Five O'Clock Wednesday Morning and I'm Waiting . . .

For those of you who have clearly never worked a fast food job in your life, I feel the need to explain this to you in detail, so you may understand my situation. When you visit my work at 5am on payday, there is a grand total of two (yes, count that, two) workers busting their ass to help you. The first person is in the back of the restaurant cooking your food and making your sandwiches, etc. The second person is me. From the time you arrive, I take your order, make your french fries, make your drinks, bag your food, pay out your order, and hand out your food. I am also in charge of keeping the restaurant clean and stocked. Oh, and did I mention that in addition to those twenty people in the drive-thru with you, I also have to wait on the 20+ people in my lobby? Between the hours of 10pm and 6am it is ONLY ME there in the front. I do the very best I can. So, the next time you get mad at me because you have to wait a while for your order, keep in mind that the person in the lobby that came before you just ordered 50 sandwiches. Oh and also, you're an asshole.

Racism in Social Media / Small Town Prejudice

Lately, I've started to become increasingly concerned with the amount of "friends" I've had to delete from my Facebook for racial slurs / comments. These comments are out of control and unnecessary in this day and age. It is the year 2014 and, surely, we have moved beyond such closed minded thoughts. I'm even more ashamed that the majority of the comments come from people from my own home town. With a population of a little over 3,000 people, it is understandable that some peer pressure / bandwagon behavior may go on; however, the behavior I've seen come out of my home town is ignorant and inexcusable. I am downright SICKENED by the words I have read on my news feed. Not only have racist comments been made, but comments about sexual orientation and religion have been thrown in, as well. This is unacceptable. While I am by no means a Liberal, I do believe respect needs to be shown for these individuals. No one deserves that kind of immature and harsh criticism about topics so near and dear to them. This behavior is simply archaic and I urge you all to exhibit that same type of response I had and immediately take action against this backward thinking. It is our job as a societal culture to mold and shape our future for the next generation, and that can only be achieved by setting a good example and shunning negative behavior. God bless, keep an open mind, and love your brethren. <3

Life Tips

#1 Relax and go with the flow. 

Stop letting every tiny little detail bother you. Just take a deep breathe, chill, and smile because today is a beautiful day. 

#2 Dont set yourself up for failure. 

Always have a plan B. Your favorite fast food joint is out of chicken nuggets?! My God, it's the end of the world. Actually, it isn't. Now may be a good time to start that diet you've been putting off for the last year... Or two. Maybe, just MAYBE, you can even try something new. Who knows, you might even like it!

# 3 Treat people with respect and KINDNESS. 

Having a bad day? More often than not, being nice to others will make you feel good about yourself. Instead of yelling and making everyone around you feel terrible also, you should try giving out compliments. Throwing in a "please" or "thank you" every now and then wouldn't hurt either. 

#4 Forget about status. 

Oh you're better than me because I work at McDonalds? I forgot to part where you're a big shot millionaire. You mean you're NOT? You don't even have a job? Well goodness, you are clearly a much more valuable person than myself. Drop the drama. No one gives a shit where you work or who you are, show kindness and respect to everyone you meet, regardless of their status. 

Moments in Time

Within all the bad in the world, I find it necessary to search for good moments wherever you can. Amid all the negative memories surrounding me, I have moments of clarity, memories that stand out against all the rest. To those who were apart of them, thank you for giving me my moment. You will never understand how much you have impacted my life.

I recall . . .

. . . standing under a blanket of snowfall, the headlights of my car forming a cocoon for us against the dark of night. In my memory, there is music playing softly from the car speakers (maybe there was, maybe there wasn't). I'm looking up into your eyes and your arms are wrapped around me, the only thing keeping me warm. The snow continues to float down around us like a blizzard and I watch as snowflakes rest on your eyelashes a moment before melting. In my mind, this night was perfect.

. . . sitting on the steps of the church, hugging my knees to my chest. I'm crying, about more than you think I am. The rain is pouring down around me, soaking through my clothes. Without saying a word, you pull me up and kiss me, right there in the middle of the rain. You kiss away everything I'm thinking about and in that moment, I'm just me. I can't remember if anything was said, but I find it doesn't matter because words weren't really needed. I still find freedom in the rain to this very day.

. . . being so incredibly mad at you. I'm pacing the apartment, checking my phone repeatedly. It's late, and you haven't come home from work or contacted me. I don't know whether you are hurt or simply avoiding me. Finally, you get home and I'm met with the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. In my hands I hold a tiny little puppy that couldn't be more than 3 or 4 lbs, and she's beautiful. I fall in love immediately. Her name? Fleur. My perfect little flower.

