The Lighthearted Side of D.C. and Beyond

I've touched on the sessions and my overall thoughts of our trip, but, boys and girls, I'm straying off the beaten path to recap some of characters we encountered outside of the confines of the Washington Hilton, nestled near Dupont Circle.

Upon our arrival in D.C., we took the Metro subway to Dupont Circle. Unfortunately, we were on the train at the same time as seemingly half of Washington, as they all appeared to be leaving work. Our peaceable group, well representative of Southern hospitality, was bombarded by hordes of impatient subway riders hardened by their thankless jobs. One particular Wall Street wannabe shoved right past me and didn't even stop to confront me after I sarcastically remarked: "Excuse you."

Perhaps the most interesting Washingtonian we met on our trip was our tour guide at the Founding Church of Scientology. A sign at the facade of the church advertised an open house, so a large chunk of our group thought it would be worth a look merely to see what goes on inside.

We were greeted by a chipper, bespectacled woman who was a little too excited that we wanted a tour. She gave us a brief history of L. Ron Hubbard and the church itself. We were even allowed into what they claimed was Hubbard's office. If that were the case -- and even if it weren't -- a creepy feeling lingered in the moldy air that hung around in the room like a wet blanket on a helpless child.

Later we were led in the basement of the church where our guide showed us the infamous E-meter and even used it on another conference-goer (he went to a school in Idaho, if my memory serves me correctly). I wasn't convinced that the E-meter actually worked, for it appeared as if she were merely twisting the knobs to keep up appearances. Overall, they failed to convert me even after the guide asked me if I had been here before.

The remainder of the conference remained somewhat mild. However, once we boarded the rubber-band airplane back to Shreveport, things took a turn for the hilarious. The single flight attendant "serving" us on Flight 3495 must have had a bad night, for she was outright rotten. She reminded me of a Waffle House waitress (or a waitress from similar nicotine-soaked all-night establishments).

Unfortunately for poor Lela, who was trying with all of her might to turn off an unwilling laptop, the attendant from hell chose her to unleash her raspy wrath. The following conversation closely reflects what occurred shortly before takeoff:

ATTENDANT (in a loud raspy hiss): I told you FIVE MINUTES AGO to turn that off. It interferes with our navigation...
LELA: I'm trying. It's not...
ATTENDANT: If I have to ask you again, I'm stopping this plane and I'm kicking you OFF!!!

Much to the amusement of the plump businesswomen who sat in front of me, the attendant's attitude didn't change for the remainder of the flight.

Fortunately, the flight went off without further incident, and we arrived safely and wearily back to the quaint Shreveport Regional Airport.

For now,
Richelle Stephens

As Always, All Good Things Must Come To An End

As I write this particular post a week after the fact, the memory remains fresh in my mind. The sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle, every aspect of our short albeit busy stay in our nation's capital is still vivid in my mind. I have no doubt that I will be returning there someday.

Dr. Lee wrote in an earlier post of the emerging unity of the small group of Demons (for the uninitiated, the Demon is our school mascot) that went to this conference. There is no doubt in my mind that convergence in the journalism department is possible; the way that we came together in the duration of this conference shows that the same can be accomplished on campus. However, it's up to the students to make this dream a reality. I'm currently involved with three sectors of this department: I'm the Music Director for KNWD, I write for the Sauce, and I'm on the NSU-22 Tuesday and Thursday crew.

But enough about me...I'll end this thought by saying that the department's goal of convergence is easily possible.

Redirecting my train of thought to the D.C. trip: Needless to say, it was an educational experience that extended far beyond the sessions. I was able to observe how Washingtonites live day to day; their hurried lifestyle closely mirrors the lifestyle I saw in the people I sat in traffic with every day this past summer back home in Dallas. This is relevant because journalism has to adapt to this increasingly rushed world we inhabit.

Unfortunately it appears as though in a hundred years (or even earlier than that) we may not be obtaining our news from a printed source. I take it back -- it's not a question of "if" but one of "when." As the next generation of journalists prepare to enter the battlefield, we must be armed with the technological prowess to keep the constant flow of information readily available for our time-deprived public.

For now,
Richelle Stephens

D.C. Departure.

Leaving D.C. was physically easier than arriving, but many of us found it hard to leave. The sun shone brightly on our last day in the District, a bittersweet ending to a waterlogged but wonderful trip.

We began our stay in D.C. having dinner together. We closed it with a leisurely al fresco lunch before heading off to the airport.

Final thoughts on D.C.

While the rain precluded extensive tourist activities, I used my time wisely for the most part and tried to see as much as possible. Anytime I go to a new place, I'm always overwhelmed with the realization, perhaps a cognitive dissonance, that life has been going on there forever without me even knowing about it. I left with some interesting impressions, and frankly, surprised. When I thought of D.C. before this trip I thought of a boring, flat city with only a couple of gray monuments sticking out here and there. But I left having seen some really pretty sides of D.C., especially the neighborhood we were staying in.

When we were checking into the hotel on Wednesday evening, I took a seat next to a telephone and memo pad. I looked down and caught a glimpse of some writing on the pad and picked up the sheet for a more thorough examination. "The city of acronyms and obfuscation..." began the rather poetic scribbling. I thought that over for a while and wondered who might have written that. Taxation without representation.

Jim Mustian