Frank

Won't you be frank with me, too?

Frank is less a who and more a what. Frank is where those of us in Opinion and Commentary in KU's William Allen White School of Journalism and Mass Communications come to be that - frank - about what's going on at KU, in Lawrence, in Kansas and in the world. We're here as commentators on our world and yours. We're glad you're here, even if you are just creepin' around.

Because this blog is in part a class assignment, I've been asked to use this first post as an introduction of sorts. With that in mind, fire up the bongos! Please allow me to introduce myself...

My name is Ranjit (pronounced Run-jeet) Arab. Yes, I know what you're thinking ("did he say A-rab?"). It is indeed my name. However, it's worth mentioning that I'm not of Arabic descent (nor am I a Muslim). Of course there's nothing wrong with either, but simply to clarify, I have lots of people assume that I'm either one or both (when, in fact, I'm neither) and so, unfortunately, it leads to some confusion.

So, why is my last name Arab, then? Well, the "short" answer is that my ancestor (something like a great-great-great grandfather) was a scribe in India for a Muslim king (called a nizam). My ancestor was literate in several languages, and he quickly became a valued and trusted assistant to this king. In return, the king bestowed the name "Arab" on him (as if to say, I consider you one of us...). There's some idea of what the family name was prior to that (I've heard that it literally translated to "black bird," which I think is pretty cool...) but few official records remain and "Arab" has been the family name for at least a couple of centuries now.

After 9/11, my folks told me they'd have no problem if I decided to change my last name. When I was younger--in high school--my father received an early morning call in which an anonymous, angry voice promised to blow up our house that afternoon simply because of our last name ("all you damn A-rabs deserve to die..."). Pretty scary stuff. My folks reported it to the authorities and it was handed over to the KBI. My folks warned me not to go home straight from school that day. Naturally, I didn't listen. I rushed home and drove around the block wondering if I'd see the house explode (I was certain it wouldn't happen and that it was just some lunatic, but you never could be sure...). Anyway, the house didn't explode, and the guy was eventually caught (some idiot in Alabama).

More recently, my name was "used against me" when then member of the State School Board Connie Morris told a reporter that I was a "terroristic threat" simply because I sought to interview her for a documentary film I was making on the immigration issue.

Connie is no longer an elected official, by the way.

Anyway, I thought long and hard about changing my name but eventually decided not to...why should I? I mean, "Arab" isn't a four-letter word (well, you know what I mean...). Besides, the name was given as a compliment--a gesture of appreciation for crossing barriers and working with "the other." Finally, it's my name. Why should I have to change it simply because people can be ignorant?

So THAT's what's in a name (put that in your goatee and stroke it, Billy Shakespeare...)

Okay, so on to this blog. I'd like to provide a humorous--but sometimes serious--look at current events with a strong emphasis on politics.

With that in mind, let's continue with today's "What's in a name" theme with a spotlight on [/drum roll] Karl Rove, who recently said he was stepping down as Bush's top adviser so he could spend more time ruining his family. [/rim shot]

What's in Karl Rove's name? Well, for starters, I was certain his middle initial was "F" (as in he F'ed up the Republican Party, he F'ed up the country, he F'ed up Valerie Plame's cover, he F'ed up the federal attorneys...) but was surpised to discover his middle name is...Christian. Is there a church official reading this? Can we get a ruling here--isn't that inherently blasphemous? How does he keep getting away with this stuff?! ...

Karl Christian Rove, you're a clever, clever swine...and a damn fine rapper too!

That's all for now...Karl, notice how I didn't warn you about the doorknob on your way out. Quite frankly, I wouldn't mind if it hit ya where the good lord split ya (after all, it's where most of your brilliant ideas originated).

How giddy can one man be? My first blog entry, ever, under any circumstances, and it falls under the cruel whip of assigned classwork. For those of you (and by "you," I mean "us") who are into leather, this should be delicious.

By way of introduction, I'm a second-year graduate student, doggedly plowing my way through the brave new world of electronic media. I completed my undergraduate work in political science in Florida, where they have barely harnessed electricity, let alone the concept of the fourth estate, so you may have to bear with me.

Most of my previously published writing has been in the vein of opinion espousal, which tends to qualify as journalism in about the same way James Caan qualifies as Italian, but that's my ball to drop (for the curious, previous attempts at humor and insight can still be found haunting the Internet). What I value most about the whole riggamarole--whether writing a weekly column or blogging--is the deadline. Looming deadline=productive writing (see also: panic attacks, self-medicating, alchoholism).

About 3/4 of my work has been dedicated to politics. The bonus with this subject matter in this day and age is that there's always plenty to work with (especially if surreality is your thing); the down side is that you eventually look back on a body of work that, when read aloud, reminds you of the a-hole you used to be (and by "used to be," I mean about three weeks ago). But I suppose that's the cross we all bear. What nobody ever tells you is that you're probably bearing it right on up to Calvary, so a bunch of Phillistines can play mumblypeg with your tenderest appendages.

At any rate, I plan to spend a little more time outside the beltway (as advised by my Karl Rove Day Planner and Life Coach Guidatorium, p.442), and tinker with the occasional item of interest which has nothing to do with our elected officials.

...wait for it...

