I believe too

This post is written in the spirit of NPR's column over the radio "This I Believe." It was inspired by the writings of Karl and Alissa. Rock on.

It's hard for me to know how much of this I will believe as I grow older, grow in experience and grow in relationships with the people I know and the people I've met and the people I will meet.

I don't know what will be subtracted, added or untouched on this list as I travel the road of life.

But I do believe.

I believe that each and every one of us, every last person on the face of this blue-green ball called Earth has a story.

I believe that every story is important and should be told.

I believe every story should be listened to, and that a story unheard or unbelieved is a great loss to human kind.

I believe that as a journalist, I'm blessed and charged with the important duty of storyteller. I'm the old man of the tribe who will tell you of your past, of the now and of that-which-has-yet-to-come.

I believe that whether you tell your story on paper, in speech or on a keyboard, it retains its value, its lustrous importance and gleaming value. No one can take it away from you. Not governments, not thieves, not the evil men who in their tyranny would use fear as a weapon to try and stop up the voice of the one who says "This is my story."

I believe it is my duty and everyone's duty to stand up in defense of the persecuted storyteller. I believe that as one, I am strong and as many, we are stronger and we will rise up, indomitable and unstoppable and just. When my fellow person, male or female, cannot tell their story, I will tell it for them. I believe they will be heard.

I believe in the power of truth, and that truth is the brightest of all lights.

I believe in God. I have stood on death's doorstep and known then and there that whether I believed it or not, God made me and that he truly does care for me. It is this belief that allows me to make it through the darkest of times when believing is a rare commodity at the store of my ability. I believe that God is my friend, and I call him Jehovah.

I believe that my friends will share the good times with me, and I believe they will get me through the bad times, and that I could be nothing greater than the sum of the people whom I hold dear to me and the family that nurtured me.

I believe that every person, with the words of their lips, the works of their hands and the strides of their feet has the potential to do good, and that because of that I should look for that good in all of them. I believe also that I should always bring out the best in myself for others to see.

I believe in me.

I believe in you.

And I believe that by helping each other out as best we can, we'll make it through.

This is my story, and in its truth, I do believe.

Communication?

My twice monthly column from the paper.

Pet peeve #1

I think it's about time I told you folks about the No. 1 pet peeve I have.

It's not stupid drivers. It's not white people (as my ethnic background often leads people to believe). It's not even people who talk too loudly on their cell phones in public places (although I am of the persuasion that people who do that deserve to be hit in the head with a tack hammer).

My number one pet peeve is:

(insert drumroll here)



That's right. Leg shaving.

I cannot even begin to tell you how grossed out I was while putting this picture up. Looking at it in HTML isn't so bad, but I can tell you I won't be looking at my blog proudly until I put the next post up. Blech.

Now, you may be wondering what brought on this revelation...

Blame Karl:

dshafa: Weird day today
Karl: really?
dshafa: yeah
dshafa: wore a cap and gown for my senior pictars
Karl: is that the weird part?
dshafa: yep
dshafa:it was weird to put that on...
Karl: That is kinda weird. It's like every other weekend, where I put on a flannel nightgown and shave my legs. Oh, but we're talking about you.
Karl: sorry.
dshafa: dude
dshafa: that's hideous
dshafa: and gross


That's right. I am thoroughly grossified out by thinking about, hearing about or (Dear God in Heaven) seeing the process of leg shaving.

It's like sausages and transmissions.

I don't want to know how it happens. I just like that it does. So long as I'm not around for the process, I am a happy camper.

I'm a doctor's kid, so I'm pretty well comfortable with human body processes. Granted, I still find farts funny, but that's a guy thing. When I was in elementary school, I remember being perfectly at ease with how women have a menstrual cycle when all the girls were absolutely mortified and all the guys were making that "I don't trust anything that bleeds for three days and doesn't die" joke that they heard from their dads.

I was cool as ice. That coolness served me especially well through such classroom learning experiences such as "The Video" in the eighth grade. I was okay through almost all of that video, and then they showed the baby being born and I lost it. I let out one "BLARGH!" scream and then went silent. Been okay with it ever since, although I'm absolutely, 100 percent certain that I don't want to see it again. It's not especially traumatizing.

From my perspective, it's like the time I ate the hottest hot sauce they have at a local wing joint. I did it. It was disturbing at the time. I look back on it now and am okay. But I'm not doing it again.

Ladies, I'm hoping you take into account that this is the man's point of view. I have nothing but the greatest of respect for you and the torment you must have endured in the process of bringing a baby with a head the size of a large cantaloupe into this world through your loins.

I'm fine with all that jazz.

But leg shaving?

*gag*

I don't know why this developed. Just one day, someone mentioned it and I had a problem with it. It gets me made fun of a lot (and it's used against me far more than I ever want to admit), but somehow I think I'll survive.

If anyone has any bright ideas about how to cure me of this, I'm open to suggestions so long as they do not include me shaving my own legs. That is NOT happening.

***

Anyway, as you might have gathered, today I had my senior pictures taken. I was very uncomfortable throughout most of it. I don't like smiling because (for any of you that don't know this), I never wore braces when I should have. I'm also terrified of dentists, but most people sympathize with this. I'm sure I'll end up getting this fixed eventually, but not right now.

