The movie was definitely upsetting to me! It was a great film, but the story it was based on infuriated me. I don't like liars to begin with, but seeing a real-life journalist get away with fabricated stories really does make me mad. At first, I didn't like Chuck Lane. But by the end of the movie, he was my favorite (because of his honesty and fairness). It scared me a little bit, though. I love to write, but the idea of deadlines and competitive journalism scares the hell out of me. Thank God we have fact-checkers for news, otherwise I'm sure there'd be Stephens all over the place; all of them lying to the public. I'd actually enjoy that as a job-- double-checking quotes and people and story lines. Editing someone's stories would be wicked as well! I love correcting grammar and punctuation, so I wouldn't mind doing that for a newspaper or magazine.
As for the class itself, I liked playing around with photoshop (it WAS frustrating, however), and posting our stories on a blog. I thought that was cool. I didn't really like the deadlines (but I told you that already), because I like taking my time on pieces. Writing is something I want to do as a career, and this type of writing I hadn't explored quite yet, so thank you for that. It was a fun, laid-back class, which I needed for 4th quarter!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Feature Story- Cosmo Project
In August of 2009, I entered the express line at Apple Valley’s Target, to quickly pay for a gallon of milk. In front of me was a woman with two children, and definitely more than 10 items in her cart. I sighed and tapped my fingers against the carton in my hand. Looking around, my eyes landed on the rack of magazines adjacent to the stack of candies. The electric purple background, the hot magenta title, and Katy Perry were all staring at me. Cosmopolitan Magazine proclaimed its headlines: “What You Should Never Let Your Gyno Do!”, “The Orgasm Whisperer”, and “Get Hit On All The Time (Your Friends Will Be Really Annoyed)”. Having just finished my sophomore year of high school, I blushed just reading the cover. But I had 10 bucks on me, and a whole lot of curiosity. I quickly picked up the magazine, and put it face down on the register. When it was finally my turn to pay, the male cashier flipped over the magazine to scan it, and I felt my face growing hot. I looked like I was 12 years old, and felt the shame burn my cheeks when he said,
"Thank you, have a good day".
He probably thought I was going to go home and read it cover to cover, or do something lewd after reading it, or something. I immediately had the feeling of being judged after purchasing Cosmopolitan, and put it in a bag to take home.
Once I got in the door, I set the bag on the counter. My mother looked inside.
"Meaghan, what is this? Orgasm whisperer? Why do you have this?" She interrogated, shocked.
"Curiosity," I shrugged, and started up the stairs. "Just gonna look through it."
Up in my room, I paged through the contents of the infamous Cosmo. I gasped at the articles, the stories, the quizzes, and the Red Hot Read at the back of the issue. Being 16, I giggled at plenty of the topics, for which Cosmo takes pride in writing about. But I regained a seriousness; something drew me in, and I found the magazine more fascinating than funny. In the health section, my eyes widened at facts and statistics. In the fashion section, I circled all the cute heels and leggings I wanted for my birthday. By the time I was finished (yes, I read it cover to cover), I realized I was eager to buy another one. Really, I had no reason to buy it-- Cosmopolitan's main audience is 18-35 year-old women, and I was an Irish Catholic teenager. What was I going to do with a scandalous magazine?
As soon as the next issue was in newsstands, I went and bought it. Again, I got red and embarrassed at the register. But by the time I returned home, the excitement in flipping through the sexy ads to the meat of the magazine drove me crazy. I devoured every word and image I saw, savoring the relaxing time I had, yet reading it with earnest. I saved up $4.95 each month; there was no way my mother would let me subscribe to it.
By winter of junior year, I had a boyfriend, which meant I had real incentive to buy the product. Everything in Cosmo that had only been interesting to me had now become extremely relevant to my life. I read it under the table at dinner, peeked at it during class, and brought it with me whenever I had to wait in a line. Soon after the December issue, I began quoting Cosmo. Not just around my boyfriend and friends, but amongst my classmates and teachers, even my parents. Many of my peers, and even some adults became accustomed to hearing me say, "Well, Cosmo says..." or, "But in Cosmo they say...". I referred to it as if it were the Bible, and its articles were the Scriptures. To me, every Ph. D in Sex and Cosmopolitan editor was a prophet, proclaiming the word of our goddess, Cosmo. The women on its covers were saints, symbolizing beauty. Every follower, including myself, had to be three things: fun, fearless, female.
Eventually, after I preached my gospels in classrooms and dining halls, I had people coming to me, seeking advice. They knew I was an avid Cosmo reader, and had proved Cosmopolitan valid with research and personal experience. So, I had students asking for dating advice, questions on sexual health, and beauty tips. Yes, when I didn't know the answer (let's be real, that was rare), I would tell the asker to look it up, or see a professional. Sometimes, I would get an immature guy asking an inappropriate question. Always, I would respond maturely and professionally. I no longer snickered at anything I read, but instead, studied intently.
By the end of 2010, I had collected every issue. I didn't recycle them, because I wanted to obtain all the information I had learned. At this point, I had applied to universities and was fully aware that I'd be in college next September.
"Of course I'm going to bring all my magazines, Mum." I spoke at breakfast one morning. She had become immune to the fact that I was indeed, obsessed with Cosmopolitan Magazine.
"You can't take all of those-- your roommate won't have any room for her stuff!" she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.
"Well, I won't leave them here. You'll throw them out." I pointed this problem out, and she agreed. That day at school, I pondered about what I was going to do.