Oh, hey, didja hear W. finally got the Firstdaughter #2 auctioned off? To the occasional White House aide, no less. Three thoughts:
1. Remember how Carter had Billy, and Clinton had Roger? I can't help but think that the only thing keeing us out of Bizzaro World, where W. is President Jeb Bush's occasionally embarrassing sideshow, is that W. has the combined force of Crazy J and Neal to make him look competent and focused by comparison.
2. Can you even begin to imagine what kind of a kegger this is going to be?
3. What, do you imagine, is the groom-to-be thinking? All I can say is that this must be true love, 'cause man, we are definitely entering the after-dinner-mint phase of this dynasty.

...sigh... I was doing so well...

My life has felt pretty surreal lately. I was gone all summer on an internship in London and I'm still adjusting to Kansas.

While I was there I met famous people, attended pitch meetings and fashion shows, lived in the heart of the city, coached voiceover artists and helped sell one show to the Art Channel. By the end, it felt less like an unpaid training opportunity and more like a contest that I unknowingly won. I kept expecting some idiot Television Presenter like Ryan Seacrest to jump out and yell "Surprise! You're the first unwitting contestant on Dream Job, where one lucky person gets to live their dream for two months before we send them crashing back to reality."

And reality came with a cold, wet thud.

Three days before I was scheduled to return home I received word that my grandfather died. Less than 24 hours after I was stateside, I was at his viewing and 12 hours after that I was carrying his casket

His passing was an eerie period on a summer that was already full of moments of perspective and maturity. Seriously, I grew up more this summer than any other time in my life. Every life is full of watershed moments that change a person, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. My summer had plenty of those, and while I won't go into them I will say this: I got my drive to do things back because of this summer.

Five minutes into the car ride back to Lawrence I knew it was time to leave. Time to get out of the city and start over somewhere else. Get a job. Start a career. Get a life that doesn't revolve around shitty house parties, zero-responsibility employment and fair-weather friends. This semester is my launch pad. There will be no misfires.

I don't know what I'm going to write about in this class. I love film and music and I can be politically outspoken about issues that are important to me. I'm also very much an observer of people, relationships and trends. I do know that entries like this one will be rare. Anyone expecting an ultra-personal emo-blog will have to look elsewhere.

I have no delusions about Hearst Awards (my money's on the Grad students), but if I can be poignant and funny a few times without sounding like a hack, I'll be happy.

Hi, I'm Will McCullough.

So what do I want to do with this blog? I'm not really sure. But here's a bit about me.

Let's come right out and say it: I'm a Christian. I love my faith and I love to discuss it. I don't know what baggage the noun "Christian" carries to you, but I'll try to do it justice by what I've learned from Jesus: It's summed up as loving God and loving each other.

Please don't expect me to fulfill any polarizing fundamental stereotypes one might be accustomed to seeing on the media; that's just silly. And let's get another thing clear: Fred Phelps does not, in my opinion, follow Christ's teachings. To quote my roommate Steve, "Fred Phelps represents Christians about as well as Adolph Hitler represents moustaches."

That said, I'll try not to focus too intensely on any one aspect, but I'd like to look at a lot of topics and give one Christian's worldview, if there is such a thing. I want this blog to be a dialogue. I want this to be a place where any question can be asked and any comment raised. Basically, I want to be a friend, not a religious jerk.

For some background, here's a brief synopsis of my life: I was born in Kansas City, but my family moved to Newton, a town of 16,000, before I could remember. I grew up there, went to high school there, had my first girlfriend there, you know, etc. Then I came to KU. Oh, and I was an only child. I always think that's a good thing to point out. By the way, growing up an only child was so-so: I didn't have to share, compromise much, etc. But when I get married, I'm going to have more than one kid. But I digress.

I wasn't always a "Christian", so to speak. I mean, I went to church with my family, but always dreaded sitting for an hour and a half on Sunday morning and never really understood what it was all about. After going to a church camp on my own accord for multiple years, I finally saw a side of people that I never truly saw anywhere else: they simply loved each other. I really can't explain it beyond that. There weren't any frills to it. They simply watched out for each other, forgave each other, and looked to God for help doing it. And they had something, some sort of hidden energy that allowed them to pick themselves up from an argument or frustrating situation and to drop it freely. They weren't just putting on a front; they legitimately had relief from all sorts of otherwise psychologically damaging circumstances, both big and small. They lived freely. I wanted what they had.

Also, I think it's important to note that I wasn't on the path to becoming some sort of religious person. I went to public school, never knew John 3:16 and used to make fun of infomercials advertising praise music. My parents always raised me to question what I was taught and to challenge the status quo, which is how I want to raise my kids. Truth will vindicate itself. I think it kind of shocked them when I told them I gave my life to Christ.

So there you have it. I recognize this is a terribly sensitive subject for a lot of people, and it is my goal to be respectful. I pray I can be a cup of cool water in this tremendous discussion, not just another voice of intolerance.

If that quote doesn't jump out at you, I understand.

It's from Snatch, which is unquestionably my favorite movie. Directed by Guy Ritchie and starring Jason Statham, Brad Pitt, Dennis Farina, Vinnie Jones and Benicio Del Toro, it's a can't miss dark comedy/action flick.

Anyway, so you can feel free to stop reading at any time without going to the bottom of the page to discover my identity, my name is Shawn Shroyer (the kid wearing all the Royals paraphernalia in class on Thursday). Which is why it's interesting that I should use a movie quote as a title for this entry.

