Lauren Bishop

Ah, to be in Paradise. I’ve never been an island girl (beaches and palm trees really aren’t my favorite), but I had a fabulous time in Hawaii.

Until I got pink eye.

In both eyes.

And chipped my tooth.

I’m a pale lady.

I know, I know, it’s a terrible thing to be in this 21st century-purge-your-french-fries-before-you-fix-your-mascara world, but I can’t help it. My mother is very fair skinned and my father isn’t exactly dark-complected, and I never really caught on to the idea of kicking a ball around at recess when I could just sit down and read a Laura Ingalls Wilder novel instead. Put all of these sunblock-free activities together and you get one fair eighteen-year-old girl who burns like cookies in the oven ten minutes too long.

It’s not so much that I minded being the only person in California who put on sunscreen before our day in Disneyland, but our vacation to Hawaii is going to be a bit different. Now, I do have some ladies accompanying me to the Big Island that are also pale goddesses, but my SPF 45 is going to run out pretty quick with all the time I know we’ll be spending on the beach.

Fortunately, though, I have bought all of my beach attire and have found an adorable bag that can handle the sand, but really, I can feel my pores already drying out and my skin peeling back. I don’t think I can avoid looking like that crimson crustacean. All hope is lost.

Good morning, Springfield.

California was so, so much fun. After a short stay in the Tulsa and Dallas Fort Worth Airports, we arrived on Tuesday evening to a glorious, windy night with Santa Ana wrapping its arms around us. We ran to the Downtown Disney District and I purchased a pretzel and a medium Sprite from Wetzel’s Pretzels for $7.21. Oh, but this insane price for a small snack was just a taste of the amount of money I’d end up spending on Disney’s magical property over the next six days. I went up to my room and unpacked my belongings, arranged my hairspray and make-up products on the counter, and tucked myself into bed for the night.My room mates, Erin and Aleshia, giggled until the earliest hours of the morning at my stupid jokes and we eventually drifted off into a slumber.

That next morning we rolled out of bed and arrived in the lobby of Disneyland Hotel as a group to go to Disneyland for the day.We walked the quarter mile to the park and negotiated our terms for a magical price of Disneyland. Instead of the $91 for one day park hopper we negotiated the price down to $53 for the entire staff. I was peer pressured into riding every single ride in California Adventure Land and hated every second of Tower of Terror. I don’t really do well on roller coasters, but I usually do okay before and after. It became a running joke on the staff that someone had to sit by me for a really good laugh. But I had fun regardless.We ate lunch at a cute little Italian restaurant in California Adventure Land to celebrate Fran Olive’s (a girl on HTV) seventeenth birthday. That made the day even better.

After a day and night in Disneyland and a short phone call to James I went to sleep. At 6:30 a.m. I woke-up, got ready, and woke up the other girls in my room. The contest of the day was the Sweet Sixteen Contest, a moment where we had to collectively bring together every element of our staff and create a show based off of one word in sixteen hours. HTV Magazine won the first place award last year and programs all over the country had been gunning for months to snatch the award from us.

After we chose our topic from a list of sixteen words we went up to our adviser’s suite and had a staff meeting to discuss our stories.After deciding who went with who and who was doing what, we dispersed with our equipment and got into the HTV zone. Our stories were shot and edited in sixteen hours, and we were significantly less stressed than last year. I was in a team with a fellow Senior Kendra and a junior Rob and we edited our story rather quickly. I helped out everybody who needed an extra pair of hands and stayed calm. We finished our show twenty minutes before deadline and then we all went up to our rooms to hang out for a while.

The next morning, Friday, we went to the opening ceremony to the Tell the Story convention for the Student Television Network, the entire reason why we came. The ceremony was very well produced, as usual, and our keynote speaker was Bob Dotson, noted broadcast journalist and an excellent writer. We attended a breakout session, hosted one, and then ran around for a while. I watched our team produce their music video and was thrilled to see our confident they were about their final product.I went to bed earlier than I usually do because of my contest the next morning that began at 6:15 a.m.I rolled out of bed and went downstairs to my contest room in my pajamas and converse to my contest, Broadcast News Writing. I can’t remember anything of what I wrote during the contest.