Maybe I'll add more later, maybe I won't. My point is that in order to move on with your life and be happy, you absolutely have to remember the good moments rather than the bad. Even if things may seem dark, know there is always a ray of light somewhere in your life, no matter how small. For me, I will always have my moments.

While We're At It, Here's Another!

And yet another "book" I never finished.

Prologue

          Screaming, all I can hear is the incessant screaming. Why are they in so much pain? How can I stop it? The agony is driving me over the edge. Millions of them lie in waste, their blood-stained bodies strewn across the battlefield. Who would do such a thing, and why? A piercing shriek unlike anything I’ve ever heard before rips through my heart and scours my ears. The pain of the unknown cry tears through my body, bringing me to my knees as I claw blindly at my ears.

          “Wake up, Rylee!” the anonymous voice yells. It sounds so close . . . like it is right in my head.

          “Who are you, what do you want from me?” I cry out.

          Without missing a beat, it screams back at me, “WAKE UP!” The pain is unbearable. It feels as if the scream is stabbing through every pore of my body. I drop to the ground the rest of the way, unable to hold the weight of my body any longer. My surroundings grow dim, seemingly closing in on me. The world begins to spin as the darkness gets closer and closer until . . . nothing.

Chapter One

          I can’t sleep. It is cold here, dark. I don’t belong here. This bed . . . this room . . . it isn’t mine, not really anyway. A cruel twist of fate, that’s why I’m here. I stare at the ceiling, sleep continuing to evade me. Sighing, I lift myself up off the bed and walk toward the window. The concrete floor beneath my bare feet is as cold as the rest of this place. The bars staring back at me from the window only serve to make things worse.

          Looking out like this, from inside my cage, actually made Southern California look beautiful. The coastal breeze drifts in through my open window, sending tufts of long blonde hair flying around my face. I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet, salty scent that lingers in the air. I can envision myself walking toward the ocean, the sand sinking around my feet and between my toes; the ice cold waves lap at my feet and ankles.

          Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if I’m really as crazy as they say I am. I mean, I must be crazy if I’m in here, right? My dreams haunt me; shadows follow me. They say I have a type of schizophrenia, that I’m sick; I don’t feel sick. I just want one person to tell me I’m fine, but all I have are doctors trying to clog my mind with their pills and medications. No family, no friends; I am alone. I continue to stare out the confinement of my prison, searching for even one person to save me from myself. My eyes drift shut and I am answered with silence . . . at first.

          “You crazy?” asked a deep voice that could only belong to a man. My eyes flick open. I glance around, searching for the source of the voice. A glowing red light pierces through the shadows of the night, followed shortly by an exhale.

          “Excuse me?” I ask the mysterious man.

          “You’re in a mental institution. Are you crazy of something?” he asks.

          “No . . . I’m not crazy . . . at least I don’t think so. I don’t know. How does anyone know if they’re crazy?” I reply.

          He takes another drag from his cigarette and seems to consider for a moment before answering, “I’m not sure. Tell me what you’re in there for and I’ll let you know.”

          “The reason I’m in here is none of your business.”

          “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just check your records and find out for myself,” he says.

          “Wha—”

          He stands up, putting out his cigarette, and steps into the light. He’s wearing the same crisp white scrubs everyone that works there wears; only somehow, he makes it look dangerous. I sink back into the darkness of my room, momentarily shocked. I’d been here six months, and had survived by staying under the radar and out of everyone’s way. No one knew my name without looking at my chart and I liked it that way. Fear lanced through my gut. What would he do? What would happen?

          I creep back over to the window to peek out. My gaze flicks left and right across the darkness, seeking the man in white. Gone; he has left. The bud of his still-lit cigarette lay untouched in the dirt beneath my window. I sigh, from both confusion and relief, the image of his emerald green eyes and raven black hair still fresh in my mind. I haven’t spoken a single word to anyone in the six months I’ve been present at this facility. Why now? Why him? Lying back down in my bed, I try to fight the sleep I know is inevitable. The last thing I see as my eyes drift shut is the memory of those beautiful green eyes . . .