Make no mistake about it - I'm a sports fanatic. I wake up in the morning and check ESPN.com, then the Kansas City Star's Sports Page online. Then I turn on the TV to watch Mike & Mike or First Take on ESPN2 (depending on how early I actually get up). In the afternoon, I make a point of being home by 4 p.m. to catch Around the Horn and Pardon the Interruption. However, I'm not addicted to SportsCenter. (To me, SC is the sports equivalent to Entertainment Tonight.) But in the evening, if there's a game on, I'll probably give it priority over anything else I should be doing. It doesn't matter - baseball, football, college basketball, soccer, hockey (anything but the NBA and WNBA) - homework can wait.

But when I feel like I should make an attempt to say something witty, a Snatch quote always pops into my head - for better or for worse. My infatuation with Snatch might actually be the most normal thing about me.

Unlike a couple people I've read about on here, I'm neither political, nor am I religious. I don't hold any ill will towards either topic. Both are obviously necessary. They just aren't for me.

That's where my obsession with sports probably gets the best of me. Some of you reading this might even be shaking your heads at what an unproductive citizen I am. But, that's the way I'm wired and I admit I like it.

If I'm going to suffer a heart attack someday, I'd rather it be the result of a blown save by a Royals closer than a botched election or...I don't know...I can't think of anything clever that would cause a religous person to have a heart attack. Snatch failed me this time.

However, hopefully I'll be able to add a different flavor to this class. And if I don't do another constructive thing this semester, at the very least, I may have introduced someone to Snatch.

For my introductory blog Ive decided to tell you a little about myself and what makes me tick. My name is Bart Vandever and Im a senior at KU with a major in journalism. Im scheduled to graduate after this semester and will hopefully put that diploma to good use. I hope to one day write and direct my own films or be a part of the entertainment/film industry in some facet. I've always had a deep appreciation for films and have been making my own shorts since the days of junior high in the basement with my friends. The possibilities of film as a medium are really astounding…it can encompass music, stunts, explosions, acting, directing, writing, story telling, photography, editing, etc.

Currently I'm working on a mockumentary (think Spinal Tap, etc.) chronicling the rise and fall of a fictitious legendary director from the 1960s named Frederick. I've been kicking around ideas for this one since my days in high school…so hopefully I can find time during my school schedule to put the rest of this together. So far Ive collected a number of interviews and the narration for the film this summer.

I also am in the process of forming a two-man band with a friend. We are currently putting together a few songs to play live at open mic nights around town. Writing has also always been an interest of mine and I feel like most everything I do is rooted in some form of writing so I definitely think I chose the right major (my minor is film). I hope to add some insightful opinions/commentaries for class in my blogs.

Blogging also seems like an exciting forum because of how open it is. There are practically no limitations to what you could do with it. Alright that's all for now….Ill be back for more.

Peace Frank

When I was still young and my squishy parts had not quite solidified, I was uprooted from the somewhat large, suburban area of Tulsa, Oklahoma and transplanted to the very rural and much tinier Russell, Kansas. Most of you, no doubt, will probably note that's where the former presidential candidate Bob Dole came from, and he hasn't been back since his stunning defeat as far as I know. Crusty, aging politicians aside, Russell couldn't have been more different than my previous home. I had no friends and making them wasn't and especially easy thing for me to do at the time.

As the years passed by and my circle of friends and I grew up, my own behaviors, beliefs, and attitudes began to pervade and replace those that my parents tried to instill in me when I was younger. I am now the shining example of a man you see now. Well, not that you're actually seeing me this second, but when you do see me that is. My point is, I can't help but think what it would have been like had I not been removed from my original environment; how much different my aforementioned beliefs would be.

Questioning myself in that way seems to be a big part of how I view other people of similar and dissimilar backgrounds. I'm always curious what drives people to the conclusions they have made and how they view my own. I think that we all as journalists attempt this on a daily basis, which is, quite possibly, one of the most difficult aspects of the job; getting past the wall our own opinions can be to see others as they really are. Don't get me wrong; I'm not the best example of the world's most compassionate person or anything, but damn it, I try (although particularly insistent and ignorant people get my goat).

One final note: somewhere along the way, at my dad's behest, I picked up a love of things technology, which soon turned its glorious head in the direction of something called the ‘video game.' Hundreds and hundreds of hours of my life have been, not wasted, but spent with these creatures and I couldn't love them more. Hopefully a few more of you out there feel the same and share my passion for games. Until next time, however: game over.

I used to live underwater. I opened with that to grab your attention, but it's also true. While in the U.S. Navy, I was a crew member of a 688 class fast-attack submarine out of Norfolk.

Since most people have no experience with submarines and have never met a submariner, they are often curious but have to start the questions with something generic like "So... uh... what was that like?"

"Uh... well... it sucked" is the short and sweet answer. If I have time to explain then I usually compare life on a sub to other jobs except that on a submarine, it's a lot more extreme.

You know how when you start a new job, you're kind of excited. Maybe you just got out of school and you're finally doing what you've been trained to do. You look forward to learning what you need to learn in order to do a good job. But after you've done the job for a while and you have it down pat, the exciting luster fades.

Life on board a submarine follows the same arc except to the extreme. After I completed about two years of training, I was ready to drive a nuclear powered sub through the Caribbean, to practice war games and other exercises that prepared us for a deployment, stopping at places like Puerto Rico. We then deployed to the Mediterranean, visiting various countries from Gibraltar to Greece. I turned 21 years old in Italy. All pretty exciting for a kid who had wondered if he would ever make it out of Nowhere, Kan.