So I smile with my mouth closed. And I still look okay doing it, except I can never figure out how to smile right without a mirror. So I used a mirror to position my smile and held it.

Then they made me put on the graduation cap and gown. And man, what a head trip that was. It seriously felt unholy and wrong and I heard a voice in my head that said "go to graduate school or get another undergrad degree." It felt like I was meant to stay in college another four or 10 years, but I know that's not happening.

So here I go... I'm not sure what to do next...

Any suggestions for how I should celebrate this momentous occasion (aside from the standard "go get a job!" remark)? I'll do anything so long as it's family friendly and doesn't involve me putting my life at risk. Then, I'll photograph or videotape said celebration.

Cool? Cool.

Cliff-fallen

The problem with writing a cliffhanger to which you don't know the ending is that it's very likely things will go South.

And not South as in to Florida for vacation. South as in bad. Bad as in three-month-old milk. Unrefrigerated.

Anyway, when I called last week to the paper, they said they still had a full-time position open as a copy editor and were wondering if I was interested. What I didn't find out until a couple days later was that someone was already in the process of checking out the job.

And he took it.

But that's not so much of a big deal. I wanted the job, but I'm not gonna start crying just yet.

That's because I got another phone call today...





Haha, fooled you! No cliffhanger this time.

Anyway, one of the editors from the paper I interned at in 2005 just called.

"We were thinking of making use of your multimedia skills," he said.

Oh sweet heavenly goodness.

"How would you like to blog and take photos from the infield at the Derby?"

Is he serious? He must be serious. He wouldn't joke about this. SWEET!

"Sure. I'd love to help out in any way I can," I replied.

YES! YES! OH YEAH! WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO! HAWESOME!

So on Saturday, May 6, you know where I'll be...

And on Sunday, May 7, you know where I'll be too...

Oh, you don't know?

Yeah, I never thought I'd make it here either...

Shortest. Cliffhanger. Ever.

I asked for an internship.

I got offered a job...

Clever title goes here

It's been exactly two weeks since my last blog post.

When someone first mentioned it (Tracy, that's you), I began to wonder if I maybe should get to it.

Side note: Tracy, when you mentioned that in front of Tom, I about died. I mean, I know that he knows about it, but come on. Don't remind him. I'm already sure he thinks I'm crazy. (Side side note: The Tom I'm referring to is an editor at a paper I interned at a year ago, where I'm hoping to get hired fairly soon).

Anyway, someone else mentioned it to me a day or so ago and I figured I'd better get on it before the third person angry at me for not updating my blog skips the telling me they're unhappy and goes straight to hitting me in the head with a tack hammer.

...

There's really not much to tell, aside from the fact that I'm having a fairly horrific day. Nothing has gone right. I have picked up some sort of evil infection that at first behaved like strep throat and now is doing other very fascinating things to me. I sneezed in class today and perforated an eardrum, which according to Dr. Mom means I could get an infection in my brain and DIE. I need to go see a doctor fairly soon. There was a problem with the paper's Web site this morning that took me forever to figure out and then one of my coworkers started harassing me about it.

Thus far, I've armed myself with a ruler and have vowed to use it against anyone who angers me today. The above mentioned coworker received a few raps to the head with it when he tried to hug me.

It didn't have any effect, but as he was hugging me, I sniffled rather loudly and he looked at me alarmedly.

"Are you going to spit on me?" he asked, but still holding on.

"Dude, I'm sick!" I yelled at him, which echoed throughout the hallway right outside the newsroom.

"Then why am I hugging you!?" He said. He still had not let go.

"GET OUT OF MY FACE!" I cried. He finally let go after that.

"That conversation made my day," someone said from inside the newsroom.

If I survive this day, it will be an out and out miracle. If I survive to graduation, it will probably be an act of God. Which would also be a miracle, now that I think about it. Are you confused now? Good. So am I.

A new meaning of love

Crying alert
Do not proceed unless tissues are handy. You WILL need them if you watch this video.

This post should have been a happy one, but the wagon journey is still in progress and then someone posted this video on their blog and I watched it.

And I've been crying ever since. Not out and out sobbing or bawling, but my eyes refuse to stop watering.

Part of me is ready to claim this is absolutely ridiculous, but part of me also claims this is justifiable.

Watch:



Basically the theme that I got out of this was that love should be stronger than anything, including death. Even though I don't believe in Heaven or Hell in the senses they're referred to in this video, the point remains the same. Who do I love enough that I would "follow them into the dark"?

Chances are you're on the list.

We really will not ford the river

Okay, so here's the deal-io.

The first wagonload is full. Myself and 4 other people are going to be placed in said fictional wagon. I'm going to do a runthrough of the game and then a transcript of the journey will be sent to each of the wagon's inhabitants. You're welcome to add whatever dialogue and or commentary on events, etc. that take place. Okay? Also, feel free to collaborate with your other wagonmates.

As of right now, wagonload #2 has only 2 people. In a pinch, I'll include myself, but others are still welcome to join in on this. Just checking.

Wagon #1:

Dariush
Chuck
Hannah Forney
Ryan W. Evans
Suldog

Wagon #2:

Yourbigsis(my sister Dora)
Heather Meadows

Like I said, plenty of room. The worst this can end up is like the Donner Party, or something...