The day after St. Patrick’s Day I boarded a plane to Portugal, the hidden gem of Europe. Most people have never been there ( it’s not really Europe’s number one tourist attraction for those who live outside of the E.U.), but boy, is it beautiful.

Most of my time was spent in Lisbon, which reminds me a lot of San Francisco. Steep hills, trolley cars, mild weather. It really is a lovely city filled with tons of history and interesting things to see, including a castle, Europe’s widest river, a bridge that was designed by the same man who designed the Golden Gate and sidewalks that qualify as works of art.

The most difficult thing about being in Portugal was not speaking the language. Yes, they speak their own language in Portugal (you’d be surprised at how many people don’t know that). Portuguese sounds like a mix between Spanish and Russian. I’m sure that no Portuguese person would appreciate me saying that, but that’s the truth. It’s like Spanish, but a lot of sounds are softened. It sounds most beautiful when it is sung (listen to “The Girl from Ipanema” if you don’t believe me).

The trip was at least 10 times more of an adventure than it normally would have been because of the language barrier. Imagine having pink eye in a foreign country and trying to explain to a pharmacist what was wrong with you. Do you have that image in your mind? Okay. That’s what happened to me in Portugal. I’m pretty sure I got the sketchiest eye drops ever. But hey, the pink eye cleared up, so I guess our sign language conversation actually worked out for the best.

We missed a train and had to take an overnight bus, meaning that we were dead tired when we got into London on Sunday afternoon. At the time, we were absolutely distressed and over-exhausted and “hangry” (when you’re hungry and the low blood sugar makes you angry).

While all of these travel experiences were happening, we were thinking about how terrible our lives were; but now, even though it’s barely two weeks later, we are able to laugh about it. Whenever any one of us mentions our disaster-ridden trip to Portugal or London or Scotland, none of us can help but laugh.

One of the most important things that being abroad has taught me is to just roll with the punches and take things as they come.

So, something bad happens, you’re in a foreign country. Calm down, put your thinking cap on, and come up with some ideas about how to solve the problem. You have a mouth and vocal chords, don’t you? Ask questions. Ask for directions, or when the next bus is, or where you are.

Maybe you don’t speak the language. Smile, use what few phrases you know, and talk in a kind tone. Kindness is the universal language. Even if you don’t speak the same language, people can understand when you are being nice and genuine; and even if you can’t understand the words that one another are saying, you can still understand the general tone and way in which they are being delivered.

While in a bus station, Maggie and I had to ask where we could purchase tickets for a bus back to Lisbon, if we had gotten off at the wrong stop (which we had). The bus driver didn’t speak English, nor did any of the people getting off of the bus with us.

One elderly woman, even though she didn’t speak English, seemed to understand our dilemma, and very sweetly tapped Maggie’s arm, babbled something in Portuguese, gently grabbed her sleeve and led us in the right direction. She then began to explain our situation to the woman working at the ticket counter.

Even though she didn’t really know what we were saying, and even though we didn’t really know what she was saying, there was an understanding on her part that we needed help, and there was an understanding on our part that she was helping us. Kindness crosses language barriers.

Studying abroad is unique, in that it pushes a lot of kids to the edge of their comfort zone. I have to talk to people in something other than my native tongue. A lot of times I have to approach strangers and trust that they are going to help me. When things go wrong, I have to relax and figure out, on my own or with the help of only a few others, how to remedy the situation.

The most important thing is to remember to laugh at yourself and the ridiculous situations you get yourself into. To every problem there is a solution and a crazy-ridiculous story to tell your friends and family when you get home. And that’s something that doesn’t just apply when studying abroad, but in all situations in life.

Last Sunday, I hit the one month marker. I have officially made it one month in a foreign country without getting arrested, killed or deported. It is hard to believe that a little over a month ago, I was sitting in my kitchen in Michigan bored out of my mind and longing for adventure. It is hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago, I was emailing my parents telling them that I wasn’t sure if I should be here.

And I can’t believe all that I have already seen and done in the past month. I remember when I arrived, and I was worried that I would never get used to the differences between here and the States. I almost got myself hit by a car several times when I failed to look the wrong way first. I’ve gotten used to that, though I still have to mentally remind myself to look right, then left. I’m hoping that eventually it will become somewhat instinctual.

I have gotten used to the cars on the opposite sides of the road, but I still am thrown off every time I see someone driving on the opposite side of a car. There have been several moments of panic when I’ve seen children in the passenger seat and thought they were driving.

The Irish “timeliness,” which is to say, not timeliness, has finally started to sink in. Being German and, therefore, exceptionally punctual (at least I’ve always told myself that it’s because I’m German), I had a really hard time coping with the fact that people weren’t in their offices when they said they would be, or that they take a two or three hour break for lunch. And only the Irish can underestimate travel time by over an hour.

I ran into one of my professors, the one who is from Michigan (I think I’ve mentioned him), during the first week of classes, and he told me that it took him a really long time to adjust to the Irish concept of time, and he still didn’t really understand why they needed such a long lunch break.

Fortunately, it hasn’t taken me long to adjust. The Irish in me has taken over; and I’ve started to not care so much about timetables. But I still don’t like being late. I don’t think that’s something that I’ll ever be comfortable with, no matter how long I stay here.

I barely even notice the accents anymore. Okay, that may be a bit hyperbolic. I notice the accents, but I’m not struck by them anymore. Clearly, they speak differently, but I’m not as taken aback by it as I was when I first arrived here. I am now only conscious of a different accent when I encounter someone from a different part of         Ireland who has an accent I have never heard before.

Like the United States, different places have different accents. I was told that I wouldn’t be able to understand people from Donegal (I can) or Derry (I haven’t met anyone from Derry yet). People in Galway sound different from people in Belfast,  who sound different from people in Cork. Everyone who isn’t from Dublin seems to love to make fun of “Dooblin” accents, like we do Boston or New York. And mostly everyone I’ve met can identify where anyone is from based solely on their accent. I’m not that good yet. But I can tell that the accents are different, and I think that’s a start.

I’m even getting used to the word “grand,” which I’ve always had a propensity to hate because I felt that it was “phoney,” as Holden Caulfield so bluntly put it. It sounds much less phoney in an Irish accent.

It’s funny. One month and already what seemed so different from the norm is becoming the norm. Isn’t it great how quickly we adapt? Things that I never thought I would get used to have become commonplace, or at least don’t bother me anymore. By May, it seems, I’ll be a regular Irish lass, and then I’ll come home and have to adapt again. Adapt or die … or at least get hit by a car because you looked the wrong way first.

But since I’m back in the real world this weekend, I intend to make the most of it. My friend Maggie and I are joining a couple of other girls and going to the Aran Islands, which are located basically at the mouth of Galway Bay and are supposed to be beautiful and kind of remote and one of the only places in Ireland where the Irish language is completely preserved.  And you can bike around the islands, and you know I like that.

I don’t think it has hit me fully that I’m in another country and that I’m going to be here for another three and a half months. The only time I get bothered by the distance is when I think about the time difference. I’m five hours ahead of you guys, and let me tell you, the future is super rad.

Other than that, though, I still don’t walk about on the average day conscious of the fact that I am in a foreign country. I am international. I am technically a foreigner here. I keep waiting for it to hit me, but it hasn’t yet. Maybe I just haven’t been here long enough to stop feeling like a little bit of a tourist. Then again, maybe the whole time here I will feel like a tourist. I hope not.