But like with any job, the excitement faded. Three months into my second deployment I did a four week stint under water and I really began to miss everything. I missed sunlight, my home, my wife. I missed my friends and the smell of women (the submarine force is still all male and yes, after four weeks under, it stinks to THE highest heaven). I had been a crew member of the U.S.S. Jacksonville for three years. The luster was completely gone. It sucked more than any other job because I was still stuck even though I was through.

I got out of the Navy in 2000 and within two years I decided to come to the University. My son was born spring break of my freshman year. He's a real good kid with good timing like that.

I am my son's primary care giver. My wife wishes she could spend more time with him but because of her high earning capacity as a computer programmer and the flexibility I experience as a student, it makes sense that I be the one who tends to him most of the time while she's at work.

He takes up about half my time and the pursuit of a journalism degree takes up the other half. Throw in my creative writing degree, the household chores, the four dogs, the cat, the cars and the gold fish (who apparently don't even want to live) and you might begin to understand why I say I went from living underwater to being in over my head.

Somehow I'm managed to float through about 20 years of life without giving much thought to the fact I am a female. I've always check the "F" box on job applications and walked through the bathroom door with the skirt on the sign, but I've never given the fact much thought until this summer.

Summer 2007. Summer of Jenny's giant NYC adventure.

I was offered a great internship with The White House Project, a national, nonpartisan, not-for-profit organization that aims to advance women's leadership in all communities and sectors, up to the U.S. presidency. The flagship program of this organization is called Vote, Run, Lead, and I was able to be a part of a huge groundbreaking on their home turf this summer: hosting the first ever Go Run training in New York City.

I started this job clueless about what I was going to be doing with my remaining eight weeks of summer, but quickly realized that I had jumped headfirst into a pool of a dozen female employees (plus two males) working to build a pipeline of "richly diverse and untapped" women in America.

Why you ask, is this mission so important? Well, I borrow from the organization's case statement when I answer: "By supporting women and the values that allow women to succeed—the full range of health options, security platforms that utilize all our resources, economic stability for all—we work to create an equitable culture."

Still, most people don't get it. And I didn't either before this summer. Why must our society attempt to boost women's participation in government or business? Isn't this the 21st century and aren't men and women finally equal?

Sadly, this is the misperception most Americans still hold regarding our "democracy". Looking at the political side of things, only 86 women currently serve in the U.S. Congress— 16 in the Senate and 70 women in the House. That's 16.3 percent of the 535 seats in the 110th Congress. Last time I checked women comprised at least 51 percent of the US population, so why is this majority a minority in politics?

For the Fortune 500 companies so closely studied by Wall Street enthusiasts across the country, only 15.6 percent of the boards of these companies are comprised of women.

And just to put a little J-School spin on this issue... Over the last five years, The White House Project has researched the absence of women on Sunday morning talk shows on the five major networks: ABC, CBS, CNN, FOX and NBC. The first "Who's Talking" report was released in 2001 and found that men outnumbered women 9 to 1 on these agenda-setting shows. In their 2002 follow-up, they found that there was little improvement—women only made up 13 percent of all guest appearances on the shows. In the 2005 study, called Who's Talking Now, we found more than half of Sunday morning news shows did NOT include a single women.

So now you might be able to see why this summer suddenly forced me to pay a little more attention to my gender. When working for a gender-focused organization, one naturally gives more thought to the subject. I learned women must be pushed or invited into positions of authority while men confidently walk up to the podium, boardroom or microphone (kudos to TWHP Founder and President Marie Wilson for giving me this nugget of knowledge). At this internship, I had to face reality. I had been under the assumption that maybe if women ignored the fact we were under-represented in Congress or Fortune 500s, we could sneak up from behind and take the men by storm. But problems like don't solve themselves overnight. It's going to take organizations like The White House Project to bring attention to these very real gender inequalities through ongoing programs that promote women's leadership across all sectors.

But for me, it doesn't stop with that organization in New York City. I have a responsibility to bring attention to the facts— the facts that make women's under-representation so evident. So now when you are sitting in Western Civ II skimming Virginia Woolf you can analyze the reading to see if anything really has changed in the experiences women and men since her post-WWII timeframe. Have women become more equal? How does our patriarchal society shape your life experiences? Or you can sit back and wonder, like me, why articles like this try to make women out to be nimble and too ignorant to care for themselves. Give women some credit.

Sorry if I sound like a raving feminist, but c'mon guys, it's time to share the wealth.

I'd have preferred Earnest. Has much more of a debonair ring to it. With respect to all the Frank's of this world of course. But, Frank? Yes, Frank I carry with a measure of mixed emotions, or is it a measure of Boulevard Wheat? Well, whatever. But yes, it must have been that confounded ale which led to it all. In relating this trivia, I've been called the F-word. And, if by reading this, you gain a measure (that word again) of insight into my personality and decide to call me whatever you choose thereafter, know this: our predecessors set the tone with their hard-drinking lifestyles, questioning minds, industriousness and famed cynicism. And if I'm to be a self-respecting journo, don't fault me for starting the one place I'm led to believe good stories are to be found.

I was quaffing by the quantity. It was a respectable bar, although some of the dodgy patrons mooching around, seemed to have been best served, not inside the establishment, but by being far, far away. Which is not to say that I consider myself beyond reproach of course. Reprobate, is the word that comes to mind of those who've been less than complimentary about me.

