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How could I have known?

By Lauren Belcher
Weekly Blog
Word Count: 554 words

I never thought an assignment could change my life.

Oh, but it has.

My literary journal assignment has forced me to talk to religious figures on a regular basis. I am not a religious person. If I'm being honest, I actually don't believe in any of it. But, the assignment's purpose is to make us very uncomfortable and to bring us out of our comfort zone.

My assignment is to find out what it's like to be Jewish in a predominately Christian community like St. Augustine. Sounds easy enough, right?

I started my search by punching "rabbi 32084" into Google. Bam! Rabbi one, two and three. "This assignment is going to be easy," I thought.

I called all three Rabbis and got a contact list together, then I found a few local Jewish residents and was quite content with myself.

For someone who had to change topics twice, getting these contacts came pretty easily for me.

Rabbi number one, Mr. Samuel Cywiak was first on my list. His synagogue is right in downtown Lincolnville so I went there to meet up with him. Within seconds of meeting Rabbi Cywiak, I realized that my topic was NOT an easy one. More like the exact opposite.

Cywiak is 90 years old. When I first met him, I looked into his eyes and saw the kindest eyes I've ever seen. But, they had a deep pain in them that I did not yet, and still can't, understand. He is an orthodox Jew and a Holocaust survivor. We sat and talked for over an hour about his life and God.

I left that day feeling like a different person. It was the hardest interview I've ever done for so many reasons. I was in a funk for several days.

I don't understand faith. Especially blind faith. To just put your heart and soul into a belief that seems so logically impossible has always bewildered me. How could this man, who has seen the worst in a human being still go home and pray to a God? Or wait for a Messiah?

I understood it far more after I talked to Jerry Kass. Kass is a Jewish resident of St. Augustine. He moved here in 1930 and has lived across the street from the college, which was then still a hotel, ever since.

Just when I thought this could be a semi-normal conversation he hit me with it, just like the Rabbi. He's 95-years-old. His wife, of 67 years, just passed away not six months ago. That was when I realized that I was talking to a heartbroken man who felt he had not much more to live for. But he still had that faith. Even though he has lost everything and now sits alone on his porch day in and day out, he still believes. He's just waiting for the Messiah patiently, or for his God to take him home.

I still don't understand it, and I still don't believe in it myself, but I sure do have a new-found respect for religious people. You will never hear me try to talk someone out of their religion like I would before. If that is what people need to get on in this terrible life, then more power to them. Even if it is a higher one than mine.

SPJ winners

Congratulations to Haley Walker and Philip Mansfield for winning awards at the SPJ conference.

You can find their literary journal stories here:
Haley Walker
Philip Mansfield

Great job guys!
Dr. Sarkio said the pressure is on our COM class now! thanks a lot guys haha

"I'm alright in bed, but I'm better with a pen"

This was written by my friend Jessica Windisch. I wanted to share it on my blog :) Enjoy!

The Nameless, Ending?

After he left, we were only two. Something was off balance; something was wrong. We went out; we tried to carry on like we used to, but we couldn't. Something was missing. She woke up at 6:30 every morning now and soaked in the bathtub until 8, she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't sleep. I could hear the water swishing against the sides of the tub and I could hear her crying as she moved about...she wasn't splashing, she was squirming, writhing in pain. She soaked in her agony for an hour and a half every morning, so she could hide behind an almost painless smile through the day. Fat lot of good that did her...

It didn't take long for me to get really tired of this tradition she had started. She was reminding me of Blanche DuBois and that's depressing; she and I, we needed out.