* * *

          I awake with a start as the lock on the door shifts and clicks. I drag myself out of bed and rub my aching temples. I had been asleep for an hour, at most. Memories of last night came rolling back to me. Was it real? Or was it just another dream? I hate sleeping; it makes it difficult to tell dreams from reality. Feeling like a caged animal, I slip on my shoes and pad out the door. The stench of disinfectant and blood lingers in the hallway. This place always smells a bit like blood, it disgusts me. As I walk down the long, white hallway toward the gardens, nurses carrying linens pass me without really seeing me. I exhale in relief; I hate when people look at me, it makes me feel like they can see right through me.

          I smile as I reach for the door handle that would take me into the gardens. My smile drops; the door is locked. This door is never locked during daylight hours. I turn around in confusion and face complete darkness. My heart rate picks up, something is wrong here. I try to blink away the darkness with no success. I hear a low growl originate from down the hall in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut as a single tear rolls down my cheek. The darkness is coming for me.

Chapter Two

          When I open my eyes, I’m back in my bed, locked safely inside my room. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sink further into the confines of my mattress. The loud clang of the door unlocking startles me once again and my hearts picks up speed as I pray this time I am not dreaming. I get up and open the door carefully, peeking out into the hallway. All seems normal, with patients and nurses wandering aimlessly. I gingerly step out into the hall and make my way to the door once again, glancing around nervously the whole time.

          With shaking hands, I reach for the door handle and push as hard as I can. To my relief, the door opens and sunlight floods the hallway, temporarily blinding me with its brightness. I blink a few times to give my eyes time to adjust to the light before making my way to my favorite tree in the garden and plopping down. Resting my back against the trunk of the tree, I close my eyes and inhale the relaxing aroma of the gardenias planted a few feet away.

          “You always look so lost. Why is that?” The familiar voice jostles me from my relaxing post. I stare up into those piercing green eyes and consider my answer.

          “I don’t know, maybe because I kind of am, in a way.”

          He cocks his head, “What do you mean?”

          “I guess I just don’t feel like I really belong here. I know everyone says that . . . claims they’re not crazy or whatever . . . but I don’t know, aside from the nightmare, I feel fine.”

          “Maybe you are fine, then. Maybe you’re just not where you’re supposed to be.”

          “What do you mean I’m not where I’m supposed to be?” I asked, confused.

          He shrugs, “See you around, crazy girl.” I watch him saunter back into the building, his confident stride never faltering. Who the hell is he? And why is he suddenly so interested in me? I don’t recall ever seeing him at the hospital until last night, maybe he just started working here. I shrug it off and push the sexy stranger out of my mind for a moment as the growling in my stomach takes over all thoughts.

          Listening to the incessant growling noises coming from my stomach, I haul myself off the ground and head to the cafeteria for breakfast. The closer I get, the stronger the smell of powdered eggs and sausage becomes, churning my stomach. This place’s eggs and sausage are the worst. Seriously, the first time I ate them I had to run to the restroom before I got sick. Once I reach the cafeteria, I line up with the other patients to collect my food; however, being the smart veteran patient I am, I opt for Cheerios instead.

          Walking past the tables full of patients, I take my seat at my usual place, alone at a small table in the corner. It’s strange how accustomed I’ve become to how things work around here. I’ve learned to ignore the orderlies staring and constantly taking notes on me. I block out the patients when they have nervous breakdowns and need to be sedated. I’ve learned that’s the only way to survive in a place like this, to pretend nothing around me is happening. I was so lost in my own world I didn’t even notice when someone sat down next to me.

          “You always this quiet, gorgeous?” the familiar stranger asks.

          Startled, I jump a little, spilling some of my cereal, “How on earth do you keep popping up like this?”

          “An excellent question, but I asked you one first, crazy girl,” he says, flashing me a stunning smile, complete with dimples.

          Sighing, I put my spoon back in my bowl before answering, “For your information, yes I am. Talking just gets you in trouble.”

          “Oh? Why do you say that?” he asks.

          “Because . . . if I wouldn’t have told anyone about my dreams, I wouldn’t be in here.”

          “Your dreams?”

          “Yeah . . . didn’t you read my chart?” I inquire.

          He chuckles, “I didn’t, actually. Which means I also don’t know your name . . .”

          “Rylee,” I supply, offering him my hand.

          “Rylee is a beautiful name, pretty girl. I’m Isaiah, it’s nice to meet you,” he says, gracing me with that heart-shattering smile again before shaking my hand. I’m momentarily dazed by the feeling of his hand in mine. I had forgotten how long it’s been since I touched someone willingly. This feels real; his touch burns into my palm, centering me in a way I’ve never been before. With wide eyes, I release his hand.