Enter the medical doctor who sits two places away from me. The clientele is looking up. A neurological surgeon, he's treated innumerable patients suffering spinal cord and brain diseases. And hey, whose to fault a doctor taking some well deserved r & r with the working class? Sharing a pitcher or two, whilst be enthralled about life-saving operations performed - who wouldn't chip in for a couple of rounds to save the doctor spending his hard-earned cash? Except, there's something amiss about our surgeon. He's as untidy as a prescription note. Something about the boxers he's wearing that's been bugging me, along with a crumpled check shirt that has seen better days. Although, I've seen college women strolling around campus in long pajamas. Could this be something de rigueur? Not likely. And chances are the bag at the foot of his barstool doesn't have a stethoscope. Maybe a syringe yes, an old Greyhound ticket stub perhaps, certainly no keys for a Porsche or Lexus. My nagging doubts thankfully didn't extend to me offering a round in return for services rendered in the operating theatre, and I left safe in the knowledge that the only money I've had to spend on a doctor was for a recent colonoscopy.

After being unceremoniously ejected by the barman, the incident left me wondering whether the pseudo surgeon should in fact be a patient. My attention then turns to those around me. In the corner, a woman is fixing a toothpick to serve as a lance on a miniature figurine mounted on the bar counter. It looked like a character from an Asterix and Obelix comic book. She moves it around, making war noises and acting like everything depended on her strategy to defend a Gaul village under attack by an imaginary Roman legion.

Next to her, another woman strikes up a conversation, but the urge to smoke means she frequently has to leave to indulge her vice, only to return and pick up where she left off. The conversation vacillates from the house she intends to rent, to her frequent arguments with a male friend. For my part, I waffle on about fake doctors and how past frustrations as a patient, also meant having to have incredible patience. Like sitting for hours in the waiting room, flipping through well-worn tabletop magazines and wondering about the afflictions of those opposite me. At some point, the doctor shows and despite your pain, your spirits lift. But, he's leaving the building without saying a word. I'm gutted. If only his receptionist volunteered to tell the ailing and afflicted that he was going out to lunch, it wouldn't have been so bad.

I'm taken to the present by the woman's persistent coughing. Her nicotine-stained fingers are clenched in a fist, covering her mouth. She regains her composure, mutters to herself about kicking the habit and thereafter candidly remarks that she hasn't had sex in two years. She delights in saying why she'll never give in to the affections of the male friend she lives with. Whether by sharing that with me meant I ought to help her come out of her hiatus, I'm not sure, but I hoped that by nodding my head in understanding, it's more than she could have counted on from an uncaring doctor's receptionist.

By now, a lanky, well-dressed man (who could have passed for a real doctor) takes the place vacated by the man in boxers. Even his drink suggests class. Some milky-looking concoction that has its place on the deck of a luxury ocean liner, along with the daiquiris and mai tais being nursed by retirees enjoying their TIAA-CREF benefits. He leans over, as if to share a secret of his success.

"Do you know what it's like to have a 50 pound penis?" he whispers. My comeback was he ought to try living with 60, but I hold back. Without thinking, I automatically look at his crotch. He jokingly pulls his jacket over the focus of my attention and I'm immediately embarrassed. He doesn't expand further and instead, proceeds to dip three fingers in his milky drink. He strokes his black hair and specks of white, dot his temple. He does it several times without saying anything further. I'm flummoxed by the gestures. Maybe, it's his way of saying he's cool. There's a sexual connotation in the whole imagery and maybe it's to show he's on the prowl. I wonder then, if the woman whose been abstaining, has been paying attention.

Finally, the life of the party shows up! I have to thank Mr. Lafferty for finally getting me on ‘da Frank' because it's about time!

Well I'm going to be frank when I say that I was a little skeptical about taking this course. I have been going through the J-School with a clear intention of working in broadcast news. Let me tell you, it has been a heck of an experience. Running around all day trying to come up with a news story out of thin air tests your ability to think on your feet. That's why coming to Opinion and Commentary is a little out of the ordinary for me; I'm usually the one broadcasting other opinions rather than coming up with them myself. My ideas of what I want to accomplish in the future are starting to change.

While most of my news buddies are producing the news this semester, here I am, but for a good reason. When I first came to KU I was gung-ho on working in the news media, but now I have taken a path that many would say is the ‘dark road'. I am studying for the LSAT this semester and plan on taking that damn thing in December, cementing my path to the world of J.D. (No Benson, not Jack Daniels). Opinion and commentary doesn't seem so bad now!

A brief bio, it's pretty simple, I'm just a good ol' boy from Cheyenne, Wyoming and a third generation Jayhawk. I always get many comments about Wyoming, which is great because I now know how lucky I was to live in a place that so many people are so unfamiliar with. Here's to say I wasn't too bummed to be leaving that boring, but beautiful place. My life at college has been wonderful. I have studied some amazing subjects, made wonderful friends, and hell, have even worked at a P&G factory one summer. Not many people can say they did that.

For this intro post I figured I'd keep it to just that, an introduction. I'd rather people know those things about me before I start revealing my opinions. I'll end with a quote to which I try to live by, from Dr. Naismith himself: "Be strong in body, clean in mind, lofty in ideals."

Have you ever had that feeling of outrage while watching a movie based on actual events--or even, say, based on a novel you've read...that occurs when you suddenly come across a scene, a character, a plot line--anything--that reveals to you that the writers have taken tremendous liberties with the story (you know, that point where you literally blurt out, "Wait a minute, that's not how it really happened...)

