs on the iTunes. Anything with a beat you can walk to will automatically increase your speed. You’ll find yourself kicking it up after a few minutes of waking up, and then you’ll get to where you really can’t walk as slow as you used to.
  • Here is the most important thing: Exercising before breakfast makes you lose up to 33% more belly fat than exercising during any other part of the day. I’m not making this up. Now… when you’re hoofing it on that misery machine at 5:30 a.m., just think, “33% more belly fat, baby.” I often entertain myself with thoughts of what I will look like in my bikini next year, and then try to plot real-world situations where I will accidentally run into my Unknown Soldier while wearing my bikini… (“Oh, hi! Yeah, it’s been a while… good to see you. Why am I at the gas station next to your office in nothing but a bikini? Well you see, what had happened was there was this burning bus full of nuns and…” Yeah… still working on that.)
I painfully overidentify with this. Go Rhino, go!

I painfully overidentify with this. Go Rhino, go!

Plus, you’ll feel a lot better about yourself for just doing it. I used to make fun of those people who tag themselves on Facebook at the gym everyday, because I figured they just wanted everyone to know, “Hey, I worked out today. I’m some kind of gym badass, and maybe one day you’ll see some results besides the fantastic tan I get when I use the tanning bed.” But you know what? Now I’m one of those people. I totally tag myself at the gym every morning, if for no other reason than accountability. I want to know that if I’m not there, someone might notice, even if it’s just my mom.

And guess what else? Though I can’t do it every morning because of the low-carb diet, I had chocolate cake for breakfast this morning. Yep. Chocolate cake. Someone brought some to the office, and I ate some, and even though it wasn’t the best breakfast choice, it means a lot more now that I know it’s not going to become belly fat.

So… anyone getting up with me tomorrow?

 
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Posted by on September 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Return to Mogadishu: Remembering Black Hawk Down. (You need to see this film.)

Jeff Struecker

Jeff Struecker

Last year I watched Black Hawk Down for the first time. I had just read “The Road to Unafraid” by Jeff Struecker, an Army Ranger involved in that fateful battle in Mogadishu in 1993, and I figured I just needed to see what it was all about.

In the book, he talks about the frontlines of every U.S. initiative since Panama, but the one that really stuck with me was Mogadishu.

Struecker tells a riveting story about the storied day known to the Somalis as the “Day of the Rangers” which took place overnight Oct. 3-4, 1993, where 18 were killed and 80 were wounded, but the book is about how he found his faith in the midst of a world where a lot of guys lose theirs. He talks about how people mocked him and thought he was weak because of his reliance on a God they couldn’t see, but when their lives flew apart, they sought him out to ask his opinion on it.

SPC Isaac Gmazel and SSG Jeff Struecker upon winning the 1996 Best Ranger Competition at Fort Benning, Georgia

SPC Isaac Gmazel and SSG Jeff Struecker upon winning the 1996 Best Ranger Competition at Fort Benning, Georgia

In 1993, Struecker and SPC Isaac Gmazel won the Best Ranger competition at Ft. Benning, Ga., which is a big accomplishment, and frankly I think it might have been a good way to show a lot of people that a little reliance on God doesn’t make you some kind of a patsy.

He went on to become a Baptist minister and a Ranger chaplain.

Anyway, I could go on about him for a while, but my point is that he’s the reason I watched “Black Hawk Down.” I knew it was something everyone had seen but me, and it was time.

You realize, as a crime reporter and first responder, I have seen a lot more than a lot of American women, probably most, when it comes to death and dead bodies and violent, tragic outcomes. It takes a lot to rattle me.

“Black Hawk Down” rattled me. The movie depicts that battle, one of the longest and bloodiest urban fights in recent American history.

Part of the reason it rattled me is because my Unknown Soldier is a Ranger, as is my cousin Matt, and the idea that anyone I love could have ever had to go through something like that just killed me. 

Part of it was because much of my family on both sides have been military. Mogadishu isn’t the only really horrible battle on record, by far. To think of either of my grandfathers or my cousin or any one of my military friends having to have the feelings portrayed in that movie — the terror, the helplessness, the grief — was a lot more than I wished I’d had to think about. And that’s just a movie. It’s not real. Struecker even says in the video that it was nothing compared to the reality of it. 