I am trying my best to just assimilate. I try to do what the other Irish students do and live how they live, for the most part. I feel most out of place when I make peanut butter and jelly because they don’t eat that here, and they think it’s very strange that I do. I shared mine with one of my roommates. She wasn’t blown away by it.

Other than the PB & J, I do what I can to blend in. I’ve started watching rugby. It’s actually a great sport, way better than most that we play in the states. Not to say I don’t like American football, and watching baseball for hours on end does have its own special appeal; but if you consider yourself a man’s man, you should try playing a rugby match. I don’t think that I would want to run into any of the members of Ireland’s team on the street. They’re big. And they’re tough. And they’re scary looking. They are rugby players, but they could also be used as muscle for hire.

They don’t wear pads. They’re constantly tackling one another. And, while it’s fairly low impact, I think that any tackle when all you’re wearing is essentially a soccer uniform, without the shin protectors, hits pretty hard. Try it sometime. Let me know how it goes. If you can.

Another thing I’ve started doing is calling soccer by its proper name, “football.” I did it a bit before I left the states, but I doubt I’ll come back calling it soccer at all. It just doesn’t make logical sense to not call it football. American football is hardly played with the feet. We should probably come up with another name. Sorry guys. I’m not trying to be a hater, but if you think about it, our way really just doesn’t make much etymological sense.

Football is just the tip of the iceberg with words that I’m trying to incorporate into my vocabulary. They call sweaters “jumpers” and cookies “biscuits,” and I got made fun of because I called potatoes “potatoes” instead of the usual “spuds.” They use the word “grand” a lot. I don’t know yet if I want to start using that one. Holden Caulfield finds it phony, and so do I generally.  Although, with their accents they make it sound much nicer.

And I know that we aren’t supposed to buy into stereotypes and believe that certain things are true about entire populations of people, but what you know about the Irish having foul language is pretty much true across-the-board. But it doesn’t really seem so foul because they’re so casual about it.

Whether or not I’ll come home with an Irish brogue remains to be seen; but even if I don’t, at least I know I’ll have a few linguistic souvenirs in the form of slang. Cheers!

Here’s the thing, though. I operate under the impression that when I am foreign to a place (whether it is in Europe or at home in the U.S.) everyone knows it and judges me for it. In Europe it is especially bad because I don’t want to be labeled an “obnoxious American.” And when is it easiest to be the dreaded “obnoxious American?” When you are in airports and on buses with two giant roller suitcases, each weighing between 30 and 50 pounds.

That was me when I arrived in Dublin. Jet lagged, hungry and self conscious, with 80 pounds of luggage. The Irish, however, proved to be absolute saints the entire leg of our (mine and Maggie Hutchison’s) journey from Dublin to Maynooth, where I will be living and learning for the next four months.

Because I am weak, I couldn’t lift my luggage into the overhead luggage rack on the bus. Noticing my struggle, a nice middle-aged man who had been sitting quietly with his wife offered to help me and Maggie with our luggage, even though the bus was careening through the streets of Dublin, making the job a little harder than it normally would be.

I don’t know how many of you have experienced trying to handle two roller luggages; but if you haven’t, I pray you never have to. I guess it would be like trying to pull two baby strollers. So imagine trying to pull two baby strollers down the aisle of a bus. It doesn’t really work. Luckily, another kind Irish soul came to my aid and offered to take one for me until we got off of the bus. My savior.

All these bus people stick in my mind because my luggage was my biggest inconvenience, but countless others were willing to give us directions, answer our questions, and in general, put us at ease. But then, I’d probably be nicer too if I lived in a country that was always this green.

Sure, it’s nerve-wracking to go to a place where you know all of one person and you are a foreigner, and I’d be lying if I said that in a moment of jet-lag induced pathetic-ness I didn’t question my reasons for coming here. And I am homesick. That’s the truth. The important thing is to power through and remember that it only gets easier from here.

The key is to always keep yourself busy. We went to the Cliffs of Moher on Sunday. If you think you don’t know what they are, you probably do, as they are featured in “The Princess Bride” as “The Cliffs of Insanity!” If you still don’t have a clue what I am talking about, Google it, it’s lovely. It is also windy. Imagine enduring a gale force wind while standing at the edge of a cliff that drops straight down into the Atlantic Ocean. Those are some powerful vibes.

The Cliffs are on the west side of the country, in County Clare, down the coast from Galway. The West is what people think of when they think of traditional Ireland. Our bus had to stop and wait for about 10 minutes for a farmer who was walking his cow down the road to pasture. Stone walls are built everywhere, even when it doesn’t seem like anything is around that needs to be fenced in, or out.

It’s not hard to see why the Irish favor fairy stories. There’s an other—worldly feel about the place. I plan on playing the adventuring, rambling explorer for the next four months, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Until next time, cheers!

“I’m not actually writing anything important,” she says sheepishly, “I’m tweeting…” She self-consciously pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and runs a hand through her hair. “You know, in ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’when Violet puts her hair up to help her think? I’ve tried it multiple times. It doesn’t work. I’ve been attempting to write a paper for hours, so this is a welcome break.”

The author: I guess we’ll start with the basics. Where are you from?

The author: I’m from a small town on the west side of Michigan, about three hours west of Detroit and three hours north of Chicago. Using the hand-map of Michigan, it’s located about where the pinky finger meets the hand. It’s called Spring Lake, and I’ve lived there my entire life. It’s interesting never to have moved, because all your life you watch a place change around you as you grow up, and then all of a sudden you realize that you’ve changed a lot too.

The author: What about your family? Tell us a bit about them.

The author: I’m the youngest of three girls. I’m 20, and we’re all three years apart, so there’s a little math problem for you. My mother and father always put up with my shenanigans with grace and a healthy sense of humor, and they still do, God bless them. I don’t really know what else to say. We’re a unique bunch, the Richter clan. You have to meet us to fully understand. But they’ve influenced who I am a lot. In all of the good ways.

The author: When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

The author: I wanted to be a fox. I guess I didn’t really understand the concept of growing up and getting a job, (although I’m still not sure I fully grasp it), so when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I thought they meant I could be anything. My favorite animal was a fox, and so, naturally, that is what I wanted to be. I guess I was always meant to be an English major, though. I used to recite Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha” in my crib. I would stand there saying “Ee-y-a my little owlet” like I was some sort of child prodigy, which I wasn’t. I suppose that was my first exposure to American literature.

The author: What were you like in high school? Were you at all like the college Clara?

The author: Once, in Chem II, my lab partner and I flooded a sink because we were bored and we didn’t understand the material. I used to knit in my AP English class, and once I wrote a “Declaration of Independence” from my student government. I wrote haikus during my Alegbra II class. I guess you could say I was angst-y and didn’t care about much, but I was still a good student. Much the same as now, although perhaps a little more angst-y.

The author: What makes you tic the most?

The author: *chuckles* Other than Cooney missing his deadlines? Probably when people try to talk to me in the morning. I will gladly get out of bed early, but I don’t want to have to have any human interaction for at least two hours.

The author: What is the best book you’ve read in the past six months?

The author: I would have to say it’s a tie between “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” by Ernest Hemingway  and “Nine Stories,” by J.D. Salinger. I’m currently in the middle of a really good book called “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt, but I had to set it aside because of scholastic demands. In the words of Vonnegut, “So it goes.”

The author: If you could be most like an author you’ve read, who would it be?

The author: I don’t want to be like any author I’ve read. I want to be a novelty. But if you’re really looking for an answer, I guess I would want to be a hodge-podge mix of Dorothy Parker, Hemingway, Fitzgerald and William Blake … I don’t know why Blake, but I’ve always liked him.