Well, for several years now, I've had that feeling as I watch our country discuss the immigration "crisis." I place "crisis" in quotes simply because I don't think most illegal immigrants represent a crisis. Sure, Americans losing jobs is a crisis, and immigrant workers getting exploited is also a crisis, but immigration itself (including the illegal variety) is not a crisis...it's simply a necessary function of America's economy, but one whose actual system (bureaucracy and policy) is severely broken.

Yes, I did imply that illegal immigration is necessary (at least, it's necessary according to the way things are currently run). It's America's "dirty little secret." Truth is, we've always needed young, strong workers to fulfill some of the more grueling jobs in our economy (agriculture, construction, meat packing, service, etc.). The point is not that these are jobs Americans won't do, but that they are jobs Americans now refuse to do for the wage being offered...undocumented immigrants fill that gap (it's not in the best interest of American workers, of course, but it does keep businesses afloat--however unfairly--and it does keep prices down...I'm not saying those are suitable justifications, but they are very real consequences of our reliance on this workforce).

As for the current waves of mostly Latino workers entering our country, again, it's nothing new. We've had a long history of workers crossing the border from Mexico and Central American countries to take on seasonal agricultural work. In fact, during WWII (a previous time of war), this immigration was seen in positive terms. While most of our workforce was either fighting abroad or helping with the war effort, we established the Bracero program to make it easier for these temporary workers to cross back and forth between borders. That program was discontinued by the 60s, and current concerns over border security have lumped these workers in the same category as evil-doing terrorists.

Of course, you can look at it from a purely numbers standpoint:

The government still has a program for allowing season workers in--it's called the H2-b work visa). Every year, the U.S. makes 66,000 of these visas available.While that might seem like a lot, the actuality is that up to half a million undocumented workers enter--and find jobs--in America each year! Clearly, our immigration policy does not accurately reflect the demand or the supply for this laborforce.

But, of course, any reasonable discussion of our immigration system would take a major re-adjusting of the lens. We need to stop seeing these people as a threat, stop seeing them as criminals, start seeing them as a part of our society, and start figuring out ways that best utilize their skills without expoliting them.

For starters, that means less Lou Dobbs and more personal education. Reading up about immigration can be a nightmare--most sources are in constant spin mode. However, a site like this one can provide you with some basic information about immigration numbers and trends.

Finally, I'd like to make one last appeal toward re-adjusting that lens, and this one is a purely emotional one. Check out this story about Orlando Castaneda. He's an undocumented immigrant (brought here by his parents when he was three), who actually fought for our country in Iraq. As the story says, he was assured that his service would put him on a fast track toward citizenship. Of course, when he got back, the only fast track it put him on was getting deported! Is this really how we treat our least fortunate? We'll let them die for us, but when they're among us, they can only stay in the shadows?

Okay, I said that would be my last point...but I lied! (Speaking of lying, this provides me with a perfect segue)...

Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in saying "Adios!" to Alberto Gonzales. When asked what was his fondest memory during his tenure as Attorney General, Gonzales brilliantly said, "I don't recall."

Seriously, it's perfect timing that Gonzales return to the headlines at this very moment I'm talking about immigration. One of my all-time favorite Gonzo clips is this stunner in which he uses his patented "I don't recall defense" to the question of whether his own family came here legally. Too bad the other 12 million undocumented immigrants don't get the luxury of "not recalling" whether they're here legally or not...sure would solve this immigration "crisis" once and for all!

So I went back to my hometown this weekend, and broke the news to my family that I'm going to be at KU another year. Fortunately for me, I'm still getting [on time, in four years] the first two degrees I originally set out for, French and Journalism. However, I decided that I wanted to pursue graduate-level Economics, and in order to do that, I might as well major in it first, which will take 32 more credit hours, or two more semesters of work. They were all in support of that plan, for they believe in serial education, which I suppose is a cool thing.

And of course, during this mildly momentous discussion with my family, the question was broached, "What do you want to do with that?" And, having been raised in a family of salesmen and socialites, I was able to lay down some BS covering fire for a few moments, which seemed to satiate their curiosity. Then they asked, "What are you going to do this summer?" They were assuming I would be pursuing some sort of financial internship that would help catapult me into the world of economics. And that's when things got awkward, because for the second summer in a row, I'm going to work at my church. And, having been raised in my family of salesmen and socialites, to them working at a church does not qualify as a "real" job. Nor does it qualify as a "job" job. What it does qualify as is a juvenile pursuit of foggy ideals equivalent to volunteering as a roady for the String Cheese Incident. So they winced. And they argued it was a waste of time. And they encouraged me with stories of my peers and their peers who had chosen the road more traveled and who now were "really doing well! [financially!]" And I was stubborn, and disagreed with them.

And while that moment came and passed, and while half of my family later came up to me individually, saying they supported whatever I chose to do (which I truly appreciated and needed to hear), that discussion got me thinking, "Why am I working at a church this summer?" And that question got me wondering, "What am I going to become later on in life?" And at that point I thought of what I had heard from Isaac Anderson, the pastor at my church. Isaac had said (borrowing much from Louie Giglio) that what we do in our twenties isn't so much about what we become in the future, but it's more about who we become in the present. In effect he's saying, it's not about what you become, it's who you become. Furthermore, you can go to the right school and you can get the right job and you can move to the right city and you can marry the right person, but the whole time you can be the wrong person. You can do all the right things but have the whole wrong mentality about it.

And that's when I realized why I'm interning at this church again. It's exactly because I don't know what I'm going to become. It's because I don't know where I'll be in five years, let alone one and a half. It's because I don't know what city I'll end up in, and it's because I probably haven't met my future wife yet. I can't control any of those factors at this point. Someday I will, but not yet. And until then, the only thing I can control is who I am, who I become.

