Blog # 4 : Saying Too Much

Two days ago, I spoke at a press conference at the Capitol. There were senators and educators there speaking about how the $22 million in cuts that is being proposed by the senate bill will ultimately sink a barely floating ship as it is. Mental Health programs around the state and in the schools will be cut from the budget, and they can't survive without funding. I whole-heartedly believe in opposing this proposal from the senate. When I talk to people like college admissions, or counselors, I hear the same thing. They tell me that I am smart, and bright, and easy to talk to. It's true; I take pride in my education and intelligence. But if someone who didn't know me just saw my transcript and my school attendance record, they would be looking at a seemingly completely different student. With a student report ranging from F's, No Credits, D's, missing work, and unexcused absences, to A's, band co-president, student leader of Silver Ribbon Campaign, graduating (hopefully) with honors, constant theater participant and a member of multiple sports teams, someone trying to figure out what kind of a student I am could be very confused. When I was in ninth grade, I was diagnosed with depression. I struggle with it every single day. There are times where I feel great, and I don't have to worry about it, which is when I am the best that I can be. But sometimes, this illness gets the best of me and I am unable to function. Or at least that's what it feels like. I miss the childhood of making mud-pies and earning straight A's. I miss laughing with friends and feeling loved. I miss playing music because I like to play music and I miss feeling comfortable in my own skin. My sophomore year I went through a serious low point in my depression. I was failing classes, I was tired all the time, I was crying all the time, and it got to the point where I was sitting in my fourth hour english class, tears running down my face, and my head filled with thoughts of how much better things would be if I weren't there. Not just in class, but actually existing. I had parents who loved me, a boyfriend that I loved more than myself and for some reason, he oved me the same way. I had friends who didn't always understand but they tried to be there for me even if they didn't know how to. But I still felt like it wasn't worth it anymore. I told my parents that I had a plan to kill myself. Things fell apart. After arguments and therapy sessions and starting exercise in the spring, somehow I got better, and I felt hope in my life again. There was beauty in the world again. I felt like I could breathe again. I never wanted to go back.

That summer, I lost my best friend and the love of my life. We split up after his five week theater program at Northwestern University because he came home and realized that there was more to life than Minnesota and me. Which, miraculously, I handled very well. I understood why, even though it hurt, and to this day, we're friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances.

Junior year began and I joined cross country running since sports seemed to help more than medication (which I only tried for three weeks but hated it) and even better than therapy, since I had the power to make myself better. It was there that I met Ella. She was exactly the breath of fresh air, the new start that I needed. Starting a new chapter in my life I felt happy and healthy. All through junior year, I tried very hard to take care of myself and to repair the damage I had done grade-wise from the year previous. I was able to lift my GPA from a 3.1 to a 3.43 in three quarters with three AP classes, Pre-calculus, Honors Physics, and, of course, jazz band, Wind Ensemble, and theater; I had a goal. It was January when I had decided that I was going to go to that five week theater program that my ex-boyfriend had done. I wanted closure, and an understanding...of something, I just wasn't quite sure what.

I made it into the program and in the summer I was off on an adventure of fourteen hours a day of pure theater and education and some food in between classes. I made friends, learned more about the craft, and came home with a better understanding not only of theater, but of myself. I was named Captain of cross country running the year previous, so I started out my senior year with the cross country camping trip. It was difficult, because at a theater camp, (we ran a little!) we didn't exactly have time to train for other things back home. Plus, being a college setting, I had gained about fifteen pounds with all of the freedom of food. I just had a little extra work to do. I auditioned for Zombie Hamlet, and was cast as Hamlet, so I had to quit cross country running because I couldn't keep up with both. Without the exercise, I started feeling a little melancholy, towards the end of October. I had a new boyfriend, was the lead in the play, still had wonderful friends, and a supportive family, who I was determined not to let down. Sometimes I still know that my mom is scared that she'll leave and when she comes back I won't be there anymore. I know that I hurt her more than I ever meant to when I told them I was going to kill myself. And even though they saw me get better, I know that that feeling of panic for my mom won't ever go away. Senior year progressed and I became overwhelmed with schoolwork and all of the responsibilities of real life. I started skipping class more often, not able to deal with the stress of being around so many people, especially my VOICES class, since there were 55 of us to start, and they weren't exactly the quiet studious type.