The author: Do you have a favorite article of clothing?

The author: I like cardigans. “Sweater weather is better weather” is what I always say. I also really like socks. Especially Smartwool socks.

The author: Who is your favorite character in literature?

The author: Oy! I can’t choose! Cal from “East of Eden” is in a tie with Zooey Glass from “Franny and Zooey,” I guess. And Elizabeth Bennet. Once, a friend told me that I reminded him of Eliza Bennet, and it was perhaps the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten from anyone. And also Ralph, from “Lord of the Flies.” See, I can’t choose. Bad question. Next!

The author: What is a quote that drives your daily life?

The author: “While I’ve never considered myself a very good person, neither can I believe that I am a spectacularly bad one.” Or, “Listen, I don’t care what you say about my race, creed or religion, Fatty, but don’t tell me I’m not sensitive to beauty. That’s my Achilles’ heel, and don’t you forget it.” I can’t decide. I’m indecisive. It’s my fatal flaw.

(The interview ends here. If you have any more pressing questions, feel free to ask them yourself.)

I don’t like setting goals. Five-year plans have never really been my thing. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next few days, let alone the next few years. When it comes to the future, there is only one thing I am certain of, and that is that I will one day have a library of my own within my house.

For years, I have been collecting books in preparation for my one-day library. I get most of them second-hand from bookstores around home. Sometimes I order them off of Amazon. Sometimes I would nick them off of my high school English teachers when they weren’t looking.

I know what you’re thinking, and no, I have never stolen a book from the library; although when I realized that they had a first edition copy of “For Whom The Bell Tolls,” I almost never returned it. Luckily for the librarians I do have a conscience, and I am also te3rrified of the librarians at Spring Lake Public Library (I don’t know why; it’s an irrational fear, but I’ve never liked librarians, mostly because I always have fines).

I have two bookshelves in my room, and even those are starting to over-flow. I have books in boxes under my bed. I have them packed away in the basement. I always tell myself that I am going to stop buying books, but then I see one that is so tempting that I just can’t help myself. Borrowing them from the library doesn’t have the same appeal.

As nerdy and bookish as I know this sounds, I take a disgusting amount of pride in my collection. But there are some books that I value more than others: some of them because of the content of the books, some of them because of how I acquired them and some of them just because they are beautiful editions (I’m sorry, but to some extent, I do judge a book by its cover).

To date, I have snagged five books from one of my high school English teachers (who, in case he ever reads this, shall remain nameless, although I’m sure he knows who he is). I like to refer to them as “permanently borrowed.” The crown jewel of these five is a novel by Marcus Zusak called “The Book Thief.” Not only is it a phenomenal book (you should all read it), but I like telling people that I “stole” my copy of “The Book Thief.” The irony is just too good to pass up.

Another book that stands out from the rest is my copy of “East of Eden,” by John Steinbeck. This book stands out not because it is a first edition, or because I stole it off of a moving truck, or my best friend’s bookshelf. No, this book stands out simply because it exists.

Now, I’m sure that some of you out there have a personal vendetta against John Steinbeck because “he wrote ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and I read that in high school and I hated it.” If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. Don’t mind me while I hop up on my soapbox, but I personally feel that “East of Eden” is Steinbeck’s crowning glory. The book explores the nature of what it means to be human, the nature of good and evil and the eternal struggle between the two that occurs in the heart of man, and it does it in the most beautiful way. It’s one of those books that I think everyone should read. I always feel a little lost without a copy of “East of Eden” to turn to every once in a while.

Another thing I really like about it is that when I read it, the ink rubs off on my fingers and I walk around all day with bits of “East of Eden” printed on my hands.

By this point, I have built up a nice collection of Salinger. Actually, every major work he’s ever published, I have it. A battered copy of “Franny and Zooey” is my favorite. Although we’ve all had to read it for some English class, “The Catcher in the Rye” certainly isn’t the best Salinger, in my opinion.

So, I value certain books above others, but all the books are important to me. Somehow they have imparted upon me wisdom, knowledge or understanding that no one else has been able to. I am in debt to hundreds of authors.

And that is why one day I will have my own library. And when the world starts to make me weary, I will retreat there, because, in the words of the author Jorge Luis Borges, “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”

I have a typewriter. It sits on my desk, right next to my computer. It was my father’s when he was in college. It is a light-blue Smith-Corona. It’s as heavy as a sack of bricks, and, as my fellow columnist Brian Bayer can attest to, it takes a special amount of skill to type anything on it.

I guess it’s pretty pointless for me to have a typewriter with me. It’s not like I’m going to type a five-page essay on it or anything. Heck, I can barely type one page without my forefingers going numb and my ears starting to ring from the pounding of the keys.

But there’s something nice about the “ding” and the “zing” of the carriage return. And for some reason, type-written letters just look nicer to me than the ones typed on a computer. They seem more real. You get to watch them actually get pounded onto the page. They don’t just come from some connection of sensors and wires and whatnot (I have no idea how a computer keyboard sends the signals from the keys to the screen).

And there’s something super fulfilling about a typewriter, even more so than writing. If you’re writing something, at least if you’re writing something in pencil, you can always go back and erase your mistakes. And even if you’re writing in pen, you can do the unprofessional cross-out. If you’re typing on a typewriter and you go a sentence or more without messing up, you stop and say a quick prayer to the typewriter gods, because there is nothing worse than having to go back and correct a mistake made while typing on a typewriter.

Of course, I only use my typewriter to tap out trivial things, and so I typically ignore mistakes, since no one is ever going to read what I type, besides myself; and I know what I meant.

I don’t know why I brought the thing to school with me. I guess you could say that I feel like it connects me to writers of the past. For years, writers put ink to page via the typewriter. I feel like when I’m using it, I’m channeling a little (a very little, mind you) of their writing spirit. Since the Jesuits are big on solidarity, I figure I’m just doing my part. I’m in solidarity with the writers of days gone by.

The second item of nostalgia is my father’s record player. We’ve had it for as long as I can remember, although I don’t ever recall him using it for playing his vinyls until I was at least in eighth grade. It’s not that he didn’t; I just didn’t appreciate it, so it wasn’t something he shared with me. I was young; what did I know? I wasn’t yet old enough to appreciate summer nights on the porch, listening to David Bowie, Creedence Clearwater Revival and The Rolling Stones.

But as I’ve grown, I’ve become more of a music lover; and as a music lover, I seek the audio experience in its purest form. To me, the vinyl album played on a quality record player is second only to being directly in studio with the band while they’re recording (or experiencing them live, if it happens to be a live album).

If you’ve ever listened to an album on vinyl, I think you’ll know what I mean. There’s something about the sound that’s just more pure, more full. They layers of the music are more distinguished. The sound is more multidimensional and the richness of the music is more apparent.

Listening to a CD for a while was okay. The sound wasn’t too horrible. I can even tolerate listening to music on my computer; but that’s only because when I’m at school, that’s really my only option.

As a society, we are constantly producing new technologies that make our lives easier. A computer is more practical for typing than a typewriter. You don’t have to work as hard, it’s easier to correct your mistakes, all-in-all it’s much more efficient.

The same goes for a record player. When we realized that we could produce a way of listening to music that didn’t require the album to be spread across three different vinyls and that didn’t require the listener to get up and flip the album every four songs (although some nice record players would do that for you) we jumped at the opportunity to make our lives easier.

Yes, newer technology makes our lives easier, but is it that much better? Sure, it’s efficient and high end, but it costs a lot, and, should it break, it’s expensive to fix. And if we’re sacrificing quality for efficiency, I think we need to take a hard look at ourselves as human beings. Because what if the same goes for us? Are we more efficient? Are we lower quality? Does technology make us lazy? I don’t have the answer, but it’s something to think about.

