Thanks EThrash187

Today I learned that an old friend has died. Eric drowned on Thursday in a tragic accident. He was the first person I "dated." At the ripe age of 14 and without a driver's license, this meant an occasional group trip to the movie theater and a lot of online chatting. Eric and I didn't work out. The logistics of traveling 31 miles to see each other was impractical, but thanks to the internet, we stayed good friends. We talked so often on AIM that our chat logs, had I saved them, would've amassed countless pages.

We lost touch after high school as many friends do. Hearing about him today, I was saddened by the news. My sadness deepened as I realized the impact of his life on my own. I wish I could thank him for it today, but instead, I'll settle with this blog entry.

Eric was there when I started learning to play the guitar. When I began the hunt for my first electric guitar, we debated Fender versus Ibanez. These are the two brands most newbies gravitate towards. Ibanez, Eric argued, was the more versatile guitar. As a thrash metal enthusiast, he urged me to choose a metal-friendly guitar so I could later shred to my heart's desire. Fender, however, was the choice brand of my favorite bands at the time. I wanted to play like Blink 182, Green Day, and Rancid. Eric Clapton even had a signature Fender model that I saw in the catalogues, and I knew at the time that Eric Clapton was... someone. Eric called me out. He told me I just wanted a Fender because I thought they looked cool! While that was 100% true, I denied it and bought a Schecter instead. That's how much power the guy had over me!

Eric's influence didn't stop there. He opened my eyes to more than the pop punk music I listened to. He pointed out the simplicity of Green Day and Blink 182 songs, that they were just a bunch of power chords with catchy melodies. While I was still allowed to like them (and I do), he showed me the way to greener pastures. He started my music education slowly with Metallica's Master of Puppets. I listened back through their discography, and eventually learned to play my first guitar solos ever with "Fade To Black." I learned that Master of Puppets was Metallica's masterpiece and that it was all downhill afterwards. Eric would later send me in the direction of other musicians I would've taken a lot longer to embrace: Jimi Hendrix, Opeth, Black Sabbath, and more.

Although I wouldn't have consciously thought this before, Eric had a huge impact on the person I am today: my music snobbiness, my random knowledge of metal, even the electric guitar I own. It's crazy to think about the butterfly effect he created. Eric is gone now, but I won't forget his influence on me. Thanks a lot, EThrash187. Your friend, jlgpunk182.

Radio Meditation

I write this from my favorite summer meditation spot, the radio studio. During the year, it's only empty from 2AM to 8AM. In the summer, it's gloriously free almost all the time. I park myself at a couch or even the studio window where I can be alone with my lap top, my thoughts, and a Subway sandwich. While my student card no longer provides me access to computer labs or the library, I can at least come here without feeling like I should be gone.

Man, I feel old. But I'm young and I know it! How can I combat this paranoia? For the past few days, my left hip has been bothering me and my first reaction was to flash forward to a scene at age forty where I have trouble walking. I suppressed that image only to be bombarded by an even scarier scene: me having trouble walking at age twenty-five! And then I thought of health insurance. And then I metaphorically slapped myself in the face, addressed myself as "Jessica," and told myself to get a hold of myself.

I came to the radio station to do just that. For the past 2.5 hours, I wrote some emails, nibbled at a foot-long tuna sub, and stared at the racks of cds meditatively while listening to the rotation playlist. I think I feel better now.

Saying Goodbye

Every now and again, I get so emotional about an event that I am forced to restrain myself from blogging. Graduating. It happened to me almost two weeks ago. Some would even argue I made it happen. I accomplished it. I'd rather not take responsibility for an event so traumatizing.

Four years ago, I wouldn't have guessed that graduating would be such a painful process. As a freshman, I contemplated transferring to Columbia or NYU. I viewed my new friendships with floormates on D6 with suspicion and was repulsed by the preppiness of many of my Georgetown peers. My cynicism, however, could only withstand so many good times. My love of Georgetown grew to epic proportions with each basketball game, group dinner at Leo's, and covert dormroom pre-games.

Four years later, I found myself living with five of my closest friends in the greatest house in all of Burleith (see photo above). It truly was a home with everything that a home should have: a family, good food, good conversation, and comfy couches. It was not unusual for at least one housemate to be awake between the hours of 6AM - 4AM. Consequently, round the clock moral support, as well as delicoius baked goods, were in constant supply.