And from that perspective, working at my church is the best possible thing I could be doing with my time. It gives me the chance to seek God earnestly, to explore leadership, to learn from families and to mentor their kids. It gives me the chance to rock out on electric guitar and to sing my lungs out with my friends. It gives me a chance to experience candidness and humility. Most of all, it gives me three months where my biggest focus is God. And in this loud, noisy world, with infinite voices yelling at us all to do and be and run and buy and live and drink and achieve, three months of focus are worth more to me than all the other internships and opportunities this summer could yield.

Internship applications, in a field so competitive I commonly find myself dreaming up ludicrous ailments that may befall my competitors.

A thesis, for which I have created a survey questionnaire that usually has people crawling out of their skins by question #10.

A preoccupation with radically misdiagnosing myself using Web M.D.

A preoccupation with Googling my own name.

Trying to be the voice of reason for friends and loved ones with body-image issues and diet anxiety.

Trying to be okay with having reached a point in life where I am now removing things from my resume because they reflect negatively on my age.

Distinguishing the passive-aggressive, antisocial negativity exuded by about 40% of the people I interact with on a daily basis from my own pervasive suspicion that I am often simply unlikeable.

A certain degree of jealousy toward those who get it right the first time.

Trying not to take it personally.

As someone who's always been a big fan of the fall of Rome, can I just take a second to pose the question, what in the hell is going on in the Republican Party?

For those not in the know, this week brought the recent arrest of Sen. Larry Craig (R-Idaho) to light--an arrest for apparently using some sort of "secret gay code" to signal a man in a bathroom stall next to him that he was up for, oh, whatever(NSFW*). Unfortunately for Sen. Craig, his potential "wingman" turned out to be one of Minnesota's finest. Well, maybe not finest. (Did I mention that this happened in a Minneapolis airport? And I thought liberals were supposed to be the elitists. Well, look who's too good for the restrooms at the public parks and recreation department, all of a sudden.)

At any rate, all of this may or may not be true. Sen. Craig has since renounced his guilty plea, insisting that it was simply an effort to make a bad misunderstanding go away. Whuteva. Excuse my french, but I've been doin' m'bidness in bathrooms, jungles and deserts for over 30 years, and have not once come remotely close to accidentally leading someone to believe, in the process, that I was in the market for any... oh, you know. But I digress.

Okay, so he enters a plea, and gets on with his life. Well, that was pretty smart, wasn't it? Why insist on your innocence when it's just as easy to plead guilty. Oh, and then not tell:
Your lawyer
Your wife
Your family
or
Your staff
that it EVER HAPPENED. Because, as we all know, these things never come to back to haunt us.

And it gets better. Apparently, rumors about the good senator have been circulating since 1982. Not that that means anything in and of itself, but what makes it so classic is that in 1999, Sen. Craig had this to say. (Bonus points: Be sure and check out Chris Matthews's deadpan stare after the camera cuts back to him from the Craig footage. In fact, watch that a couple of times, and try to put a heavy techno-rave beat behind Craig's words. There's money to be made here, I guaran-effing-tee it.)

But whatever. Is Craig a hypocrite? I guess the proof is in the pudding. A great big bowl of homoerotic pudding. Regardless, he's either a public liar or a perjurist. Either he lied to the court when knowingly entered a false plea of guilt--which is, oddly, illegal--or he's lying to the public now about the nature of the whole thing. Either way, a big thanks to James Dobson for helping to fill the halls of Congress with confused, self-hating, hypocritical nutjobs like Craig.

But Craig is just the tip of the iceberg. A huge, homoerotic iceberg. Let us not forget Bob Allen, the Florida State Representative, who offered an undercover cop $20, not for the cop's services, mind you, but for the opportunity to "service" the cop. (And, because I know you'll thinking I'm making this up, be sure and check out the good representative's Florida House page, where his recreational interests are listed as... yep, you guessed it.)

Also in Florida, U.S. Representative Mark Foley (again, proud Republican) managed to make being a congressional page even creepier than it automatically seems it would naturally be. Outside the official Party lines, we have geniuses like Ted Haggard, noted evangelist, politico and gay-hater, outed by his long-time male gigolo, who just couldn't abide Ted's public gay-bashing along side his private adultery. And patron saint of the morbidly obese right, Rush Limbaugh, who, after copping to doctor-shopping his way to a mountain of Oxycontin, was caught in customs during a trip to the Dominican Republic with a bottle of viagra, with a prescription not his own. Okay, let's for a moment forget the legality of the prescription, or the fact that prostitution, gay, straight, and otherwise is rampant in the DR... what, from a Conservative Christian, Right-Wing Republican, Straight White American Male perspective, what in the hell is an unmarried, Christian man doing with a bottle full of viagra? Perhaps Brother David can cover this one.

My point here is not to "persecute" these men for their sexuality. Maybe for their adultery, but not their sexuality. It's just, Christ, how long to have to put up with this sham? How long do we have to play this jackass game, where people are compelled to curry favors with voters--often dupes driven by the most ignorant, literal reading of a given liturgy possible--by raging against the very thing that they truly are? You know what we really need here? A witch hunt. Who gives a shit if are now, or have ever been a communist? What we really want to know is...

All I'm saying is, if Osama bin Laden were a 17-year-old boy, possibly in a public bathroom somewhere... we would've found him by now.