That’s a sad-sounding sentence, isn’t it? It may be sad-sounding, but I promise it’s not all that sad. I discovered something about myself that weekend: I really like being alone … which is another sad-sounding kind of sentence.

I was worried that I would go absolutely mad if I spent too much time with myself. You know, you have no one to talk to, and so you get inside your own head, and then you realize that you are talking to yourself, or your computer, or your ficus plant. Yep, I was pretty much convinced that was going to happen to me.

Good news! It didn’t. I actually really liked being on my own for a weekend. I got to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and, although I love my roommates, it was nice to not have to talk to anyone when I got up in the morning.

I think that the majority of us are a little afraid to spend time by ourselves. We’re scared of boredom. There has to be something to do all the time, or we start chomping at the bit, biting our nails and gnashing our teeth. Sometimes, though, it feels really good to just not do anything. I like to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling. Maybe that’s weird. I see it more as a form of strange meditation. I’ve had some pretty great epiphanies while staring at the ceiling.

I was only in contact with a few people over Fall Break. To the rest of the world, I might as well have been dead. I don’t see anything wrong with that. What’s the matter with disappearing off the face of the earth for a while? Turn off your phone; listen to good music; read a good book; watch good films.

Author Franz Kafka said there is a certain “happiness of being with people,” and there most definitely is; but there is also a certain happiness that lies in solitude.

Sadly, in this day and age, solitude doesn’t often come naturally. Often we have to seek it out, strive to achieve solitude.

It is important to remember that being alone doesn’t necessarily equate to being lonely. As a matter of fact, there is a big difference. Jean-Paul Sartre said, “If you are lonely when you are alone, you are in bad company.” You can be lonely when you are in the middle of a huge crowd of people. Being alone in solitude should have an air of peacefulness, or if not peacefulness, at least of some sort of rejuvenation.

Being an English literature major, it’s hard for me not do drag some authors into this. Writers (and other artists) have long been known for seeking solitude, because it’s hard to write without it. Believe me, I know. American poet Charles Bukowski (if you’ve never read him, read him. I recommend a recent poem called “9 bad boys”) described himself as “a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.”

Aldous Huxley, author of “Brave New Word,” observed that, “The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.” Now, I’m not saying that if you don’t seek solitude you don’t have a powerful or original mind. I’m sure you have a very powerful and original mind; but think of it this way – if you have a powerful and original mind in the midst of the masses, think of how much more powerful and original it would be if you withdrew and “went alone to the mountaintop,” so to speak. Yeah, you’d probably start thinking some pretty ingenious things.

I seek solitude because sometimes, like Milton said, “Solitude is the best society.” I find that I can’t constantly be around other people with noise and distraction and everybody always needing to know where I’m going and what I’m doing; it makes my head spin. I like people, but I can’t always be around them.

Henry David Thoreau was probably the master of solitude (although arguments have been made to the contrary). I mean, come on, the guy went and lived by himself in a cabin in the woods on Walden Pond. Thoreau felt that he had “never found a companion that is so companionable as solitude.”

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. You don’t have to be a great thinker to value and seek solitude. We should all strive for a little solitude from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Read, write, meditate. Take time to quiet your mind and listen to your soul. You’ll realize it has a lot to say.

That’s why, every once in a while, I like to revert back to my childhood. There is nothing wrong with acting a little child-like every so often. Those were simpler days when we didn’t have as many cares and concerns; and, every once in a while, don’t we all deserve to leave our cares and concerns behind, if only for a little while?

Sometimes, we have experiences that place us completely in touch with our inner-child. I watched an episode of “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood” on Saturday afternoon, and I’m not at all afraid to admit it. The thing that struck me was that, even at the ripe old age of 20, my inner-child was still enthralled. I knew that I had to get to the library to get some reading done, but I sat there, staring at my computer screen for 28 minutes, in total rapture.

Mr. Rogers taught me so many things when I was a little girl; but when I hit the age when I didn’t want to be a child anymore (I think I was about 11 or 12), I must have forgotten them all. Or, rather, I tucked them away, locked them up tight somewhere, ashamed that I had ever been such a child.

As F. Scott Fitzgerald so poignantly points out in his short story “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (yes, it was a short story first), we are going to  age, and, no matter what direction we age in, our tastes and interests are going to change; that’s just the natural way of things. However, that doesn’t mean that we have to completely lose touch with the child that we once were.

Our childhood selves have lessons to teach us; and, like any good teacher, we should listen to what they have to say.

Children have such an insatiable sense of curiosity. They will question just about everything; they’re like little masters of the Socratic method. One of the children I nanny for once asked me, in all seriousness, if a human could fit in a whale’s blowhole. When I told him that I didn’t think a person could fit in the average whale’s blowhole, he was persistent, asking, “A baby could though, right?” Maybe, I didn’t really know the answer to that one, and I wasn’t about to lie to him.

I urge you to never lose that sense of childlike curiosity. Children ask because they want to learn about the world around them. Don’t assume that you know everything there is to know. Ask questions if you have them. If it’s a good question, there’s no shame in asking it.

Children are extremely intuitive. They can pick up on emotional signals faster than most of us can. As we get older, our analytical processes become more developed; and while there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, it can sometimes dumb down our intuition, and it may become harder for us to pick up emotional signals from our fellow human beings.

A child once asked me  if I was as old as her mommy and daddy. I told her that I was a bit younger than mommy and daddy – I was 20. Her response? “You don’t look 20 to me. You look more like 14.” It never feels really great to be told that you look like a 14-year-old, but at least she was honest.

Honesty is another quality that we should borrow from the younger versions of ourselves. I don’t mean that you should tell someone the truth if it is going to hurt them in some way, but when you’re given the opportunity to give your honest opinion about something, give it.

The absolute best thing about children is their vibrant imaginations. If they decide that the floor is lava, the floor is lava. If they are convinced that there is a monster under their bed with green eyes and yellow claws, you had better check under that bed, because, in their mind, that monster is there.

As we grow, we lose our sense of imagination. I guess we don’t really lose it, we just tend to stifle it. We realize how to recognize reality and sort out all of the imaginary stuff. Now, I’m not saying you have to walk around, convinced the floor is lava. But imagination lends itself to creativity and innovation, which are skills that we need, even as adults. “Make believe” on “Mr. Roger’s” was actually helping us more than we knew.

As we grow older, we tend to shy away from our childhood selves, for fear that we might be acting too childish, which is always a risk you run. But if you’re willing to take the risk and take the time to spend a day hanging out with your five year-old-self, you might learn something.

A few weeks ago, my fellow columnist, Dan Cooney, wrote a column about how young people are losing the ability to write well, but what he failed to do was tell those young people what might help boost their writing to the next level. He probably left it to me, because he assumed that I would be able to do it better.

I don’t claim to be a great writer. Heck, some of you may hate my writing; but I have written a lot, and I’ve read a lot, and in the process of doing so, I have learned a lot about writing.

Most of what I’ve learned about writing I’ve learned from other writers. Since their livelihood depended on their ability to write, I assume they have some knowledge about the craft.

The most important thing to make sure you do when you’re just starting to write is to set time aside to write. Write a little every day, even if you have to force yourself and even if you hate what you’ve written. John Updike, author of “Run, Rabbit,” among others, said, “Even though you have a busy life, try to reserve an hour say – or more – a day to write. Some very good things have been written on an hour a day … so take it seriously.”