But I went back to bed and then took a shower and did very, very little productive things on Saturday. We went shopping, went to Downtown Disney again, and laughed a lot.The STN showcase was that night, and we watched all of the best music videos submitted by schools around the country. The top ten were shown, as well as a few documentaries, and then the top three were awarded trophies. Brook Linder, a student from Glendale who accompanied us on our trip, directed our music video and was extremely nervous about the peer judging of the contest. When first place was announced, Hillcrest High School, we all jumped up and screamed in joy. Brook looked euphoric and no one clapped for us in the entire assembly, but we were the best, and its all due to Brook. We all ran up to our hotel room and hung out for a while, drunk off of adrenaline from winning, and then eventually went to bed.

The next morning was the STN closing ceremony where all the major awards were announced. The first few didn’t matter to us, but then the hosts did a little tease about the words that are used in broadcast journalism and their importance. I had no hope for winning, but my heart was pounding regardless. Honorable Mention, the only award I thought I had a chance of receiving, went to another person, and I gave up. But then my name was announced for second place and I think I screamed. I had no idea what to do, received my award, and sat with a smile on my face for the rest of the ceremony. We won first place in the Sweet Sixteen contest, we won the STN Excellence award, and won Third place in the STN Sports Feature challenge.

I was thrilled with our results, and then we ran away to Huntington Beach, California for the rest of the afternoon. Huntington Beach was beautiful and we ate a Ruby’s on the pier, a restaurant that overlooked the entire ocean with great, classic American food. I had a peanut butter cup milkshake that was to die for, and then we went back to the hotel to watch the season finale of the Amazing Race.

One of my friends, Kendra, is just a big of fan as I am, and was ecstatic when TK and Rachel won. Then, after we watched the show, five girls and myself decided to go to a late night show of 27 Dresses. It was so, so cute, and I was glad I paid the $9.50.

We travelled home via Dallas and Tulsa and I got into my bed at 12:30 p.m., hoping for no school the next day.

And my prayers were answered!

Now, I get to go see my boyfriend this afternoon, after nine days apart. I’m so excited! But I think this blog is long enough, so I’m done now.

Have I told you lately that I’m voting for Hillary Clinton?

I know, I’m pretty much the anti young American voter and I should be worshiping Barack Obama’s “world changing” feet, but I just don’t see the appeal of a zealous young Democrat who hasn’t proven to me that he can actually accomplish what he’s declaring in his stump speeches. I’d rather be evil with Hillary than unprepared with Barack.

But, as the votes are cast in that great state in the north, I’m worried about Hillary’s future. She has the resources behind her from the New England delegates who secured he spot in the Senate the first time and a husband who is deeply rooted in the machine that is Arkansasian politics, but I’m still worried about her campaign. Iowa wasn’t pretty; Hillary was clearly defeated by Barack, but the biggest blow was her swift and short defeat by John Edwards, a man with a fraction of the financial resources backing his campaign. She came into the race a confident, experienced, viable woman who was the obvious nominee for the democrats to defeat the GPO. But now at the quarter-mile mark of the 29-state marathon to the nomination and Hillary’s campaign seems to be running out of steam.

I’m scared.

I don’t want to vote for Barack Obama!

But, on the other side of the political fence, John McCain seems to be causing quite a stir as Rudi “I-love-terrorists-because-they-make-me-famous” Guillani falls behind in the polls. I like John McCain, I like his experience, and I love his character. If I had to have a Republican president, I would accept and be pleased with John McCain, even though my liberal heart longs for change. But wouldn’t you want that happy old man that wears a suit to church every Sunday leading your country? I think so.

Super Tuesday’s around the corner, and I’m off to register to vote this afternoon at my local library…which happens to have a Panera Bread Company right next to it. Political action, tea, and a bagel? I think I’m in.

Sweeney Todd was fantastic.

Not the kind of fantastic you like to talk about every day, but the kind of fantastic that shakes your inner core and makes you want to keep singing songs of death, angst, sadness, and despair. What was so charming about this blood and guts shock fest of a musical was the wit and humor in jokes that were so complicated that I had to whip out some of my English history knowledge to get, or how the scenery added so much to the dark humor found within Johnny Depp’s performance. But it was a totally different level of fantastic as well.

Johnny Depp’s character slits more than a dozen throats in the film, and every single time I saw blood gushing and smothering a razor blade, I laughed. I don’t have any idea if that makes me demented or truly wicked, but I thought Tim Burton’s clever use of angles and a mixture of shots took a horrific image and made it, well, funny. Helen Bonham Carter balanced Depp well, providing a dark contrast to the man she so desperately desired. The singing was poor for a musical, but the acting made up for the lack of vocal ability. I enjoyed every moment of the film, particularly when Mrs. Lovett (Carter) was daydreaming about vacationing on the beach with Todd and Toby, her young employee.

