With presidential primaries right around the corner, this newly registered voter has shamelessly been doing nothing in her spare time but obsessively following the newest possible leaders of the free world. As a whole-hearted political junkie, I take pleasure in researching stances on controversial issues, voting records and, of course, finding out if the National Inquirer has anything interesting to say about the next possible president.

I want to be a political journalist. I want to be loved (hated) by the people who mold our country. Yes, I want to provide for myself by practicing in a dying profession on the topic of generally scummy people.

But as I haunt Politico and follow PresidentialElection (@2012_President) on Twitter, I can’t help but wonder about the changes that technology has brought to the field of presidential reporting and if this updated field is really something I want to be a part of.

In my minds eye, I’m R.W. ‘Johnny’ Apple Jr., not the voice behind another political newsfeed with a 140-character maximum.

No longer do reporters rub elbows with presidential contenders vying for votes in small towns in Iowa. No longer do they know candidates up close and personally. after hours and off the record. No longer do they have weeks to dig deep and analyze before they have to churn out a story because they are so busy tweeting, blogging and shooting 60 second video clips.

But journalists, no matter the medium, aren’t the only ones who have changed the way we do things. It was not so long ago that presidential wannabes were talking to reporters, seeking them out even, because whether or not they loathed or loved them – they needed them. In presidential races of yesteryear candidates were often seen sauntering into the world of the working class so that reporters could get to know him. Not anymore.

In the words of Politico chief political columnist Roger Simon, “Nowadays, a reporter considers herself or himself lucky if the press secretary returns the call.

To put it bluntly – politicians have cut out the middleman. They prefer using Youtube, Twitter and Facebook to communicate directly with their voters. They simply don’t have a strong need for the old fashioned reporter.

In an interview with Lear’s magazine, Apple said the following: “Newspaper people love impossible dreams. I suppose we are reckless sentimentalists. If we didn’t love impossible dreams, we would not still be working in an industry whose basic technologies were developed in the 17^th century.”

Those impossible dreams have not changed. I hold my hope for the future of my desired field in the fact that political reporting is still very much about distributing information that is important to the functioning and the future of democracy.

Maybe it is the resilience of that dream – instead of the tweets, the blog posts, the friend number or character count – that still defines who a journalist is. Maybe it’s the curiosity. Maybe it’s the tenacity. Maybe is the willingness to root out the truth at all costs. But either way – I’m proud to be a part of it.

I am an old soul. I write letters on stationary, I only understand the most basic of technological functions, I use only a pen and paper to conduct interviews and I own more close-and-play record players than I care to admit.

It is indisputable that I was supposed to be born in 1950, enjoying the presidency of John F. Kennedy and the music of John Lennon in the 60s, following Stevie Ray Vaughn around the country in the 70s, refusing to grow up in the 80s and crying when Bill Clinton was elected in the 90s.

As I let myself fall into this fascination with past generations, I have realized maybe I don’t have so much a respect for my elders as disrespect for my own time. I find myself idolizing writers, artists, politicians, protestors and musicians of the past and hating those of my own generation.

I recently sat down to read 1960s pop-culture analysis book, “There’s a Riot Going On,” and before I’d even begun, the novel’s tribute caught my attention. It read: “and to Georgia & Tom Ansell, in the hope that their generation finds the will to question authority and the vision to change the world.”

I found this request compelling. Here, someone who has not only watched, but dissected the rise and fall of a completely revolutionary generation, is wishing the same thing upon us, a people of a completely different time. On an otherwise blank page, a complete stranger is asking me and my peers to have the passion to mold the world.

Now, the few people I have talked to about the subject look at me with undeniable apathy, saying, “I wouldn’t even know what to change.” This frightens me. Here we sit in a world full of poverty, declining economies, corrupt governments and thriving intellects, and the people of my generation are threatening to sit idly by and do nothing.

Sure, we may not face the same problems of the 60s. We aren’t fighting for the liberation of minorities or toppling global capitalism, but the problems we face are no less real and no less threatening. So why are we determined to make our generation less impactful?

During the time of these raging revolutionaries, even a 15-year-old schoolboy with the most limited grasp of world events could easily determine which side he was on, but now, I guarantee 80 percent of the CHS senior class couldn’t name three GOP candidates or five countries the U.S. occupies.

I refuse to be part of this apathetic generation. I want my peers to reflect the revolution of a new time; I want to leave a mark on America.