I know that for a young person, an hour a day is a lot. You’re busy, I realize that; so make it a half-hour. Write for 15 minutes if that’s all that you can squeeze in. But try to write every day. For some people, writing is a God-given gift; but for many of us, it takes a lot of practice. Treat your writing like it is a sport or a musical instrument. Give it the time it deserves.

Don’t type things. Write them. Hemingway wrote 37-plus endings to “A Farewell to Arms.” He didn’t go back and delete something he didn’t like. He saved it. You should do the same. You’ll learn a lot about your own writing process this way, which, in turn, will make you a better writer. I know that it’s hard when you have so much technology right at your fingertips, but you think so much more about what you have to say when you can’t “backspace.”

This is especially important if you’re trying to write prose. If you have an essay to write for a class, it’s okay to type it out, but I do recommend writing down at least a few major points, or writing and re-working your thesis with paper and pencil. When you write, you’re more physically engaged in the work, making you more mentally engaged as well.

Write the truth. The most readable things are true. Hemingway said, “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know.” If you can do that, you can write anything. Sometimes novice writers operate under the notion that the more far-fetched, the better. This is not necessarily true. You have to write about what you know. You can’t try to make a reader understand something that you don’t understand yourself.

Carry around a small journal, and write down anything that strikes you: the way a person talks, a random act of kindness; feelings, sights, smells, things that bother you, quirks that you notice about others. Other people are fascinating. Observe them. It’s not creepy, it’s strictly business. Be a sponge to your environment; soak in everything. Remember what Emerson said about the transparent eyeball – “I am nothing, I see all.” I want you to be that transparent eyeball.

I think that sometimes young writers get the misconception that by reading a lot, you can learn all you have to about writing. Reading helps (in my case, it helped a lot) but it isn’t a substitute for actual writing. You never want your writing to sound exactly like someone else’s writing. If there were 15 writers who all sounded like F. Scott Fitzgerald or Kurt Vonnegut, then the originals would lose their uniqueness. Strive to be original.

Overall, the most important thing to do to aid your writing is to just live and have experiences. Whether they are good or bad, they might make a story. The famed Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky said, “But how could you live and have no story to tell?” If you live your life truly and fully, the words will come, as long as you let them.

Those marketing geniuses have finally answered my deepest feminine desires and created the perfect pen for the delicate female hand.

So now it’s got me thinking, what if we could give some of the most famous female writers of the past four centuries one of these pens for their very own?

If Sylvia Plath had owned one of these pens, I’m sure that she would have written more poems about wedding cake ideas she got from Pinterest, new shoes and (probably) boxes of chocolates, instead of things like, “The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans/ Atop the broken universal clock:/ The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.”

I am almost certain that if she had accrued one of these pink or purple pens, Dorothy Parker’s sharp tongue would have been significantly dulled (“The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue”). It’s hard to be unconventionally hilarious when you’re writing with something so conventionally feminine.

Imagine if Jane Austen had gotten her hands on one of these Bic beauties.

Dear Eliza Bennet would surely have married Mr. Darcy upon first offer, no matter if she loved him or not. He had money. Or worse, she would have accepted Mr. Collins (gasp). Oh yes, she would have been a very conventional girl indeed.

Mary Wollstonecraft probably would never have even thought of writing “A Vindication for the Rights of Women” if she had had this pen, because, heck, we’ve already got a pen all for ourselves, what more could we ask for?

And dear, dear Virginia Woolf. Wouldn’t her life have been so much happier if someone had taken mercy upon her and gifted her with one of these lovely writing utensils?

The Brontë sisters, armed with pink and purple pens, would have ditched the gothic route altogether. Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff would have been perfect gentlemen, not at all tormented or brooding, and their heroines, Cathy and Jane, would have been the epitome of a 19th century lady, never daring to speak so boldly as to say, “Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain and little that I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!”

As for Emily Dickinson, well, let’s just say that if someone had given her one of these pens at a young age, there is a good chance she might have left the house more.

Women in literary history have refused to be caged by the conventions of what a woman should be, how she should act and what her place was in society. While I have only presented a few examples, we know that the list goes on: Mary Shelley, Flannery O’Connor, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Gertrude Stein …

The point is, why should we stick to the feminine convention of “the pink pen” so to speak? What if our literary females had? What if they had done what society thought was expected of a woman at the time? Or what if their literary heroines had? No one wants to read about a conventional Elizabeth Bennett. It’s her unconventional-ness that makes her one of the most beloved female characters of western literature.

I’m not saying that it’s wrong to conform to the conventions of womanhood. If pink is your thing and you’ve been known to exclaim “Oh my stars. I’m just a little lady! My fragile constitution cannot handle the fearsome outdoors,” embrace it. Who am I to stop you? But if that’s not your thing, don’t let it make you feel like you are any less “feminine” than your potentially pink-loving counterpart.

It’s not a bad thing if you aren’t a conventional “pretty-in-pink” girly-girl. Look at some of the great literary heroines of our time, they aren’t; so it looks like you’re in pretty good company, thus far. “Well-behaved women rarely make history,” said Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. Keep that in mind.

I guess what really sums up all that I’m trying to say is, Bic (and other companies before you – you’re not the first, and I’m sure you won’t be the last), there isn’t one sole definition of what is or isn’t feminine, and it certainly isn’t a color; so please, stop putting us in a box.

The movie is called “Breaking Away,” and this 1979 Oscar winner for best writing, starring Dennis Christopher, Dennis Quaid, Daniel Stern (you probably know him better from “Home Alone;” he’s the tall, lanky burglar, aka the one who’s not Joe Pesci) and Jackie Earle Haley, is an absolute gem of a film.

The premise of the movie is simple. It’s a coming of age story. Four friends, played by the above-mentioned actors, live in a college town (Bloomington, Indiana, the home of Indiana University), but don’t go to college. They’re called “cutters” because, without a college education, their future lies in cutting sandstone in the quarries that surround the area.

Although they are called “cutters” that’s not really what they are. They classify themselves as that because that’s what the college kids call them, but their future doesn’t really lie in the quarry, and they know that; and the uncertainty of their future is what scares them, as it does most of us.

The first of our heroes is Dave (Dennis Christopher), who wants nothing more than to be a great cyclist. So, he pretends to be Italian, because all great cyclists are Italian (duh). Despite being born and raised in Bloomington, he speaks in broken English, shot through with phrases in Italian, goes by the name Enriquo, and drives his used-car salesman father crazy.

There’s Mike (Dennis Quaid), the bitter high school football star who always has a cigarette in his mouth, but never lights it, and resents the trash out of the college kids, who represent everything he’s not.

Cyril (Daniel Stern) is the lovable and surprisingly profound idiot who suffers from a serious case of daddy issues.

Then there’s Moocher (Jackie Earle Haley) whose main issue is that he’s short. And there’s also the problem that he wants to marry his high school sweetheart, but the guys (Mike, in particular) don’t really approve.

Each one is trying to find his place in a world that presents him with two conflicting views; and each one has to learn to find his place and prove his value. Boiled down, isn’t that what all of us are trying to do?

So, at this point, you’re probably asking, “Why, of all the inspirational movies out there, is this one of the only ones Clara can tolerate?” I like it because it’s relatable. Sure, on the surface it’s your classic underdog story; but underneath, it’s the story of every 19-going-on-20-year-old, and the fact that Dave, Mike, Cyril and Moocher managed to figure it all out is inspiring in itself.