Essentially: Tim Burton’s masterpiece. If you loved Les Miserables or Phantom of the Opera, you’ll adore this film.

We all saw it coming.

Over a month ago, the LA Times asked the question: “Is a writers’ strike really inevitable?” Obviously, a month and a thousand red STRIKE t-shirts later, the core of the modern entertainment industry has melted down, and we’re feeling the result of the blast.

Conan O’Brien’s re-runs every night, the Daily Show has crumbled before our Comedy Central hungry eyes, and I’m craving a new drama to catch my interest. Instead, I’m cuddling up on the couch with my old favorites: season one of West Wing, TBS re-runs of Sex&theCity, and, of course, Passport with Samantha Brown.

The last writers’ strike was in 1988 and lasted for five months; if the masters of the pen hold off for that long, who knows what will pop up on our television screens. Will more broadcast journalism shows pop up simply out of necessity, will Heroes simply freeze mid-season? These writers make a fraction of what major actors, producers, and network executives make on an annual basis, and they are now justifying their outcry for a salary that matches their energy. What’s Ugly Betty without the wit, or Grey’s Anatomy without the insane plot twists and love triangles? NBC, CBS, and ABC aren’t making television magic, they’re simply redistributing it, and the creators of modern entertainment are taking some power back. Not bad for people who are never in front of a camera.

At least I have my books.

New rule: fake handbags are no longer allowed to exist.

Last year, I became acquainted with a girl by the name of “K.” K was fourteen, under the impression that she was far more attractive than she actually was, and sincerely believed that she was very, very fashionable. She was dressed head to toe in commercialized, regurgitated duds from American Eagle and Hollister, and thought she was so cute. She approached me, the oldest in the group, and, of course, the only one who could drive, and decided that she was going to ‘befriend’ me. I asked her a few questions about what she was interested in, being polite and cordial as I always am. She chirped away her responses in a 1990’s post-Clueless fashion, and then gave me enough of her attention between text messages to ask me what I was interested in. I gave my typical responses; Harry Potter, Reading, Writing, Journalism, and Fashion. Her eyes lit up, thinking that we had something in common since the idea of sitting down and processing information was far over her head, and started speaking jibberish to me about Hollister’s newest mini “skirts” and her favorite t-shirt. I smiled, nodded, and divulged a little known fact about myself: my addiction to handbags. She grinned and did an over-exaggerated gasp and went, “Oh my God ME TOO! I have this adorable Chanel bag that my dad bought for me for Christmas from the mall!”

Let’s stop there for a moment, and allow me to explain something briefly to you fashion-inept: Chanel bags do not exist in the Midwest. They simply do /not/ exist. Chanel is one of the most widely known and respected fashion empires in the world, and has a select few boutiques scattered across three continents and two dozen cities. I have been privileged to go inside of one of these stores in Venice and stood outside of one in Florence, and was blown away by the beauty of every item on display. The fact that “K” believed that her middle class family could purchase a Chanel bag at the Battlefield Mall in Springfield, Missouri does not only show her ignorance to fashion in general, but is laughable.

But, I left out my favorite part of my exchange with K. When K was describing her black Chanel tote she did not say Chanel, oh no. She said “Channel.” Three times. In two sentences. Channel, Channel, Channel. I buried my want to laugh in K’s face, and politely ended the conversation pretending I was receiving a text message on my cellphone.

Now, I’m not a fashionista and definitely do not stay up with Parisian trends and stay up all night waiting for Isabella Fiore to debut her newest shoe collection in a time zone six hours ahead of my own, but I am revolted when girls that have no sense of style of their own buy these obviously fake designer purses and make themselves look worse. No, your “Louis Vuitton” bag does not look real, and no, you’re not fooling anyone. Heck, I doubt you’ve ever bought a Vogue or an Elle, or even done a flip-through to scan the most flamboyant ads.

Buying a fake designer purse is like getting breast implants: they look fake, they are fake, and they will never live up to the real deal. Handbags are the ultimate accessory, they can make or break any outfit, and can make even the least fashionable woman (like myself) look sophisticated and sleek. If you’re going to worship the commercialized teen-scene American apparel movement of the 2000’s with your American Eagle polos and Hollister tees, then don’t try to fool anyone with a fake designer purse to make you look “hip” or wealthier than you actually are.

Fake handbags are now officially banned. Burn yours.