I look back on this year with only three or four weeks left until I'm done with high school, and I have a mixture of feelings. There were some great moments, and some tough ones. But at the Capitol, I explained that if I hadn't had the help that I needed back in my sophomore year, it's quite possible that I wouldn't be here today. Students need these services.

No matter where I go in life or what I do, I will always be a strong supporter of mental health services because everybody deserves that uplift, that feeling of beauty in the world, the feeling of hope. Having something to look forward to. Sometimes the things that we say or do are bigger than who we are as an individual. At the Capitol, I feared that I had said too much, too much about my illness. But if it helps one other person realize that mental illnesses are important issues, and they choose to oppose the proposal of budget cuts for mental health programs, then I feel like my story and that piece of me isn't a waste. It's a gift.

Blog # 3 IP

                It was dark, and oddly chilled for a summer night in July. As we loaded into the van, we all made sure our seatbelts were tight aroubnd our waists. Logically and legally it was superfluous to have so many of us squished into just one vehicle, but none of the other children minded either, we were all shaking with fear, though we said it was just because we were excited. Our strong leaders, Mary and Patty, the moms, were sitting in the front of the car quietly as we drove down the dirt road out of the campsite and into the night. Driving slowly through the dirt roads, quietly passing houses few and far in between, the gravel rumbling beneath the tires, we waited. We were going to visit the glowing gravestones. Some people say there’s something special in the stones that make them glow brightly at night, others say that the childrens ghosts come out at night to play, and they are visible from the road beyond the fence. But some people say that the gravestones glow only on the nights when the children who lay underneath them were murdered.

                The car came to an even darker road, further off the path of dim lights, and we turned on to it, driving even slower now. The children were silent, waiting for the voice of authority, the screech of the wheels to tell us we were there. And it came. A dead stop in the middle on the night, pitch black. The lights in the car had turned off along with the engine. We had to wait for our eyes to adjust, but that didn’t keep us from searching. Out of the dark, I saw them first. The ardent  stones, as if they were floating above the ground. The graveyard far enough away that we couldn’t read the names of the children burried beneath, but close enough to make our hair rise on the back of our necks.

                Just as we were getting used to the stones and recovering from the first wave of fear, it happened. Out of the dank ditches on either side of the car came bodies. Screaming terrible noises of death and pain, cringing in the fresh air outside of their graves, there was a flash of light and their skeltons shown through their flesh. The car started shaking, one had climbed on top of the car. We could hear them as if they were dieing again, a horrible painful death. And we drove away into silence once more.

IP Prompt #1

"That was quite the adventure, huh?"

     Looking down at the last words he wrote made me think of the time we tried to run away. I was five years old, quiet and shy, and he was my best friend, the six-year-old neighbor boy who could talk to anybody about anything. He was easy to be with because he talked, I listened, and we always laughed together. Mom was angry because one afternoon when he came over to play, we thought it would be a good idea to give the cat a haircut, so mom wouldn't have to buy lint rollers for her clothes anymore, since we always used up all of the sticky papers anyways. He waited for me in the backyard as the sun was setting, with his walking stick and bandana filled with potato chips and apple juice for the both of us, smiling up at me with that mischievous grin of his. I nervously returned the smile, perhaps a little more hesitant on my end. I hadn't ever snuck out before, especially when I had been in trouble. I grabbed my favorite red rain boots from the closet, kissed my now less furry cat on the head, and quietly slipped out my first floor window, landing on both feet right next to him. My smile grew as he took my hand and we ran out the gate and down the block. We didn't make it very far, but by the time my parents found us down by the lake, it was dark out and I had fallen asleep in his arms underneath an oak tree. They tried to carry me home, but he wouldn't let go. Finally, they pulled me out of his arms, but he had clung to me so tightly that when I woke up in my own bed the next morning, I had bruises on my arms. That was the night he promised me he would always take care of me, and I believed him.

     Mom said I wasn't allowed to have play dates with him anymore. We still found ways to be together. We grew older, and our secret way of communication was through our old oak tree by the lake. We left letters, pictures, and occasionally little gifts for the other to find. When I was ten, I got off the bus after school, ran to our tree, and found one little piece of paper that said, "That was quite the adventure, huh?" I thought maybe he had forgot the rest of the letter at home, so I waited patiently for three hours, to see if he would come to the tree. He never came. It was my mom who found me there, waiting. 