Each of our four “heroes” is wrestling with his own quarter-life-crisis. If that’s not something we can all relate to, I don’t know what is. As the trailer for the film so aptly puts it, “It’s a story about four guys in eminent danger of turning 20.” They don’t want to grow up, but who does really?

They learn life lessons that we all have had to learn. Dave watches his heroes, the Italian cyclists, Team Cinzano, fall from grace; he then comes to the realization that, “Everybody cheats. I just didn’t know.”

He also learns another important life lesson that I hope we’ve all figured out by now: you can’t live your life being someone you’re not. It will come back to bite you in the butt. I’m sure that most of you aren’t walking around pretending to be an Italian; but I know a lot of us, myself included, have probably gone through an identity crisis of some sort during our lives. Just don’t do it. It’s not worth it. I promise.

Cyril learns that he isn’t really the idiot that he thought he was. Despite the negative comments of his friends, and his unsupportive father, he (spoiler alert) manages to pass the college entrance exam.

Moocher, who has been under the influence of his friends (namely Mike) for his entire life, learns the importance of living your own life, even if you might get a little flack for it.

And bitter, angry Mike comes to the realization that you can’t re-live high school, no matter what; and resenting those that he secretly wants to be isn’t going to change anything.

These four guys, who, at the beginning of the movie, have no idea what their path is in life, figure it out (sort of) by the end.  And we can too. It’s not always fun, and it’s not always painless, but we can too.

Well, in light of the days of WWJD, I am starting a new craze. The WWCD craze. That’s right. “What would Clara do?” I know that it is a question we ask ourselves every day, so now I’m going to give you some answers.

Mind you, “What would Clara do?” works a little bit differently than WWJD (mostly because, well, I’m not Jesus). When you’re in a situation which has the potential to become awkward or embarrassing, ask yourself “What would Clara do?” and then do the the exact opposite of whatever you think I would do in that situation.

Here are some examples of situations in which asking yourself what I would do might help you avoid doing something potentially asinine, idiotic or embarrassing to demonstrate the “What would Clara do?” method.

Say you’re in the cafeteria and you think to yourself, “Perhaps I shall go get myself a piece of fruit. Maybe a nice apple or banana.” However, the fruit, as a sort of sick joke, is placed directly next to the desserts. You know you should eat a piece of fruit, but there are brownies, and you do love brownies. Here is an example of a situation in which the “What would Clara do?” method is vital.

Before you start to load your plate with delicious chocolatey baked goods, pause and ask yourself, “What would Clara do?” Clara would most definitely eat two or more brownies, which means that you should most definitely eat a piece of fruit, which will leave you feeling good about yourself and will leave more brownies for Clara (please excuse my use of the third person).

Let’s explore another situation, shall we? You’re walking past a group of total strangers and they are all posing for a nice picture. Possibly a family portrait that they hope to hang over their fireplace. They don’t know you’re there, offering you the perfect opportunity to photo-bomb the CUSS out of that picture.

However, before you stick your grinning mug inconspicuously into the background, take a moment to ask yourself that vital question, “What would Clara do?” Clara would obviously love the opportunity to have herself immortalized in some total stranger’s family picture, so you should obviously forget that idea altogether. Scorn it, in fact. Do not, I repeat, do not pull a nasty face and ruin the photo for all eternity.

Throughout the course of life, one is confronted with many awkward situations, but these awkward situations can be easily avoided by just stopping, assessing the situation and asking yourself the ever-important question, “What would Clara do?”

After a while, you won’t even have to ask yourself that question. Stopping and thinking about whatever thing it is that might be awkward for you will just become second nature, and you won’t even have to employ the “What would Clara do?” method anymore.

That’s fine. Don’t feel bad. It’s a good thing if you no longer have to interrogate yourself about my choices, because that means you’re learning. That means you’re making progress. And progress is good.

I humbly admit that the “What would Clara do?” method isn’t entirely fool-proof. It really only works to avoid awkward or embarrassing situations. If you find yourself in a situation where you are given an opportunity to be kind to a fellow human being, always err on the side of kindness, regardless of whether or not that’s what you think Clara would do.

Don’t let “What would Clara do?” become a crutch in any way. Furthermore, don’t let it turn you into a robot that has to stop and think before you do absolutely anything. Although everyone should always employ a little bit of the age-old adage, “Think before you speak,” you should also always be aware of the beauty of a healthy amount of spontaneity.

Think of it as a sort of medication. Just enough in the right situations, and it can help you; but too much in any given situation, and it can hinder you.

Any other time, feel free to ask Jesus what he would do, but when it comes to the avoidance of awkward situations and embarrassing mishaps, leave it to the expert – Clara.

Maybe I should start taking my own advice…

He was head of the English Department for five years and in 2008 he was nominated for, and won, the Lucrezia Culicchia Award for Teaching Excellence.

Phil Metres, who nominated him for the award, praised Roark highly, saying, “Roark demonstrated an exemplary ability to engage the students in a high level of collaborative analysis, modeling a way of reading that emerged from the students’ own readings, and proposing a method to navigate the thorny language of literary criticism. He clearly shared a good rapport with his students, who obviously respected him and find him amusing.”

Roark was deeply passionate about his students and it showed in their reception of him. He was demanding, but fair, and although the work that he asked of his students was difficult, students were seldom unwilling to do the work asked of them. Senior Joe Fisher had the privilege of having Roark on three separate occasions. “Roark was hands-down the best professor I have ever had the three semesters I took him. Most importantly, he made me feel like he legitimately cared about me as a person. His passion and love for his work and his family could not help but show through everything he did and it was inspiring.”  As his advisee, I always loved visiting Roark in his office and asking his advice on what books to read, classes to take, and what I should do with my life.

On April 23, 2013, Shakespeare’s birthday, the English department will be holding a marathon reading of The Bard’s sonnets in order to raise money for the Chris Roark Memorial Scholarship.

He wrote a book called “Travels with Charley,” in which he describes his circumnavigation of the United States, which he did with only his poodle, Charley, for company. The book is essentially about one big camping trip.

Steinbeck’s camping trip inspired our own. We (“we” being my friend Kayli and I) even tried to name our car after a literary steed, like Steinbeck did (his was named Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s horse) but we could never agree on one.

Kayli and I decided to use her family’s moving out of state as an excuse to go on one last circumnavigation of Michigan, and with a little help from musician Sufjan Stevens’ “Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State” album (the album is all about the state of Michigan), we picked a few of the choicest destinations (Sleeping Bear, The Upper Peninsula, Tahquamenon Falls, Sault Ste. Marie, Paradise, Alanson and Crooked River).

The camping trip went off without a hitch (minus that one time when we lost the car keys) and I came away from it with an appreciation for the beauty of my home state and a few tips and rules for how to survive the wilderness.

Rule number one of a camping trip:  When it comes to packing, there are no set rules, other than to remember that if you forget anything it may not be easy to get it.

If you’re camping in a tent, like we did, the most important things to remember are cooking supplies (we forgot a spatula and had to make one out of two knives and duct tape). Other than that, you can take as little or as much as you want. We went the minimalist route.

Rule number two: a good outdoor playlist is vital to any camping trip. Try artists like Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, Sufjan Stevens, Grizzly Bear, Nick Drake and Beirut – any music that is relaxing and meshes with nature, rather than disturbs it.

Rule number three: Have good food. By good food I don’t mean food that is just delicious, but also good for you (gasp!). You know what I mean: granola, yogurt, fruits, vegetables, good loaves of bread, etc.

I highly encourage stopping at local farmer’s markets and picking up fresh fruits and vegetables. Our wisest purchase turned out to be a small bottle of homemade maple syrup that we still talk about a month and a half later.