This year at CHS has brought several changes, notably new administrators, adjustments to dress code, and the usual wave of incoming freshman. I am beginning to not recognize the place that has been my home away from home for the last four years.

The flowers outside the library seem less colorful, the freshmen seem more clueless and the workload seems less and less (and less) important to me than in previous years.

But as I sit down and think about it, I realize that maybe this feeling doesn’t come from the new vending machines or the old carpet; maybe this feeling is something that has developed within me. Everyone constantly complains about ‘senioritis,’ but I have found myself afflicted with something slightly different than the usual need to just get away.

Rather than developing an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia and an impatient desire to be done with the high school curriculum, the opposite idea has struck me – the world is at my fingertips. This is the time when I get to explore my interests, discover new ones and finally learn what I want to learn.

I’m that person who could go to school forever and be perfectly happy. I want to go to law school, but I don’t actually want to be a lawyer. I think medical school would be endlessly fascinating, but the thought of practicing medicine makes me sick to my stomach. I am happy to spend the rest of my life learning, but I want to be able to call the shots on what I learn.

While the CHS course guide lacks a class named ‘Why Rick Perry is a Complete Idiot,’ I have begun to realize that what my school has to offer doesn’t have to be the line in the sand on what I actually learn. We live in an instantaneous era, and for that reason, I have been able to pull myself out of the usual senior year rut.

Like most (all) high school students, I find 11 p.m. rolling around without a thought given to my homework, but for reasons that are foreign to some of my classmates. Rather than spending hours taking photos of myself on a webcam or posting tons of notes on Facebook about how bored I am, I have started to learn about things I actually want to know about. I have read over half of the Federalist Papers, I’ve trolled through the first seven chapters of Constitutional Law for a Changing America and, through all of it, I find myself actually thrilled to be learning.

So as I sit in C231 and B112 memorizing patterns, rhetorical devices and irrelevant formulas, I find myself reaching further and further out and getting further and further away from home.  This is my time to do with what I please and I plan to change the world someday – but maybe not with what I learned in high school.

While there seemed to be a sense of national jubilation on the night of May 1, when it was announced to the world that Navy SEALS killed the infamous leader of al-Qaeda, there was some confusion about how to act.

This is because Americans are more used to grieving for their country than celebrating its victory, and the line between patriotism and human decency is not clearly defined for that special circumstance when an enemy of the state is brought to justice. They do not want to celebrate death in the streets because it is bitterly reminiscent of the crowds in several Arab countries that celebrated the deaths of more than three thousand Americans on September 11, 2001.

Americans are left in an awkward situation. Every person who truly comprehends the horrors of 9/11 felt a sense of satisfaction when they heard the news of Osama bin Laden’s death. The natural reaction was to celebrate, but celebration seemed strange in response to a death.

Personally, I was elated when I heard the news. So much so that I actually clapped and yelled gleefully. Then, I texted all of my friends and woke them up so that they could watch the news and witness the historic event. I wanted to make sure that everyone realized how significant the event was.

For teenagers, Facebook statuses are one of the most immediate forms of expression for high school students, and my newsfeed blew up with things like, “We got him, ‘bout time,” and, “Osama bin Laden: Hide and Seek Champion 2001-2011.” Most people were happy and excited, while others admonished their friends in their own statuses, saying that no one should celebrate a death, even the death of someone as evil as bin Laden. For myself, I posted “God bless America” as my Facebook status.

So which response is more appropriate? It is impossible to blame anyone for being happy about his death, but there is a limit to the amount you can celebrate before it becomes uncomfortable for everyone else.

For example, the crowds gathered at Ground Zero, paying tribute to their fellow New Yorkers who they lost on 9/11, is an example of the appropriate kind of celebration. The mood was somber, but satisfied. They were mature, humble and thankful.

On the other hand, there was craziness at the White House. What the New Yorkers handled with grace, the college students in Washington D.C. turned into a frat party. No one can blame them for their excitement, but their response was not very dignified and showed them in an unfavorable light. They just seemed like crazy kids who found an excuse to let loose.

It is up to every individual American to decide how to react to these circumstances, but I encourage you to take news the way the New Yorkers did. Be thankful, be relieved and be happy. Just be tactful as well, and help set America set an example for other countries to follow.