          “Let’s sneak out tonight,” he says.

          “What?!”

          “You heard me, pretty girl. Let’s get out of here tonight. Promise I’ll have you back in time for tomorrow’s gourmet breakfast,” he says with a wink.

          I roll my eyes, “You can’t just sneak out of here, it’s not that easy.”

          “Oh but it is, crazy girl. I think you forget I work here,” he replies.

          I laugh, “Okay sure. Let’s just sneak out, just like that,” I say sarcastically.

          “Great! I’ll see you tonight then, Rylee,” he says and stands up before I have a chance to respond. Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into? Surely he isn’t serious. No one would risk their job to sneak a patient out of here for one night, especially a patient he just met. Finishing my cereal, I get up and throw my trash away.

* * *

          The rest of the day goes by in a blur; the anticipation of what may or may not come tonight was killing me. I was mentally absent in my meetings and group activities, and was glad when it was finally time to retire to our rooms. Undoubtedly, the nurses and orderlies noticed my strange behavior. They noticed every time we did something “out of the norm.” Like everything we did was usually normal . . . I roll my eyes at the thought.

          In my room I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. I sit on my bed, palms sweaty and fingers fidgeting. The quiet of the night seems amplified as I sit listening intently for any noise that might give away Isaiah’s presence. Just when I’m about to give up, I see the familiar glow of Isaiah’s cigarette outside my window.

          I walk closer to see him better, “I’m surprised to see you. No offense, but I didn’t think you’d come. I still don’t think you’re planning to sneak me out of here for the night.”

          “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, pretty girl. Check the door to your room, it should be unlocked,” he says with a proud grin on his face.

          I turn around to check the door as he instructed. Just as he said, the door is unlocked. Stealing a quick glance at him first, I slip out the door and creep around to the closest exit. This is one of those moments in horror movies that make you cringe. The quieter I try to be, the louder everything seems to get. My footsteps squeak on the linoleum with each step, causing me to curse under my breath. When I finally make my way to the exit ages later, the door gives the loudest groan I have ever heard in my life. Seriously, doesn’t anyone ever oil these things? His green eyes pierce through my body, drawing me closer with each breath. Feeling bold, I stop much closer to him than necessary, close enough that if I stood on my tip-toes I could easily kiss him.

          “So, hotshot, you got me out. Now where are we going?” I ask a little breathlessly, affected by his proximity. The subsequent grin I receive is heart stopping.

          “Oh, come on now, pretty girl. It’s a surprise! Don’t you like surprises?” he asks, his voice laced with mischief.

          “Actually, I hate surprises, but lead the way,” I say, gesturing him with my right hand.

          Taking the hand I waved him on with, he laces his fingers through mine, sending a jolt of awareness through my body. I still can’t get over how right it feels for him to touch me, how real. Gently leading me by the hand, we take off down the road, strolling casually as if he didn’t just help me sneak out of a mental health facility. We walk in a comfortable silence, the right side of my body burning from the heat emanating off him. After a while, I realize where he is taking me.

          “We’re going to the beach?” I ask.

          He flashes me that sexy smile again before replying, “Yup! We’re going to the beach.”

          “Why the beach?”

          “Well, pretty girl, what better way to find yourself than in the rolling turmoil of the ocean with the waves lapping at your feet?” he answers, green eyes searing through me, into my soul, like he can see everything.

          “Who says I need to find myself?” I ask.

          My question goes unanswered and we continue our walk to the beach. As we reach the sandy entrance, I release Isaiah’s hand and bend over to take off my shoes. Just like I imagined doing a thousand times from my room, I close my eyes and walk, sinking my toes into the soft, slightly damp sand. Soon, my toes reach the ice cold water and I open my eyes. Looking around, I search for Isaiah and find him a few feet away. His shoes are already off and resting by mine where the sand meets the pavement.

          I watch as he reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. He drops it carelessly in the sand and laces his fingers together, stretching his arms leisurely above his head. As he continues to stretch, I struggle to keep my jaw from dropping. He was already gorgeous, but damn . . . his body is enough to make me drop to my knees and thank the lord for creating such a beautiful man. Seriously though, he’s hot. He drops his hands and glances at me before unbuttoning his jeans and letting them pool at his feet. He’s standing in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

          My eyes go wide, “What the hell are you doing?!”

          He chuckles, an amused grin on his face, “Swimming. What are you doing?”