Rule number four: Don’t let the tent stress you out (and believe me, it probably will).  If you’re camping in a tent, the set-up of said tent can be very stressful. Don’t let it get you down. I am seriously lacking when it comes to patience, and even I can set up a tent. Most arguments while camping stem from the set-up of the tent.

The tent is the “Ikea” of camping trips, aka it has the ability to dissolve all bonds of friendship and camaraderie. To avoid this, keep in mind that there are theories out there that a tent might actually have a mind of its own, and if all goes wrong, it is probably no one’s fault. And if, despite all this, an argument gets really heated and no progress is made on the tent, scrap it and sleep in the car.

Rule number five: Stop everywhere that looks interesting. In the course of three days; I swam in three Great Lakes, climbed to the top of a lighthouse, put my toes in the lake on which Ernest Hemingway spent his summers (arguably the highlight of my summer. Yes, I am a nerd), stopped at the best little coffee shop no one knows exists, hunted for (and found) Petoskey stones and found out that there is literally nothing to do in Cheboygan, Michigan.

Take the scenic route. That’s rule number six. Stick to two lane highways when you are able, and never be in any sort of rush to get from place to place. Maybe you do have someplace to be by the end of the day (in our case, our campsites), but take your time getting there.

Ramble. See as much as you can. Pack up your tent after two nights and hit the road. Be a human sponge and soak it all in.

I’m not telling you to rush through things and not take the time to fully appreciate your surroundings. Only move on when you have adequately taken in the beauty around you. Read some Emerson. Embrace your inner tree hugger.

That being said, let me launch into a great display of my self-proclaimed nerdiness.

Being a reader of many books, I have read about some of the most fantastic wizards of all time. The list boils down to a main six.

So, my big question is: Who would be the ultimate victor in a “great wizards of literature” battle?

Each of our contenders has pros and cons. Each one has a different strength. All of them have a weakness. Most of them have really intense beards.

We begin with Gandalf the Grey. Hailing from Middle Earth, you most likely recognize him from the books “The Hobbit” or “The Fellowship of the Ring.” His pros include:  those gigantic eyebrows (though I’m not sure how much good they would do him in a fight), his smoke-ring-making ability, his defeat of the Balrog in the Mines of Moria and his utterance of the immortal line, “You shall not pass.” Also, he is never late; he always arrives precisely when he means to.

His cons include the fact that he probably has contracted the black lung and he couldn’t defeat Saruman. Also, he got totally wiped out after his defeat of the Balrog and returned to Middle Earth as Gandalf the White, who just so happens to be our second contender.

Gandalf the White’s most obvious pro is that he is Gandalf the Grey re-incarnate and more powerful. Another thing that he has going for him is that he defeated Saruman, who is no doubt a very powerful (but corrupt) wizard.

Gandalf the White is not only good at magic, but he is a physical powerhouse. He has mastered the art of wrecking everyone with his staff. He also employs Shadowfax (his horse) more so than Gandalf the Grey did.

Gandalf the White really only has one con: he has a lot of plans that need to be implemented through other people. Although, if we’re going to count that as one of his cons, then it has to be one of Dumbledore’s cons too.

And Dumbledore just so happens to be the next on our list. Perhaps the greatest wizard of his time, he comes from somewhere deep in the Scottish Highlands; but you probably know him best from Harry Potter. Dumbledore has several pros, including the aforementioned “the greatest wizard of his time.” He also defeated the wizard Grindelwald and is the only wizard that Voldemort fears. He is also pretty great at spells and the like, and he also has a pet phoenix.

Dumbledore, however, does have a bit going against him. He never really happens to be around when you need him, and then he always shows up just in the nick of time. He also may have killed his younger sister, which is never a positive thing. He does not have a particularly intimidating name, either.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we find Voldemort, who does have a rather intimidating name (a combination of the French words ‘vole de mort’ meaning ‘stealer of death’). Voldemort is the most evil wizard on our list and his pros are that he is merciless, ruthless and ugly enough to scare you to death. He is also immortal until you destroy his horcruxes.

Yet, his horcruxes were destroyed by a 17-year-old who eventually defeated him, which is a major con. Also, he has no beard. He also rushes into the duel of his life before taking the time to learn the whole story and is thus defeated.

Merlin is the original wizard, which is a major benefit for him. He also must be good, since he is employed by a king. He also is a big help in Arthur’s rise to power, which spurred on years of British folklore in which it is said that he has the power to shape-shift (although that’s disputed). Cons? Well, he was eventually imprisoned in a tree (although in some legends it’s a cave, or a tower or a large rock). Bet you didn’t see that one coming.

The great and powerful Wizard of Oz is the final wizard. Coming to us from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, he definitely has the intimidation factor going for him, but that seems to be about it. As we all know, he is really just a man behind a curtain who is really good with smoke and mirrors. Also the fact that he is a con is a huge con.

My mother is convinced that The Wizard of Oz would win because he makes you believe in yourself and “that is the most powerful magic of all.” I’m not so convinced. What do you think? Nerds everywhere, I would like your feedback. Who would win? Who would get offed first? Who would end up crying in a corner? I would honestly like to know.

Yes, you can look at paintings, and photographs and read all kinds of literature on the subject, but nothing is quite like the real thing. Whether it’s the majesty of Glacier, or the total isolation of a place like Isle Royale, national parks are the crown jewels of the United States. And that’s why this week we celebrate National Parks Week!

The national parks are our last great stretches of wilderness. They are the temples of mother nature herself. Though not wholly untouched by mankind, they are at least protected by him. Since its founding in 1916, the American National Park Service has helped preserve 84 million acres of land and 4,502,644 acres of oceans, lakes and reservoirs.

The National Park Service has helped in the preservation of some of the most beautiful places in the Unites States, and I have a firm belief that every American citizen should visit at least one national park before they die.

Teddy Roosevelt and John Muir didn’t work so hard to secure these massive amounts of land so that we have a last refuge to go to when we’ve exploited every other piece of land. The national parks are our national playgrounds!

Remember when you were in elementary school and you got SO excited to go out and play at recess? We should be just as excited to visit our national parks. Maybe a nice jaunt out in the woods isn’t your thing. I can respect that. But remember what John Muir said: “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” Through nature, all things are connected. Yeah, even you.

And it’s no coincidence that National Parks Week is aligned with Earth Day. Well, it might be a coincidence, but I do not think it is. The national parks are a reminder of why we celebrate Earth Day in the first place. Here we have preserved these naturally beautiful, or geologically unique (I don’t know how beautiful people consider Death Valley), pieces of land so that our children have something to inherit other than high-rise apartments and mountains made of concrete.

Since its founding in 1916, Yellowstone National Park (the oldest, and perhaps the most famous of the parks) has changed very little. Yet, since 1916, the face of America has developed dramatically. Cities have been built. Highways now criss-cross the country, thanks to Eisenhower. You can fly from New York to Los Angeles in a matter of hours.

Yet, the national parks have changed relatively little in the past 96 years. Sure, Yellowstone is starting to bulge (it’s located over a massive super-volcano that puts pressure on the Earth’s crust) and The Grand Canyon continues to erode, but it all happens at a very slow pace. The national parks are our legacy. They are unchanged America.

How awesome is that? When you go to a national park you are seeing it as it was, essentially, 100 years ago. Yet, every time I go home to small town America something seems to have changed, and “small town” doesn’t seem so small anymore.