"Hey!" I yelled through the door, "open up, this is ridiculous!"
"I'm not done yet," her voice sounded almost broken.
"I'm comin' in, dude. You've got to stop this..." I said as I searched for, and quickly found, something to pick the lock with.
"Stop what? Don't come in here, I'm naked!"
"Like I give a fuck!" I walked in and there she was, curled up in a ball in the bathtub. "We gotta get out..."
"No, YOU gotta get out! I'm takin' a bath!"
"You're soaking. You're sulking. You're fuckin' pruning! You gotta get out of that tub and we gotta get out of here! We're breaking, this place is gonna break us. We gotta go."
"Where could we go?"
"Anywhere! Hell, everywhere! We gotta leave! Now! Come on!" I said, dragging her out of the tub. I grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her, "we're gettin' out of here. You and I! You hear? Come on and dry yourself off, we gotta go!"
"Wait..." she said; she was shivering, huddled up, gripping the towel around her shoulders. "We can't just up and leave."
"Why the hell not?"
"We gotta have money! We gotta have plans! We can't just leave, we don't even know where we're goin'!"
"That's the beauty of it! We don't need to know, we can just go. It's so easy to go when you don't look back! Just leave it all behind! Let's, you and me, just leave it all behind."
"...ok. One more night though, ok? I wanna stay here one more night...just to prepare, you know? I gotta say goodbye to the place."
"Alright...alright, one more night. We can spend the night saying goodbye to this, but we're gonna go first thing in the morning, right?"
"Right...first thing."

That was that. We spent the night in, nobody wanted to come over or to hang out. We didn't tell anybody we were leaving. That's how you do it. You gotta go and not tell anybody and never look back. That's the only way to do it. We spent the night sober, just taking it all in, I guess. I packed up and went to bed, ready to be gone once the sun came up. I got no warning before I found her in the morning. She didn't leave a note or a mess. She had cleaned up her entire room, as a matter of fact. Put away all of her clothes, all neat and perfect, made her bed, shit! She even did the dishes and cleaned the living room! The entire apartment was fuckin' spotless! And she was in the bathtub, face up and all her color, drained out. The expression on her face, in her eyes, it was empty...cold and empty. Next to the body, I found an empty bottle of Percocet and a half-empty handle of vodka. She didn't tell anybody she was leaving. That's how you do it; that's the only way to do it. Fuck, what do I do now?

I don't remember calling anybody, but there were sirens, Paramedics. I remember someone pronouncing her dead, but I don't remember the name or the face. I don't even remember if it was a man or a woman, but I remember them wheeling her out in a bag on a stretcher. I remember the look on her face. I remember those empty eyes.

I'm packing up to leave this place and never come back, I'm stoned as hell and my world is shifting. These halls hold so many memories and they're echoing off the chipped paint and the holes in the walls; I'm all alone, but we're all here. I see the faces and the bodies and the shadows walking through the rooms and somebody's making out on the porch. I hear the voices and the laughter, the screams and the crying, the insults, the apologies, the fights. Those were the days when we lived because we knew we were dying and thought we were invincible. We told stories we'd forget to have told so we could tell them again in five minutes. We listened to music we thought would never get old and we swore by the fashions that would never go out of style. We skipped our classes and went to the beach and drank. Those were the days of reckless abandon, the days of night-time parties and sneaking out of windows, when we thanked the heavens that the walls don't talk and prayed to the Gods our parents didn't notice we were drunk. I'm packing my bags now and remembering. I'm off to embark on the next journey. The same stories won't be told and the walls won't reverberate the same sounds. The ghosts of these halls will not call to me again. I'm high as a kite and I'll fly off with the wind if it'll take me all the places I talked about going when my walls were all that could keep me up without falling.

On the differences between men and women . . .

This is wonderful...it's from raysweb.net 

by Dave Berry

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves.

They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: ''Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?''

And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
 And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . . let's see . . . February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a goddamn garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.

And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a goddamn warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their ..... .

''Roger,'' Elaine says aloud.
''What?'' says Roger, startled.
''Please don't torture yourself like this,'' she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. ''Maybe I should never have . . Oh God, I feel so . .... .''
(She breaks down, sobbing.)
''What?'' says Roger.
''I'm such a fool,'' Elaine sobs. ''I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse.''
''There's no horse?'' says Roger.
''You think I'm a fool, don't you?'' Elaine says.
''No!'' says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
''It's just that . . . It's that I . . . I need some time,'' Elaine says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
''Yes,'' he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
''Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?'' she says.
''What way?'' says Roger.
''That way about time,'' says Elaine.
''Oh,'' says Roger. ''Yes.''