          I gape at him, unsure of what to say. He lifts an eyebrow, cocking his head at me, “Come on, pretty girl, live a little. No one can see you and I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

          I can tell he’s lying. His eyes roam over me, daring me to take his challenge. And oh, how can I resist? I make a twirling motion with my finger, signaling that I want him to turn around. He holds his ground, defying me. I motion for him to turn around once more. His eyes sparkle with pleasure as he slowly turns around, shooting me an arrogant grin. I roll my eyes and push my yoga pants down my hips, letting them fall to my feet just as he did. Then, checking to make sure Isaiah still has his back turned, I pull my top off and drop it to the sand. I flick my gaze to the ocean, the waves rolling over each other and forming a white froth at the crest.

          Tentatively, I take a step into the frigid ocean waters, goose bumps instantly forming on my bare flesh. Walking out until the water is about waist deep, I suddenly feel his eyes on me, roaming my backside. What’s worse is . . . I don’t care, I’m shameless. I turn to face him, finding my suspicions confirmed. His gaze is on me, devouring every inch of my body that isn’t covered by the water. I lift my eyebrow at him and smirk, a silent question. He saunters over to me, the water splashing around him with each step.

          When he reaches me, he runs his hands down my arms, from my shoulders to my elbows. I shiver, but not from the cold. I’m burning from the inside out, my core smoldering from his touch.

Bad Habits Not Changing Anytime Soon

So, I have this terrible habit where I start writing "books," get about 3-7 chapters in, and quit. Sometimes I share what I've written, mostly I don't. This is my most recent project, which I've convinced myself I'm going to finish (I won't).

Part One

5 years ago . . .

September, 2008

                I feel like I’m trapped in a giant box, unable to get air through the suffocating metal heating with continuous rays of sunlight beating down on the exterior. Quite likely, it’s because I am trapped in a box; a giant yellow metal box, also known as a school bus. I can’t wait until I turn 16 and can finally drive myself to school like a normal teenager. On an average day, I strongly dislike being near people, especially a large number of people all crammed together like canned sardines. Today is particularly bad, however, because the lack of air conditioning is starting to get to me. I feel beads of sweat trailing down my spine and I rub my hand across the back of my neck in an effort to swipe some away. Two girls in the seat diagonal me are giving me a headache with their incessantly load chatter. The bus driver has told them multiple times to please quiet down, but they’re just ignoring him like they do every single day on this damn bus. I’m reaching my breaking point and I know I’m about to snap, but I just can’t bring myself to give a shit right now, I’m far too irritated. Another round of insanely obnoxious giggles ensues.

                “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I whirl around in my seat and yell.

                A blanket of silence immediately falls over the entire bus. I sneak a peek at the bus driver to see if I’m in trouble and catch him stifling a smile, pretending he didn’t hear anything. Bus driver of the year award, anyone? I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and relax back into my seat. Way to go, April. You haven’t even been in high school a week and you’ve already managed to alienate yourself. I feel a tap on my shoulder and reluctantly turn around.

                “I’m glad you said something to them. They were getting annoying as fuck.”

                I’m momentarily shocked. Not only because someone is actually talking to me, but because he’s freaking gorgeous. I take a moment to drink in his long, shoulder length dark hair and tanned skin. His brown eyes pierce into me with an intensity I’ve never felt before.

                “Thanks,” I say, “I’m April.”

                “Isaac,” he replies, flashing me a heart stopping grin.

                “Nice to meet you,” I blush and turn back around in my seat.

                How on earth has someone so hot sat directly behind me for nearly a week without me noticing? I steal a glance over my shoulder and notice he’s sitting alone, slumped in the seat with ear buds in. He’s nodding his head slightly to the beat of the music and appears lost in a world of his own. I note that he’s dressed in a black Volcom jacket and dark wash jeans; black wristbands adorn his arms. I look out the window and notice we’re only two blocks from my stop. I’m both disappointed and relieved. I’m glad to finally get off this awful bus, but sad because I didn’t get a chance to really talk to Isaac. The bus pulls to a stop and my jaw nearly drops as I see Isaac stand up. He winks at me as he passes my seat and exits the bus. Holy shit. The hot guy not only rides my bus, but he lives two blocks away. I’m never getting my license, never.

                The next day, on the bus ride to school, I’m practically bouncing in my seat. I can’t wait to get to school and ask my best friend, Danielle, about Isaac. Speaking of Isaac, I noticed he doesn’t ride the bus in the mornings, which kind of sucks because I was hoping for a chance to talk to him again since I pussied out yesterday.