I haven’t been to Yellowstone for years, but I know that if I go back, the hot springs will still smell like rotten eggs, and the mountains will still strike me with their majesty as they rise above the Lamar Valley, and the lower fall of the Yellowstone River will still have that one single streak of green in what is otherwise a curtain of white.

The national parks are the heirloom of America. They are the beautiful thing that we have to pass on to our children. And they are especially important these days because, even if we prefer city living, and prefer to live with all of our modern conveniences, we still feel the tug of nature every once and a while and have to run off to the hills because, as Thoreau so aptly observed, “Life consists with wildness. The most alive is the wildest. Not yet subdued to man, its presence refreshes him.” Now, if you’ll excuse me, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”

Okay, I’ve bled that joke dry (the puns just keep coming!), but what I’m trying to say, in a very silly way, is that I do not take my writing as seriously as Mr. Hemingway … that was an unintentional poem.

Moving on to more serious business …

All week in class we’re bogged down with work. We have to read textbooks and case studies and scholarly articles and some of the driest literature in the English language (and sometimes not in the English language). If you happen to pick up a newspaper, or watch the news, it seems as though it’s all doom and gloom. Basically, dear reader, you probably already have enough heavy reading to do and you don’t need me dragging you down.

When I told my mother that I would be writing a column for The Carroll News she gave me some advice, as mothers are wont to do. “Clara,” she told me, “make sure you aren’t too snarkastic.” “Snarkastic” is my mother’s clever combination of the words “snarky” and “sarcastic” and, even though you won’t find it in the Oxford English Dictionary, it is probably the best word available when it comes to describing my sense of humor.

So, in light of my mother’s advice, I’ve decided to carefully monitor myself and to keep the column as light hearted and “snarkasm” free as possible. I’m not going to promise that the column is going to be totally devoid of sarcasm, or even negativity, because some situations cannot be handled without sarcasm and, similarly, some have to be looked at with a healthy amount of negativity.

I figure that, in the words of Walt Whitman, this is my chance to “sound my barbaric ‘yap’ over the roofs of the world,” and I’m not going to screw it up. Well, I might screw it up a little bit, but even if I do screw it up I will screw it up in a totally un-snarkastic way.

I’m not sure if all of you understand how much of an exercise in character alteration this will be for me. I’m not saying that I’m always making insensitive, snarkastic comments, but they come more easily to me than other things do. Making such comments is my way of dealing with uncomfortable or awkward situations; and since my whole life is an awkward situation it stands to reason that most of my discourse is snarkastic.

Just like “driving through hyperspace isn’t like dusting crops,” writing a column isn’t like writing an essay for your ethics class. In some ways it’s easier, and in some ways it’s harder. I don’t have to be as formal in my column, which is nice, but it may also be my downfall. If I don’t have to be formal there is an even bigger chance that I will succumb to the green monster that is snarkasm.

There is also this fundamental human mechanism that seeks approval from some outside source. It is hard for someone to simply write something for the masses to see, because they are afraid that they are not going to get that approval (I realize I’m making some hasty generalizations here, but bear with me). When writing an essay for class, one doesn’t have to worry so much because only one person is going to be reading what they have written and that person is aware of what the paper will be about (more or less).

Writing a column about whatever strikes my fancy can be awkward because, whether I know it or not, I want that approval and I don’t know if I’m going to get it. And that awkwardness that comes about can lead to snarkasm, which, from here on out, is my nemesis.

And so we’re off! Yes, thanks to Mother’s advice, we’ve left snarkasm behind, but that doesn’t mean that there will ever be a lack of humor or wit. So it begins …

Often it’s just the usual. You wave at someone and then they don’t wave back so you just have to stand there grinning like an idiot and pretend you had to scratch your head or smooth your hair.

Or you walk into a building and perhaps you lose your footing and have to lunge for the door and, in the meantime, you make yourself look like a total spazz in front of the really cute kid who just held the door open for you.

Or you’re walking down the sidewalk and you remember something really funny and you start laughing to yourself.  You’re alone.  And you’re laughing.  And people are giving you strange looks because, let’s face it, you look like your mental health could be in question.

Awkward occurrences are unavoidable. As suave as you may think you are, you’re bound to slip up every once in a while and when you do, you need help from an expert like me – an expert who can help you deal with any awkward situation.  Here are just a few tips on how to deal with just about any awkward situation, from the slightly awkward to the very awkward.

Playing it off like it’s no big deal is the best way to handle with Pretend nothing happened. So, you waved at your friend and they snubbed you. Keep waving. Odds are, nobody knows that that’s the friend that you were waving to, so odds are, they don’t care that that person’s not waving back.

Laugh at yourself. If you can’t laugh at yourself the world is a lot less funny.  You’re funny.  Awkwardness is funny, but not if you get angry about it.  If you get angry about it, it just scares people and then everyone thinks that you’re one of those people who take themselves too seriously. That’s no fun. So, the next time you trip up the stairs between O’Malley and Admin, just laugh because then other people realize it’s OK to laugh, and then all awkwardness dissipates.

So, you threw the leafy top of a pineapple out of your window and it almost hit a priest in the head. Just say you’re conducting an experiment to make sure that gravity was still working. The grandioseness of your lie will most likely mask all awkwardness and eventually everyone will forget what was awkward in the first place.

Say you yell something obscene and offensive out of your window to a friend who happens to be passing by, and a professor is standing nearby and happens to hear everything you uttered.  How do you play that off? You can’t. Just apologize and try to laugh about it and hope that they remember that they were young once too. And maybe say a little prayer.

Awkward situations happen.  They happen to you.  They happen to me (probably on a higher- than-average basis). They’re almost entirely unavoidable.  But if you know how to properly deal with an awkward situation you will find that they really are humorous.

And remember, situations are only awkward if you make them awkward.

Kick-It is a well-known national fundraising effort used to raise money for pediatric cancer.  One hundred percent of the fundraising goes toward the Children’s Tumor Foundation and Curesearch.

Kick-It is a three-day event coming to John Carroll University. The event begins on Nov. 11 and ends on Nov. 13. JCU students will be able to form teams to collect funding and participate in the tournament.   

During the three days, teams will compete in games of kickball.  The games will have allotted times and the winner of each game will advance to the next round.  The winning team, along with the team that raised the most money will be recognized at the JCU versus Baldwin-Wallace home football game on Nov. 13. 

 In addition to participating in this game, these teams will present the total funds to Quinn Clarke and the Kick-It Organization.  

As incentive to fundraise as much as possible, the team that raises the most money will also get the opportunity to play kickball in the outfield of Progressive Field. 

Kristie Maravalli, the head of The Student-Athlete Advisory Committee, is working in collaboration with the intramural department to host this event.  Assistant Director of Recreation and acting Director of Recreation Courtney Farver, as well as Assistant Athletic Director Jane Evans are working alongside Maravalli. Intramural Student Supervisor Tym Tagliaferro is collaborating with Maravalli, Farver and Evans to make Kick-It a successful event at JCU.

Maravalli said, “Quinn Clarke approached the athletic department.  After only one meeting the Student Athlete Advisory Committee chose to participate and asked the intramural department to collaborate with us.”

Maravalli and Farver are currently working to promote Kick-It on campus. In order to better advertise Kick-It, the Student-Athlete Advisory Committee is forming a marketing committee. The Intramural department is using all of its resources to promote the fundraiser.  

It will promote Kick-It at various sporting events and throughout homecoming. They will have a table set up in the Atrium for students to approach, ask questions and get involved. Students can find more information about the tournament, forming teams and raising money.

For more information about Quinn Clarke’s story or other Kick-It events visit www.kick-it.org.