*Special note: You know, you just know, in your heart of hearts, what I was thinking of leading off this post with. Fortunately, thanks to Google, I can see I've already been beaten to the punch over ELEVEN HUNDRED TIMES.

*Not Safe For Work... suckas.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record on the immigration issue, I did feel compelled to blog about it once again because there has been a major development in one of the legal battles--and it has roots right here in Kansas and at KU.

If you've seen or read about my documentary, "In-State," you know I've been following the battle over the 2004 Kansas state law (HB 2145) that enables some undocumented students in our state to receive in-state tuition if they meet the following:

1) Lived in KS and attended a high school here for at least 3 years.
2) Graduate from HS or get a GED equivalent
3) Sign an affidavit acknowledging that they'll seek legal status as soon as they become eligible.

(*The state law did not make these students eligible for state or federal student loans or grants--a point worth mentioning.)

Anyway, shortly after that law passed, a national Anti-immigration group (the ironcially named FAIR: the Federation for American Immigration Reform) sued Gov. Sebelius, the Kansas Board of Regents, and the state university chancellors and presidents, claiming the state law was a violation of federal law. They were led by "charismatic" UMKC law professor Kris Kobach. Kobach worked under Ashcroft in the Justice Department, so you know he lets the eagle soar.

Kobach and FAIR rounded up several out-of-state students for the lawsuit (they claimed that THEY, not the undocumented students, should get the in-state rate--even though they were eligible for in-state in their home states).

Ultimately, though, a District judge ruled the students didn't have standing (they couldn't prove that they were directly harmed by undocumented students getting in-state tuition; and they couldn't prove that they would automatically get the in-state rate if it got taken away for the immigrant students).

Confusing, I know, but the judge basically said it was none of their business.

Instead, it was the right of the state legislature and the Board of Regents to give these kids the cheaper rate. After all, these are kids who have lived in Kansas, and whose parents--though undocumented--had been contributing to our tax base...just like any other Kansas resident. They'll most likely stay in Kansas, too, so why not have educated, skilled residents?

Of course, FAIR, Kobach, and the out-of-state gang weren't happy with that ruling and so they appealed. Well, guess what...today, an appellate court upheld the previous decision, claiming they still don't have standing.

This is a major, major victory for immigrant advocates around the nation. Several other states had passed legislation similar to the one passed in Kansas, but we were the only place where a challenge was mounted (I guess they figured we were most likely to bend). The other states, meanwhile, were all waiting nervously to see if the Kansas case would impact their own efforts.

Well, it certainly will make an impact...in favor of these undocumented students.

Why is this such a big deal to me? I mean, I'm not undocumented--I'm not even an immigrant!

It matters because I see immigration (young labor) as the bloodline of America. Like it or not, we need these people. We need their labor--and we need their tax money.The least we can do is allow their kids to afford a college education (and put them on a path toward legal status).

I've met several undocumented students while researching and filming. In all cases, they've proven themselves to be among the brightest and most dedicated students I've ever met. I'm extremely happy for them--no more worrying about whether the education they started will come to a screeching halt.

Of course, I'm even happier that this battle was won in Kansas. The next time someone tries to tell you this is a backward thinking state, tell them about this case (and make sure you don't mention anything about evolution).

For this blog entry here I'm going to discuss one of my favorite things…movies that I like. A summer movie this time, a beautiful tale of the naivety, innocence, and sad yearnings that we all feel as horny, bored, hormonally charged teenagers. In fact Superbad brought up so many familiar emotions in me I felt like the damn thing was written for me, and in a way it was.

What's surprising however is how well the film, which stars two unknown actors has appealed to other psychographics (thank you Mrs. Benson) and age groups. Even the most optimistic experts couldn't have predicted Superbad's phenomenal $68.6 million box office run in it's first 10 days.

The films limited premise (two high school buddies try to get drunk and laid one night) is what makes this film so great. By telling a story in such a small scope the details of the night jump out and the film's creators Seth Rogen and Judd Apathow (40 Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up) manage to convey those little things in a seamless way that makes the story breathe. Details like firing a policeman's gun, dancing with an older girl on her period, and getting hit by two cars helped remind me of the almost magical sense of possibility that a weekend night and the pursuit of a girl can bring.

Everyone can remember how it was as a young virgin with nothing to lose and few responsibilities. The world was your oyster. I remember it was like trying to explore a dangerous new frontier, where uncertainty ran high and awkwardness was dealt out in generous doses.

Another thing I noticed about Superbad was its authenticity. The leads actually looked like they were self-conscious high schoolers and not actors in their late 20s (like the stars of most high school movies).

The co-dependent relationship depicted in Superbad between the two main characters was extremely reminiscent of the friendship I had in high school with my best friend Brandon. When you're in high school the quest to lose your virginity is a team effort, and one thing to remember is that the moral support that is afforded by your best friend is extremely important.

I actually saw the film two times…once in my home town of Overland Park, KS where the crowd was primarily made up of older people in their forties, and then at Southwind 12 in Lawrence, where the crowd was made up primarily of college-age students. One thing I noticed was how well both audiences responded, but how applause and laughter happened at different times. For the older crowd people seemed to respond more to the small nuances that depicted the naivity of the two characters and their quest to lose their remaining innocence, and with the younger generation the audience seemed to laugh more at the awkward and/or gross out situations (of which there are plenty in the film).

Bottom Line: No matter where you're coming from or where you're at in your life you gotta see this one.