On a similar but not very blog-topicy note, I created a scale of purses that I will obtain through my accomplishments. An we’re off:

1. Graduate High School - Marc by Marc Jacobs Handbag
2. Receive Bachelors Degree - MICHAEL Michael Kors Handbag
3. Receive Master’s Degree - Marc Jacobs Bag
4. Hired at a major publication - Prada Handbag
5. Published in a major publication - Isabella Fiore Handbag
6. Visit all seven continents - Dior Handbag
7. Get Married - The Birkin Bag
8. Become a Mother - Chanel Handbag or Clutch

Keep in mind these are in no specific order. What can I say, I’m addicted, and the only cure is more leather.

A brain, an athelete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. “The Breakfast Club” in 1985 defined a generation of teenagers in the simplest terms: categories, or stereotypes. Even though Molly Ringwald’s dance moves and Emilio Estevez’s apparel is a bit out-dated, High School, well hasn’t changed very much.

I guess you could say that through out my four years of life in these halls, I’ve gone through several transformations and cycles. My freshman year was a bit of a mess. I found myself in a niche with the Speech geeks, sulking around the school week and going off on wild adventures to Speech tournaments on the weekends. I was grungy, dark haired, and bushy banged, and didn’t care about what anyone thought of me. I had few friends, and found myself spending time lurking around myspace and listening to dark music on my iPod. I was the basketcase.

In the years since, I’ve transformed and morphed into a combination of a princess and a basketcase. I’ve became overly-involved in activities at my school and have committed my time to improving every organization I’ve been in. I’ve been striving to be the closest thing to the classic American teen academically, getting almost perfect grades, being the president of certain clubs, having great achievements, but I’m still in my unique mold. I’m still a basketcase, but with mascara and powder, I guess we all can turn into princesses if we try hard enough.

Stereotypes are only skin deep, and are based off of perceptions that we all formulate through our experiences in high school. We’re prone to judge people and place them into clearly defined roles to better understand our place in our teenage culture, and everyone has a part to play.

But, underneath our perceptions, views, and upheld expectations of every social group, an individual resides under every stereotype. We’re all unique, we all have experiences that make-up who we are. Understanding people is about understanding individuals, and not making blanket statements based off of race, hair color, clothing, and what generation of iPod a person has. Look beneath the surface, discover humanity one person at a time.

When I was in elementary school one of our favorite games was to play “Titanic” on the playground. Every girl would be Rose, and occasionally we all could convince a boy to pretend to be Jack. We would all stand at the top of the jungle gym clinging onto the railing that was ice cold and felt the waves crash around us, crying out so dramatically to our friends and family that we would never see again. Our last moments were spent in the middle of the day, basking in the warm sun. But every girl wanted to be rescued, to be found, and to have Jack, the common prince, save her.

Even though Chris Columbus depicted the archetype in a glorious, billion-dollar way, fairy tales have been convincing generations for hundreds of years that love and happiness are just around the corner, and that everything comes with a cost.

My favorite of these tales was Sleeping Beauty, the story of Aurora, the maiden of the dawn. Aurora, out of no fault of her own, is trapped in a 500-year dream, waiting for her true love to bestow upon her true love’s first kiss to break the curse on her kingdom and awaken her. This prince must be courageous to penetrate the castle’s defenses created by the curse, and must overcome many of his own obstacles such as fear, dread, and weakness to reach the beautiful maiden.

I love this tale so very much because of the concept of being trapped in youth, or being trapped in your own body. Like most vampire literature fans, I’m drawn to the idea of fighting your own physical body by conquering it mentally. Aurora cannot awaken but she resists through her own way, maintaining her beauty and youth, and waits patiently for her prince to rescue her.

Eventually, of course, the prince awakens Aurora and loves her unconditionally for the rest of her days, but, as I’ve grown older, I’ve thought about how the tale might continue after “the end.” Socially, being maintained at a consist rate without any change or activity to the outside world limits progress, and Aurora’s kingdom’s technology would be devastatingly out-of-date after a 500-year nap. Would Aurora prosper with her prince, or would she be striped out of her title by the suitor and her kingdom be conquered? Would Aurora’s family be forced into hiding, as their military forces would be out of date? Would Aurora live and prosper with a prince she had not established a relationship or connection?

I know that fairy tales are meant to be light-hearted, positive, and happy, but I have looked past the Disney version and drawn my own conclusions. My favorite stories are always the tales that make me ask questions about my environment, and the choices I’ve made.

But I’ll always want to be a princess.