     I felt a shiver go through my body as I stood; I hadn't realized how chilly it was as the sun was setting. But as mom's face grew clearer, a second shiver went through my body, and not because I was cold. She had been crying. I thought maybe something had happened with dad, but her sadness had to do with me, I could feel it. She waited until we were home to tell me. I knew he was different, but it was a difference I loved. He was special, sweet, and loved me. But the kids at his school didn't understand, they didn't like his being different. So they tortured him. They teased him, because he was sweet and kind. They called him "faggot" and threw things at him, over and over and over. Until finally, he couldn't take it anymore, and I wasn't enough to save him. His parents found him hanging in their garage after school. He was eleven years old.

     Eight years later, and I find that piece of paper hiding in the back of my bookshelf as I clear out my stuff to pack up for college. I miss him.

Blog Post # 4

"Directing The Documentary"

The packet of reading is helpful because it explains the process of an interview, and not just WHAT to do. It explains HOW to do it. There are even different types of interviews, with connects back to the question: What is a documentary? I understand that there is no solid definition that all documentarians will agree upon, but I didn't know that there were different kinds of interviews as well. Since I might be doing two different documentaries for this project, I can keep in mind using completely different angles for each documentary, so I can explore EXACTLY what I want to with my individual project and be more lenient with the group project. Now I won't be so uptight and controlling (even though I try not to) when it comes to the group project.

Today our group is picking up Joe's camera, to film, because his camera is compatible with the systems used at MTN for editing and everything else that we need. We are still filling out the sheet that our group hasn't turned in yet, with more specifics about the kinds of shots we want. I think the idea our group has is solid, we'll get a decent story, but right now our shot plans and the footage we really want is planned with a "we'll just wing it" kind of attitude. I don't know if it will work or not, but we're planing on getting some great B Roll today, going to film Mr. Christy in his class and perhaps open up the old fire escape for wheelchairs. I hope we can make some phone calls as well to the fire department chief or somebody who deals with finances in the school system that has power over the decision as to whether or not wheelchair ramps are necessary or not. I would like to schedule an interview or two for the next couple of weeks. I want to find out if it's possible to have a fire truck come over to the school and show us what is to happen in case of a fire drill or a real fire. That's where our group is at. I'm going to the final cut pro training on Sunday, noon to five.

Documentary Post # 3

Our documentary group is suffering from a lack of communication. I can't help but feel angry when Stacy doesn't seem to care, but then all of a sudden he'll do something without me and not even tell me, regarding our project. Joe is kind of in between, mostly because he's best friends with Stacy, they live together, and he doesn't want awkward conflict in their relationship, I think, but that he agrees more with my ideas. I feel like Joe and I are on the same page when it comes to what we want to be shooting and what story we're trying to tell, and Stacy isn't. It's nothing that will create serious problems within our group, personally, but I'm afraid the outcome, our documentary, will suffer. Joe and Stacy went to talk to Mr. Christy yesterday about when we can interview him, but the connection was never made, so we're going back tomorrow. Hopefully the interview will happen early next week so we can move on to the interview with Sam Graves and shoot more B roll so we can make a decent trailer. I'm still excited for the project, it's going to be a lot of fun.

I loved all of the questions we were presented with in the reading. I always feel like I have a clearer head when I understand questions that I am working towards the answer. My favorite part of the reading though was the 'Top' of the issue, the 'Heart' of the issue, and the 'Root' of the issue. I always have a hard time separating what I want out of something into groupings that specific, but it's going to be really helpful, especially working on teh documentaries. I'm definitely convincing our group to use that format.

Documentary Blog Post # 2.

I love how the reading refers to making documentaries as an art form. The second paragraph in the reading mentions an interesting point: "Like the evening news?" Is that documentary style? In my opinion, the news is informational media, but not an art form. I'm sure there is an "art" to it, but I'm not sure there is much creativity, or at least I feel there shouldn't be, in reporting current events that are real. I enjoy watching Mock-umentaries, however. "Waiting for Guffman" and "Best in Show" are hilarious movies that are scripted and acted out, but made as if they were a documentary. The main thing that documentaries have, or mocumentaries, are interviews. The reading discusses quite a few mock-umentaries, actually. It seems as though there's a slope or slide between completely fictional movies, and documentaries. Documentaries are as real as it gets. But movies are visions of life, manipulated. The whole idea of a movie is the reality of it. If you get lost in the world of a fiction movie, then it is most likely a great movie, because it makes you feel a made-up world, something that isn't real.

What does hermetically mean?