Staff Writer

It is well known fact that kids of our generation will forever be remembered by our adaptation and embracement of the advancements in technology which have taken place over the course of our short lives.

From the Internet to the cell phone to the iPod, technology has shaped the way we think about things. And while these advancements have not only created new ways to communicate, such as texting and blogging, they have taken away from the past times that we used to enjoy before inventions such as Facebook.

For me, the distractions of the Internet have hindered my life in ways they were never intended to. Whenever I do homework on the computer, there is always an urge to check my Facebook, Flickr, or dashboard of Tumblr. And the addition of Netflix has made my home life even more pathetic as I now watch myself happily spend an extra hour on the computer doing nothing besides watching movies or TV shows.

This bothers me. I grew up living on the outskirts of Tyler, spending a majority of my time outdoors being a kid and getting involved in all sorts of tomfoolery. I didn’t even have cable until I was ten years old. Now, I watch my wasted teenage self becoming more and more dependent on a metal box for all of my entertainment.

Perhaps the most devastating part of this growing dependency is the reduction in the number of hours I spend reading. As the hours on the computer accumulate, the precious time I used to spend curled up on the couch with a good paperback have significantly decreased. As an advocate for literature and the expansion of its popularity, I feel like a hypocrite for becoming someone I never thought I could be; a modern day zombie.

It has reached the point to where my parents feel the need to restrict my computer time in a very serious way. One of the features of Windows Vista is that it allows “Parental Control”, a feature that gives parents the option of restricting the amount of hours their child can spend on the computer, what kind of games they can play and what web sites they can view.

As a 17-year-old, it’s frustrating to watch my parents control my activities in such a direct way, but at the same time I’m grateful to them for not allowing me to spend as much time as I want to on the computer. If that were the case, it’s likely I would get even fewer hours of sleep than I already receive.

With all this being said, I’ve decided I need to make a change in my life. While I could quit the computer cold turkey, studies have shown that the results are typically better when an addict weans themselves off of their addiction. So I’ve made it my solemn duty to starting reading before bed like I used to.

Sadly, I know this process won’t be easy, but if it means I spend my time doing more of what I love than what I have come to love, so be it. The couch and I have got some catching up to do.

Photo by Ashleigh Heaton

Ashleigh Heaton
Entertainment Editor

I have read and seen Romeo and Juliet hundreds of times, and yet I still cry when Juliet wakes up to see Romeo, dead.

I have seen the old ‘60s movie version of the play, Baz Lahrum’s ‘90s modern movie remake, watched it live at Shakespeare in the Park and read the piece too many times than I intend to confess to. I still devour Shakespeare’s words, whispering Juliet’s lines under my breath as the story unfolds – hoping, all the way through, that by some miracle the ending would magically change, the words altered to leave nothing but the happiest of endings.

But despite each of the many times I wish this, the chorus still closes the final act with “for never has there been a tale of such woe/Than this of Juliet and her Romeo”.

I guess that, at the core, I’m just a hopeless romantic. Yes, I do believe in true love. Yes, I do believe in soul mates. And yes, I do believe in happily-ever-afters. Unfortunately, in this fast-paced world, it feels like there is no room for us silly little people obsessed with love – our heads are just floating up above the clouds, they say, and we need to be more realistic about the world.

Why does no one believe in Juliet and her Romeo anymore? When did love become trivial?

In all fairness, I have little room to talk: I’ve never really been in a serious relationship, nor have I ever experienced love past the schoolgirl crush. Never in my life have I felt a love so strong that I would be willing to raise a dagger to my chest and take my life for the one I love.

But, strange as it may sound…I want that love. Of course, I like to think that I would never become so hormone-driven as to kill myself over a guy, but Juliet saw it differently. To be so devoted to someone that you would follow them even in the afterlife is, though morbid, beautiful – poetry of human nature.

It’s strange of me to be musing about this weeks after Valentine’s Day (or, as some of my friends have deemed it, Singles Awareness Day), but love shouldn’t be packaged into one Hallmark-blasted day of the year – love is everywhere around us in all different forms, romantic or not. Everyday should be an opportunity to embrace that experience.

And in this world of war and hate and chaos, it is a miracle that love has room to take root at all. To me, love is more than the bliss and happiness of two people: it is hope. Hope that humans may not be thoroughly evil to the core. Hope that the sun will always rise. Hope that we are all worth something. Hope.

Without love, what would make life worthwhile?