                Finally! The bus pulls up to the school and I nearly push people to the ground in an effort to reach the exit. I skip down to the cafeteria and head towards our normal breakfast table. Of course, the girl you can always rely on to be on time is nowhere to be seen. Great. I anxiously tap my fingers on the table and wait for her to get here. Five minutes pass, then ten, and before I know it the bell is ringing for first period. Grudgingly, I get up and trudge to my first period history class. Once there, I slump in my seat and pout. I don’t have this class with Danielle, so I’m left alone with my thoughts.

                The teacher begins his lecture with a lame joke and proceeds to drone on about current events in his usual monotone voice. Five minutes into this class and I already want to check out, so I do. I lay my head down on the desk and take a nap for the rest of the hour. It’s not like I need to pay attention anyway. I have an A in this class even though I have zero idea what the teacher is saying half the time. Thank goodness for history books. Side note: the textbooks also make great pillows.

                At last, the bell rings to release us from first period, jerking me out of my peaceful slumber. I groggily drag myself out of the desk and pop my neck. On the way to second period English, I spot Danielle shoveling books into her locker. I push through the crowded hallway and make my way over to her.

                “Hey! I didn’t see you this morning. Where were you?”

                She sighed heavily, “My stupid bus was late. This better not mess up my perfect attendance record or I’m going to be pissed.”

                Danielle is super serious about school. It’s only our freshman year and she’s already planning things out for college. Straight A student with perfect attendance—she is pretty much guaranteed to be awesome at life after high school.

                “So . . . I met this guy yesterday . . .” I begin.

                “Wait! Tell me when we get to class, I don’t want to be late,” she stops me.

                I roll my eyes at her and smile, “Okay, deal, but hurry please!”

                Once we’re in class, I quickly jot a note for her:

Anyway! Like I was saying, I met this guy yesterday . . .

Oh! Do tell! Who was it and where did you meet him?

His name is Isaac and he rides my bus. Do you know him?

Sure! He’s a sophomore.

And . . .?

And he’s nice.

He’s nice? That’s it?

Yep!

                Oooookay . . . that was helpful. Not. Clearly, I’m going to have to do some scouting of my own if I want to find anything out about Isaac. At least I know what grade he’s in now.

                The subsequent hours pass in a haze as I think about the next time I’ll get to see Isaac. When lunch rolls around, I eagerly scan the cafeteria hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I find him sitting at a table across the cafeteria from me, with a group of four or five other guys dressed in the same style skater clothes I saw him in yesterday.  I realize I’m staring, but I don’t care. I can’t wait for the bus ride home so I can talk to him, get to know him.

                The rest of the day seems to drag on forever until, finally, the last bell rings. Rushing out of the classroom, I realize for the first time I’m actually excited to be riding the bus. I make it to the bus so fast I’m one of the first ones on. I slip into my usual seat near the back of the bus and wait. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I see him climb the bus stairs and saunter down the aisle. Wordlessly, he slides into the seat next to me, his leg pressing against mine.

Media and Politics

Megan Luckey - July 9th, 2012

I believe television has already influenced how we vote. Not only do we have access to various news channels that cover elections, but we are also subject to commercials by the candidates. I feel television is beneficial for elections for those who use the proper resources. If Americans are more informed, they will be more likely to vote from a candidate who would be valuable to our country.

It could also influence voters because if they see a commercial they like or dislike, it could effect how they vote. However, It could also hinder how we vote. Before television, many people read the newspaper and listened to the radio, and were therefore more informed about the news. Now, television is used primarily for entertainment value.

Internet will similarly change our politics. It has changed media completely, with the majority of people now receiving their news and information from it. With information being more readily available, we can have more educated voters. Internet also changes politics in that it can help candidates gather financial and voter support. Through internet, candidates are able to advertise more. This could change politics because it is a great way to reach thousands of voters at one time. It could also potentially increase voter turnout in elections.

Being able to receive donations for candidacy at the click of a button is something that had never been done before the internet. It utilized correctly, this alone would alter the outcome of an election. Having money can sometimes be the difference between winning and losing. As seen in the election between Obama vs. McCain, being up to date on technology and knowing your voters can have a huge impact on an election. Obama employed the internet and gained significant support though it. During the election, ads for the Obama campaign sprinkled pages all over the net. It is questionable whether Obama would have won had the internet not existed.