But I thought also about the courage it took to go on after that. 

You’ve got to have faith. I don’t know how people weather that stuff without believing in something.

Anyway, Jeff Struecker and fellow Ranger Keni Thomas, now a country music singer, went back to Mogadishu for the 20th anniversary of the 1993 bloodbath. Here’s the trailer to the short film they made about that experience.

Besides the American casualties, U.S. sources estimate those Rangers, Delta Force, Pararescuemen and Combat Controllers on that mission took out between 1,500 and 3,000 Somalis that day in 1993. It was during this night that  Delta Force snipers Gary Gordon and Randy Shughart volunteered to hold off Somali forces until American ground forces arrived, and both were killed in a dramatic stand portrayed in the movie “Black Hawk Down.” Even with cursory knowledge of the death and chaos of that day, the thing that struck me in Struecker’s video was that at one point he says that death meant a lot less to him after Mogadishu because eternity meant so much more.

That’s a lot to think about, but after the time I’ve spent covering death and as a first responder, I understand. I’ve never taken a life (which is another level of personal trauma entirely), but I’ve held people in my arms as they died (one of those stories is included in this blog and this blog). In a couple of cases, I’ve seen their lifeless bodies and at some other point looked into the eyes of the person that killed them. In one case, I watched a man executed by the state. Death is not foreign to me by any means: Everyone, everything, will die one day. But still, there’s life.

It’s ugly here on earth, and it’s painful, and for so many of us, there’s nothing dignified about the way you die. We don’t get to pick how we go out, most of us. But we choose whether we go out with courage or with fear.

To me, the courage comes in knowing what else is out there. Knowing this isn’t the end.

Thanks, Jeff Struecker, for letting us see your honest emotions as you make this trip.

Here’s the full-length video if you’re interested in watching it.

 
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Posted by on September 20, 2013 in Uncategorized

 
Video

Truth: You can’t trust people who don’t like dogs.

This is a really good reason why. Some dogs play lifeguard at the pool or try to fight the thunderstorms, like my Tobey, and some apparently roam the woods, looking for people to help.

Like Hero.

What a great story. Grab the tissue.

Editor’s note: To further back up the theory, check out this story about a dog who alerted his owners that the babysitter was abusing their baby. Dogs RULE.

 
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Posted by on September 13, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Soldier, beauty queen, skydiver, boxer, opera singer, hunter, M-16 and archery marksman: Sgt. Theresa Vail is my bad@$$ hero.

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Sgt. Theresa Vail. Courtesy People Magazine

It’s been a while since I’ve been interested in a Miss America contest. It’s just not something I really was ever able to get behind… I’ll be honest, probably because it’s not violent enough. I mean, if the girls had to run combat missions or do a “Top Shot” competition, I’d be totally on board. The world needs more beautiful badasses.

Enter Sgt. Theresa Vail, 2013’s Miss Kansas. This girl makes me feel like I was really slacking at 22. Heck, I’m really slacking now.

A lot of people are making this about the fact that she’s baring her tattoos in the swimsuit competition. But her tattoos are things that actually mean something to her, not just things she thought were pretty. I love her answer to the questions about it: “Why am I choosing to bear my tattoos? Reference A; my platform! Empowering women to OVERCOME stereotypes and break barriers. What a hypocrite I would be if I covered the ink. With my platform, how could I tell other women to be fearless and be true to themselves if I can’t do the same? Now, had my platform been something entirely different, maybe the tables would be turned. Maybe. But I am who I am, tattoos and all.”

ImageBut to me, what it’s about is a girl who has grabbed life by the horns. No, she’s not your typical Miss America contestant. She skydives and boxes and is a marksman with a bow and arrow and an M-16. She’s been to boot camp. This girl is everything you DON’T think of when you think of Miss America.