Our group is making progress. Stacy wasn't here yesterday, but Joe and I went to MTN, picked up a camera, bought another tape because Stacy was supposed to bring the tape, and then filmed some B-Roll that we will most likely use in the documentary. We talked to Mr. Christy and are beginning to set up interview times with him and his students. He was very helpful the other day in ideas that we could use for the project. The main issue I'm having right now is our group dynamic. Joe and I have similar ideas of what we want to do for the documentary, but Stacy has very different ideas and we're having trouble finding a happy medium. The group originally was going to be just Joe and me. I'm not sure what to do just yet. Update next week!

DOCUMENTARY; LET'S GO. #1. (1/7/11)

My group: Stacy, Joe, and myself. Our group has decided on our topic, which is the difficulty of wheelchair access at South High school. We're going to start filming our interviews next week. An idea we came up with is to have the video camera on our lap as we try to maneuver through the halls during passing time to show just how hard it is for students in wheelchairs to make it to class on time. It's hard for students who have the ability to walk to get through the halls sometimes, so it must be ten times harder in a wheelchair. The accessibility issue is just as wrong as the time issue. Since students in wheelchairs have a harder time getting through the halls, it takes them more time. There is only ONE elevator in our school for three largely expansive floors. Students in wheelchairs shouldn't have to miss the first or last five minutes of class and education due to accessibility issues. It raises the question of fairness and equality. A wheelchair student is exposed to less education because they have less accessibility than other students at South High School. I still need to present this idea to Stacy and Joe, but it's where I'm hoping to go with our documentary. Stacy wants to put a lot of focus on students who don't care about it, or are ignorant/rude about it. Students that use the elevator who don't need to simply because they're lazy are possible interviewees, to make the documentary more interesting and more controversial. I also want to interview students who also believe the accessibility is an issue for students in wheelchairs, especially students who went to Michael Dowling Urban Environmental Learning Center for elementary school. I went to Dowling, so I actually might be one of the students interviewed for this piece. I hope we get done in the next week what we have discussed, so that we have plenty of time to edit.

Another path I'm taking in VOICES is doing my own documentary. I don't know what it would mean point-wise, if it would be just for fun, or another actual assignment, but I want to do two documentaries. In the Minnesota Original mindset, I know a fantastic artist by the name of Julie Greenwood, who lives here in Minnesota. She's down to earth, loves animals, has a great sense of humor, and creates breathtaking art. She works primarily with colored pencils, which is fascinating when it comes to the depth produced within her drawings. She did a series completely dedicated to endangered species a few years ago, and I want to interview her about her connections to Minnesota and how it affects her work and lifestyle. I want to know what her inspiration is, because she is one of mine. If it doesn't work out to fit the time requirements for the documentary project deadlines, that's okay. I'll do it as an independent project for the spring. I am hoping to do the interview with her in the next couple of weeks since I will be seeing her soon, before my sister leaves for Spain in a week. She lives in Burnsville, so scheduling a time that will work might be difficult, but I want to make it happen. I'm really excited about this piece.

The Chapter 1 Introduction packet that we read had some really great insight on what a documentary really is. I think it's interesting that the first sentence clarifies that everybody has a different idea of what a documentary really is, but then the rest of the chapter continues on to explain what a documentary really is. From the start, at least the reader understands the chapter is a point of view, no matter how objective the author tries to be. I never knew there could be futuristic documentaries. I always thought it had to actually document something that has already happened or something that is happening as they film. There is also the idea that documentaries aren't just informational videos, but artistic creations that are real. The chapter explains that the best documentaries are those that are made with passion and perspective. The idea that a documentary can impose an "order" of how things are supposed to work is an interesting idea that I don't completely understand just from this reading alone. I need examples to try to understand that idea. The article often mentions different documentaries that are different styles, and I want to see all of the titles they've mentioned so I have a better understanding of the different types of documentaries that can be made and how they fit into categories. One of the main ideas throughout the reading was that a large part of the process of making a documentary is to discover while you create, which I interpreted to mean documentaries are ideas as the open up, blossom, and become flowers. You never know what they'll be like until they're fully grown and finished. The turning point in the article for me was on page seven, second paragraph, "True documentaries are concerned with the values that determine the quality of human life, not with selling a product or service." Documentaries seem to be an intense learning experience, "Be prepared to grow from being wrong over and over again, and know that it sometimes takes great persistence to keep going, especially when you feel defeated," which I am very, very much looking forward to.