By the end of the day, the Cosmo Project was established. The magazine had become a diety to me, and you don't leave your faith at home when college rolls up. I had two huge stacks in my room, just in case I ever needed to refer back to a certain article or something. My plan was this: keep collecting, read each one thoroughly, indulge in its glory, enjoy its divinity, etc. etc., and then cut out any articles, information, facts, or stories I wish to bring to college. After I had all the info I needed, I would then add it to a folder. I'll have categorized everything, creating a Table of Contents for Cosmo Look, Fun Fearless Fashion, Love & Lust, Health Check, and Cosmo Life. When I've graduated, I'll have an organized portfolio of everything I need to know.
When my roommate has a fashion emergency, I can grab the Cosmo binder and flip to page whatever, to solve her problem. When I need to know what moisturizer is best for my skin type, I'll look in the binder. When my panicking friend is having issues with her significant other, or going on a first date, I will have the binder ready.
The collection of information over the course of 21 issues will definitely be enough to save any woman in her first year of college. Cosmopolitan Magazine has become a reference I use for anything in daily life. It empowers, encourages, and entertains females. Now, when I go into Target for the monthly issue, I take it to the register with confidence. I hand it over, face up.
"Thank you, have a good day".
He probably thought I was going to go home and read it cover to cover, or do something lewd after reading it, or something. I immediately had the feeling of being judged after purchasing Cosmopolitan, and put it in a bag to take home.
Once I got in the door, I set the bag on the counter. My mother looked inside.
"Meaghan, what is this? Orgasm whisperer? Why do you have this?" She interrogated, shocked.
"Curiosity," I shrugged, and started up the stairs. "Just gonna look through it."
Up in my room, I paged through the contents of the infamous Cosmo. I gasped at the articles, the stories, the quizzes, and the Red Hot Read at the back of the issue. Being 16, I giggled at plenty of the topics, for which Cosmo takes pride in writing about. But I regained a seriousness; something drew me in, and I found the magazine more fascinating than funny. In the health section, my eyes widened at facts and statistics. In the fashion section, I circled all the cute heels and leggings I wanted for my birthday. By the time I was finished (yes, I read it cover to cover), I realized I was eager to buy another one. Really, I had no reason to buy it-- Cosmopolitan's main audience is 18-35 year-old women, and I was an Irish Catholic teenager. What was I going to do with a scandalous magazine?
As soon as the next issue was in newsstands, I went and bought it. Again, I got red and embarrassed at the register. But by the time I returned home, the excitement in flipping through the sexy ads to the meat of the magazine drove me crazy. I devoured every word and image I saw, savoring the relaxing time I had, yet reading it with earnest. I saved up $4.95 each month; there was no way my mother would let me subscribe to it.
By winter of junior year, I had a boyfriend, which meant I had real incentive to buy the product. Everything in Cosmo that had only been interesting to me had now become extremely relevant to my life. I read it under the table at dinner, peeked at it during class, and brought it with me whenever I had to wait in a line. Soon after the December issue, I began quoting Cosmo. Not just around my boyfriend and friends, but amongst my classmates and teachers, even my parents. Many of my peers, and even some adults became accustomed to hearing me say, "Well, Cosmo says..." or, "But in Cosmo they say...". I referred to it as if it were the Bible, and its articles were the Scriptures. To me, every Ph. D in Sex and Cosmopolitan editor was a prophet, proclaiming the word of our goddess, Cosmo. The women on its covers were saints, symbolizing beauty. Every follower, including myself, had to be three things: fun, fearless, female.
Eventually, after I preached my gospels in classrooms and dining halls, I had people coming to me, seeking advice. They knew I was an avid Cosmo reader, and had proved Cosmopolitan valid with research and personal experience. So, I had students asking for dating advice, questions on sexual health, and beauty tips. Yes, when I didn't know the answer (let's be real, that was rare), I would tell the asker to look it up, or see a professional. Sometimes, I would get an immature guy asking an inappropriate question. Always, I would respond maturely and professionally. I no longer snickered at anything I read, but instead, studied intently.
By the end of 2010, I had collected every issue. I didn't recycle them, because I wanted to obtain all the information I had learned. At this point, I had applied to universities and was fully aware that I'd be in college next September.
"Of course I'm going to bring all my magazines, Mum." I spoke at breakfast one morning. She had become immune to the fact that I was indeed, obsessed with Cosmopolitan Magazine.
"You can't take all of those-- your roommate won't have any room for her stuff!" she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.
"Well, I won't leave them here. You'll throw them out." I pointed this problem out, and she agreed. That day at school, I pondered about what I was going to do.
By the end of the day, the Cosmo Project was established. The magazine had become a diety to me, and you don't leave your faith at home when college rolls up. I had two huge stacks in my room, just in case I ever needed to refer back to a certain article or something. My plan was this: keep collecting, read each one thoroughly, indulge in its glory, enjoy its divinity, etc. etc., and then cut out any articles, information, facts, or stories I wish to bring to college. After I had all the info I needed, I would then add it to a folder. I'll have categorized everything, creating a Table of Contents for Cosmo Look, Fun Fearless Fashion, Love & Lust, Health Check, and Cosmo Life. When I've graduated, I'll have an organized portfolio of everything I need to know.
When my roommate has a fashion emergency, I can grab the Cosmo binder and flip to page whatever, to solve her problem. When I need to know what moisturizer is best for my skin type, I'll look in the binder. When my panicking friend is having issues with her significant other, or going on a first date, I will have the binder ready.
The collection of information over the course of 21 issues will definitely be enough to save any woman in her first year of college. Cosmopolitan Magazine has become a reference I use for anything in daily life. It empowers, encourages, and entertains females. Now, when I go into Target for the monthly issue, I take it to the register with confidence. I hand it over, face up.
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