Because of that, especially in war time, I think she does represent a really important, beautiful part not only of America, but of what feminism really is. As much as I hate the word “feminism,” because it usually comes with a battleship-sized chip on the shoulder of said “feminist,” I think Sgt. Vail is exactly what feminism would be in its purest, most unadulterated agendaless form: She’s not letting anything stop her because she’s a girl. She’s not backing down from anything in life that she wants to do because it defies gender stereotypes. And in her existence as probably a bigger badass than most of us know, she’s still not afraid to go do something girly, like be in a pageant.

Fun fact: When she found out that she wasn’t allowed to do archery as her talent, she learned a Pavarotti song in a day… and she’d never sung opera in her life before that. 

I love this girl. I want to grow up and be just like her. No matter the outcome of the pageant, this is MY Miss America.

 
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Posted by on September 13, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Looking back on sorority rush… It’s not for the faint of heart.

Right now there’s a piece circulating from totalfratmove.com about how every sorority at Alabama cut two beautiful, successful, qualified girls from rush because they were black. It’s pretty horrifying for Greeks from just about anywhere for a few reasons.

For me, it dredged up some of the horrors of Rush at Ole Miss, though I have to go ahead and say I never saw a racist issue go on in my sorority. But there was an issue I faced as a sophomore, which now has been more than 15 years ago, but less than 20. I feel like I can actually write about it now, though there are probably folks who won’t like it. (Sorry.)

When I went through Rush as a Tri-Delt legacy with some impeccable references and family roots that went deep at Vanderbilt University, it was bad enough. (FYI, this is not to toot my own horn, but it is to tell you what Rush used to be, and hopefully is not anymore.) I was a National Merit Scholar, had played first singles on the tennis team at my private school (as well as other sports), had started the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at our school, and was pretty involved in clubs and extracurriculars (and I’ll be damned if I remember what all I was doing 20 years ago, but it was good stuff).

When you’re a legacy to a big house, the other ones humor you, then they cut you, because they don’t want to waste a bid on you, knowing you’ll go somewhere else.

Well, the fun part is that there was a houseboy at Tri-Delt that I knew and he wasn’t a fan of mine for silly high school reasons. So… I’ll never know for sure if Tri-Delt would have pledged me without his input, but post-Rush chatter let me know enough to know that I would never wear the blue and gold of my grandmother, my mother, and my sister’s sorority at least in a large part because I knew the wrong guy.

Come sophomore year, I was writing for the student paper. I had pledged the one sorority that thought I was worth risking a bid, because as they had talked to me during Rush, they thought I “didn’t seem like a Tri-Delt.” Ultimately, they were right, and I’m very grateful for them. It ended up being a very good place to be, and an experience I’ll treasure parts of forever. Some of the greatest friends in my life are my sorority sisters, and I am just so thankful that they saw something in me worth keeping. That definitely bred a deep loyalty in me when others were telling me just to drop out of Rush and go through and try for Tri-Delt again next year.

No way, I said. They wanted me, so I’d be honored to be a part of their chapter.

Anna, the editor of the Daily Mississippian that year was also in my sorority, and she wasn’t afraid of much. During Rush, she asked me to write an editorial (then called, “As I see it”) about Rush. I agreed.

The day I wrote that editorial, which Anna had planned to come out after Rush was over, some girls in my sorority lied to chapter advisors about a girl who was a close friend of mine, and the roommate of one of my sorority sisters. They said that my friend had made terrible statements about our organization, and that she must be cut because she had been disrespectful.

She’d never said anything bad about us. All she wanted was to be in our sorority, but these girls didn’t like her for really shallow, silly reasons.

Instead of voting about it in chapter meeting like was procedure, her roommate and I were called in to some meeting that was, if I remember correctly, a mixture of advisors and actives. We were told that she had already been cut, and that there was nothing we could do about it. We both knew immediately exactly who had said the things we were told.

So I was writing this editorial Anna had asked for with these things fresh in my head.

The archives from the Daily Mississippian in 1994 are not online, but I wrote something born of the frustration of cutting Lisa, and very little to do with my experience with Tri-Delt except for the fact that I knew what it was like to  be a heartbroken freshman. It said something to the effect of, “If you think the rejection is hard, if you think it’s the end of the world to know that the sorority you’ve dreamed of since you were a kid doesn’t want you, let me tell you the other side is a bloody nightmare. Imagine a situation where you can’t save your friends when someone else doesn’t like their shoes, or their belt isn’t the right designer.”