After graduation, I was the last housemate to depart our Burleith paradise. I braced myself for each of five "goodbye's" and though I knew I'd see everyone again, I cried. It was the dismantling of our family. The drama of it all was emphasized by empty rooms and white walls. Surprisingly, it became easier when everyone left. My anxiety floated away, and I felt like I could finally rest. Maybe because I had tried so hard to stay up late and wake up early hanging onto every moment while everyone was still here.

The sadness of leaving the house behind lingers with me. I am living only a block away now, but it's hard not to remember how great it was as I walk by each day. Now is different, I tell myself. But different is not as good as before. I was lucky to have experienced such an amazing senior year and overall college career. I know that I am lucky, because when I tell people how hard it was for it to end, some can't relate. They can't identify with the feeling of loss.

Graduation may be the most traumatic thing I've gone through, but I think that means I've had a pretty good life so far. Moving on isn't all bad. I do feel accompished, and I am excited to see how I'll turn out. Will I be successful? Will I move somewhere new? What will my first apartment look like? I'm excited to see how friends turn out too. What will they be when they grow up? I think the Class of 2009 thought it would have a clearer idea by now, but the economy has us on our toes.

While I wait to find out, I've got some exciting plans for the next 4 months. In addition to a few jobs to keep me busy, I'll continue writing this blog. I'll write more music. I'll listen to more music. I'll even read. Unfortunately, Suze Orman is high on the priority list.

As a grown-up blogger, what will I write about? I'll figure it out soon. Thanks for reading.

Coming Soon

Behold my return to the blogosphere... in one day. Moving and graduating has set me back, but I am recovered. Tune in.

-Jess

Thank You, NPR

This past week, I toured the NPR studios with Bob Boilen of All Songs Considered. This was amazing for several reasons: First, Bob Boilen is a celebrity of sorts for music listeners and hearing his distinctive voice and seeing him in the flesh was surreal. Second, the NPR studios are mind-blowing, and their staff are rock stars. I was fortunate enough to watch a live taping of All Things Considered. While my love of NPR is firmly rooted in All Songs and music-related programming, watching the flawless execution of All Things was inspiring. The crew were cool as cucumbers and cruised through the show without blinking an eye. Meanwhile, my adrenaline was pumping as my eyes darted from the news personalities to the producer and his instructive gestures to the sound engineer pushing a hundred buttons.

I can't emphasize how important this tour was to me in my outlook on the future. In the past week and a half, I've gone from zero post-graduation plans to 5 months worth of employment. Massive sigh of relief. While this isn't the situation I had imagined for myself at age 21, I'm happy with it. In times like these, I forget what I really want. I tell myself that I'd rather get any job as long as it's full-time and pays. After the NPR tour, I realize that's a lie. I envy the security of jobs in consulting, for instance, but I know that I wouldn't enjoy it. Even if this NPR high only lasts a few weeks, I'm so glad I felt it.

I have struggled with blogging for the past two weeks, because I've only wanted to talk about my perceived worthlessness. I know no one wants to read that, so please endure this paragraph. I, like many of my fellow 2009 graduates, are feeling like everything we've done for the past 8 years is meaningless. Should we have just tried to join the US Postal Service after high school? Those are some enviable salaries... and I only wish that was sarcasm! I don't think anyone expects to literally be unemployable after 4 years of college, but this is what we face. This will be a fantastic story to tell in another 20 years after it's all worked out, but it's hard to see the hilarity when it's all still happening.

Places I've found inspiration through it all? Housemates and friends. Professors that know my name. Videos of babies hula-hooping. I can't put into words how meaningful it was for me to have a professor that expresses some level of caring about me as a student or, even better, as a person. It was almost shocking to me, but it has been a defining part of my undergrad experience.

I hope this didn't come off as some kind of plea for pity. I meant it more to paint a picture of the world that lies before those graduating this semester. Let us be poor. Let us complain. Let us be bushy-tailed and bright-eyed about our aspirations. If you find yourself losing hope, go on a tour of something. A brewery, a museum, a network station, anything! We're too young to give up already. One thing that you can expect of me in 20 years: I'm going to help the shit out of some poor, jobless college student. Hold on to your hats.