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
''Thank you, Roger,'' she says.
''Thank you,'' says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.
(This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)


The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say 'Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?'

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Bad Vegetarian

By Lauren Belcher
Project #4
Audience: People
Why? A funny look at the life of a non-typical vegetarian.
Word Count: 725 words

I am a terrible vegetarian, the type who doesn’t eat enough variety to stay healthy. My first month of vegetarianism was downright dangerous.

Imagine me, six months ago. I was a carnivore. I ate meat 2-3 times a day, and loved it. One day, I ran across an e-mail about chick culling. I was intrigued and decided to check it out.

Farms cannot profit off of male chicks. They can’t lay eggs and they can’t be used for slaughter. The farmers’ thought: why waste the feed? Chick culling is when the shell egg producers pick out the male chicks and throw them into high-speed grinders.

I swore off meat September 18, 2009.

Only problem is, I’m a picky eater. I won’t eat the following: tomatoes, onions, peppers, mushrooms…pretty much anything that goes on top of a salad or sandwich. Like I usually do, I made a quick decision without thinking it through. It was three days before my 21st birthday and now I’m making a life changing decision. Wonderful.



My first vegetarian meal was at my work, a Tex-Mex stand. I walked up feeling confident and looked at the menu. Well, my usual was the nachos, but I wouldn’t really like it without the meat. Same with the quesadilla. “I guess I’ll have what the other vegetarians order, the bean burrito,” I said.

I’m not a huge fan of beans but I figured I’d better start liking them. So we go down the line as my co-worker is making my burrito. Rice? Sure. Beans? Yes please, the black ones. What vegetables would you like? Uhh… I was staring at containers full of tomatoes, onions, Pico de Gallo, guacamole, corn salsa and several other things that looked equally non-appealing. I told him, just put what vegetarians usually get.

He laughed. My stomach turned as he put all of the above in my burrito. When he was done my burrito looked lumpy and it oozed salsa. I forced a smile and took it from him. “I can do this,” I told myself.

The first bite was the worst. I bit down on a tomato and felt the fleshy pulp slither down my throat, and I was no longer optimistic about my new decision. I ripped open the burrito and forced myself to continue but a few more bites in I quit. At that point the burrito looked sad for me. It was an oozing mess, a total representation of what I would be eating for the rest of my life. Defeated, I left.

The next week consisted of me eating what I normally ate, without meat. My three main food groups were: French fries, pasta and triple layer nachos from Taco Bell. Now that I had plenty of options for food, I decided, “Hey! Why not go vegan?”

So I got rid of my jug of milk, all my cheese and the eggs in my refrigerator just as quickly as I did meat a few weeks earlier. I could no longer have French fries because they are fried in the same oil as meat. I couldn’t really eat pasta because I couldn’t have my usual cream sauces or butter. But Taco Bell was still fine, as long as there was no cheese or sour cream in my food.

Another week of this and I became sick. Really sick. I was dizzy all the time and was seriously lacking the nutrients that my body needed. I had vertigo and was told that I needed to give up the lifestyle.

I couldn’t. After the things I’ve seen, I could not go back to eating meat. So I made a change. I obviously couldn’t be vegan but I could still be a vegetarian. I just needed to eat what I liked. I love squash, zucchini and broccoli. Green beans are my favorite. Maybe I could do this after all.

Today, I’m healthy. I eat a wide variety of foods and introduced soy products as my replacement for meat. There are more selections for vegans and vegetarians than there was five years ago. I’ve learned to adopt new grocery stores and eateries that supported my lifestyle. I replaced milk with soymilk but I still eat the occasional meal with egg and cheese. One day I would like to go full vegan again, but for now, I’m happy to be healthy.

Image from Google Image