So unfortunately during all this, Anna had a trip to Israel planned, and she flew off into the wild blue yonder. Whoever was in charge in her place ran that editorial on PREF NIGHT. Yes, you heard me right. It came out on PREF NIGHT.

Pref night, for y’all who aren’t Greek, is the day when everyone goes to the final parties and chooses which sorority or fraternity they want to join. My saving grace is that there was no name on the editorial, just initials, but of course, my sorority knew exactly who “TA” was. I had the president knocking on my door at about 7 a.m., and I was dragged into another meeting full of advisors and actives and told that I could be kicked out for what I’d written.

I don’t remember saying a lot, but the part I do remember is that I told them that Anna had said it wouldn’t run until Rush was over. Of course, nobody could get her on the phone because she was in Israel, so they pretty much accused me of making that up. Then I remember telling them that she had asked me to write it. Again, nobody really was buying that.

Then I remember I said, “Well, I’ve been a journalist a lot longer than I’ve been in a sorority, so I guess y’all will have to do what you think is best.”

In the end, I was lucky. I was told to write a letter to every sorority in Panhellenic and apologize for my poor judgement and whatnot. Then I was told I couldn’t participate in Pref night (oh no. Because Rush is so fun.).

But you know what was interesting about those letters that I wrote? I got back so much positive feedback. While members of my own house and Panhellenic gave me hell for quite some time about it (though my roommate Kathryn and several other loyal friends stood up for me like champs), the Tri-Delts wrote me a beautiful note. I wish I still had it.

It said something to the effect of, “We read your editorial out loud in chapter meeting, and we all stood up and applauded. You were exactly right, and we’re glad someone finally said it. Also, we hope that you will forgive us for any hard feelings from last year’s Rush.”

I have often contrasted the reaction of the different houses, but particularly my own sorority versus the one that rejected me. They weren’t the only chapter who graciously accepted my apologies, and overall, I count it a pivotal moment in my growth both as a Greek and as a journalist. I definitely learned a lot about being both through that experience.

I did hear from people who went through Rush that year, and reading my column actually helped them as they tried to figure out what to do on Pref night, and as they nursed their broken hearts, and as they learned that maybe what happened to them wasn’t so completely personal and specific, but was part of a flawed machine.

In the end, I think the Greek system is like any other organization made up of a lot of people, especially teenagers and those in their early 20s (who are really just bigger teenagers): It’s going to be horribly flawed because people are horribly flawed. Throw in a sense of entitlement and grownups who can’t let the actives steer their own ship, and it’s a recipe for disaster. And it’s really hard to think of any other forum in which hundreds of people can hurt you without even knowing you based on things that are in no way who you are and you’re not even a celebrity.

But though a certain herd mentality is born there for the weaker ones, the Greek system also produces leaders and heroes, and frankly, people who find a sense of values from the things they learn both from their chapter, but also from situations like the Rush editorial.

I wish that some chapter on the Alabama campus would have thumbed their nose at their alumni. I wish I thought that just one chapter could have said, “You know what? We’ll have bake sales. And our parents are rich. And we’re not racist.” But when you’re in that situation, those alumni and those advisors are the jury, judge and executioner. And the worst part is, it only takes a few bad ones. I’m sure there are alumni of every chapter on campus who are raising hell right now because this is not what they stand for.

To the two girls cut by all the Alabama sororities: It sucks in ways many people can’t ever imagine, but by the end of this, you guys come out smelling like roses. I hope you won’t let this situation make you bitter, because there are probably a lot of people who fought for you, and if you paint all the Greeks with the same broad brush they painted you, you could miss out on a lot of really beautiful friends.

But on the other hand, nobody would really blame you if you did. Just know that in the end, the world knows you deserved a lot better, and chapters of every sorority all over the country probably wish you’d transfer so they could have you.

God bless y’all. I promise college only gets better from here. I promise.

 
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Posted by on September 12, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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