Parker vs New York City: The 10 Hour Challenge

As I stood with my backpack slung across one shoulder, black patent leather hightops gleaming in the florescent light, all I could think was, man, I'm underdressed.

The snaking double column of oiled leather bags, sport jackets and Balenciagas spread over the shiny linoleum floor toward two sliding blue doors guarded by an austere-looking black woman in a blue suit. She reached for a microphone mounted on the wall.

“We're going to begin boarding for the Acela Express, train number 2216 en route to New York City.”

At her call, the doors parted, and the Italian leather and tailored wool began shuffling towards her. Each paused as she examined their papers and iPhone screens before permitting them passage through the doors. I reached her expecting three riddles and a Sudoku puzzle, but she merely nodded as I flashed my ticket and followed the dull clicks of the heels before me.

The shiny leather shoulder bags and Louis Vuitton iPhone cases made their way along the long, rectangular platform toward the front of the blue and white tube, where I assumed they seasoned their bacon wrapped filet and canard a l'orange with the powdered bones of unruly proletariat.

I ducked in about halfway down in a nearly empty compartment. Plopping down on a dark blue fabric seat, I set my backpack to my right and stretched out my legs toward the seat in front of me, glad to be off my feet. I glanced down at my phone. 1:57 pm.

Approximately three and a half minutes later, I felt a subtle jolt as we disembarked, electric anchors cast away as we left port and, gathering speed, headed for the Big Apple.

The theory of New York has never really done much for me. The idea of living within easy walking distance of millions of other people brings to mind some kind of steel and glass anthill or beehive – a place where individuality and uniqueness is at the same time stifled and necessary for survival. Certainly, there is something to be said for the world class attractions towering above and spread throughout the honeycomb of the United States' largest and busiest beehive, but at that point the “advantage” of easy accessibility is directly contradicted by gridlock inherent to hundreds of thousands of wandering and oblivious visitor bees commingling with the pointed, focused paths of the millions of worker bees. The hive is, if nothing else, always buzzing.

That was true as I arrived in Penn Station a few hours before a concert at Madison Square Garden. I was seeing Armin Van Buuren – one of the most popular Djs in the world – who had sold out MSG in about fifty minutes about two months ago. My train home was scheduled to depart at 3 am, giving me about ten hours to get my first taste of New York City.

I stepped off the train, made my way through Penn, and ascended the escalator out onto 7th Avenue. My first glimpse of New York was some brownish buildings, wind funneled between the artificial canyon walls buffeting my jacket, and thousands and thousands of people walking the sidewalks or milling about.

Since I had a few hours to kill, I decided to join the buzzing populace. I slipped into the flow headed north up 7th, and then, after staring at my iPhone and twisting it around like a pretzel, broke off from the human current and headed toward the Empire State Building.

Not like it was hard to find. Difficult to miss the giant spire of glass and steel dominating the skyline. That said, my time there was brief. And by brief, I mean I walked through the revolving glass doors, had a guide tell me it was a 90 minutes wait, and revolved right back on outside again.

I rejoined the flow and found myself swept up toward Times Square, where I heard there are some minor festivities every year or so. To be honest, though, I wasn't enthralled by Times Square. Certainly I can see how millions of people find their way there for New Year's Eve, but other than that attraction there wasn't anything that drew me in. Which is odd, considering it seemed to draw everyone else in like a magnet. What with all the towering, flashing screens and electronic billboards and intricately designed fascias and logos, I can see how people spend an entire day there. It seemed a mecca of impulse, entertainment and people watching second only to Las Vegas.

I soaked up the atmosphere for a while before I began to get tired of the cluster and the crowd. The buildings rearing up on every side made me feel almost claustrophobic. On my way back to MSG, I stopped and grabbed a burrito from Chipotle – at about a 16% markup from what it costs in San Diego and DC. I double checked to make sure Chipotle hadn't charged me extra for a bag or for having 3+ people handle my burrito (wouldn't have surprised me if they had) and remembered that people had warned me that NYC was one of the most expensive places in the world. Considering even the Chipotle's were significantly more expensive, I didn't want to find out what other, more expensive things cost.

By the time I got back to MSG, the gates were open for the concert. Unfortunately, there are usually a ton of drugs at electronic music concerts, and considering this was supposed to be one of the biggest shows in North America in 2013, security was extra tight. Or it should have been. I was wearing a backpack with a book, a water bottle, headphones, a jacket, and a notebook. The first security guard searched it, tossed the water bottle without a word, and handed it back to me. The second security guard patted me down and waved a metal detector baton before pointing at a bulge in my pocket. I removed my Burt's Bees chapstick and held it in my hand to indicate that it was indeed not a mini light saber. The guard told me to uncap it. I wondered if his lips were chapped and told him that red really wasn't his color. He grabbed it out of my hand, shook it next to his ear, and handed it back to me.

“Gotta check it for pills,” he said. “Oh, right,” I said. I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder, causing the bottle of ibuprofen I had in the smaller pouch with all my pencils to rattle. He didn't even glance at me as I walked away. Gotta watch out for that chapstick.

The concert was excellent. It was broadcast around the world to several million computers via Armin's website, and a huge Twitter following stayed tuned in from start to finish. Aesthetically (in terms of lighting and production) it was the best show I'd ever seen. People were standing and dancing throughout the entire arena – in front of their seats or on the cleared out dance floor – for about five solid hours.

The show ended around 1 am, and after scarfing down a sandwich I burned some time walking up and down 7th. There were still thousands of people walking around, talking, laughing and taking pictures. And these people weren't even coming from the concert, they just happened to be out and about at 1:30 am. I suppose the hive never does go to sleep.

After killing a couple hours, I hopped on my train back to Washington. After 4 hours drifting in an out of consciousness, I got back into Union Station at around 7 am, sleep-walked back to my apartment, and crashed for the rest of the morning.

So ended my 10 hour virgin voyage to New York City. Though I was impressed by the major skyscrapers, the energy and the vibrancy of the city, the huge crowds and close proximity didn't do much for me. Obviously with more than half a day of exploration time I'm sure I would find more positives about the Big Apple, and I hope one to day to probe one of the world's premier cities beyond the cliché tourist destinations. If any city has promise for a good time, it's this one.

A Halftime Review and How I Saw the President Write His Name

Good evening loyal readers, I hope I find you all well tonight. I thought I would compose this as a sort of halftime report: what's happened so far, what's been good, what's been bad and what's to come. Let's get to it.

After seven or so weeks of living in DC (5 of which have been filled with my internship at the Daily Caller) I have finally become almost completely acclimated to the city. And by acclimated to the city, I mean I now consider 45 degrees fairly warm. I can't tell you how much it pains me to say that -- I used to refuse to go outside without a parka if it was below 50. That said, the weather thus far has been the worst part. During the first two weeks of the semester, the highs on several occasions failed to break 20 degrees. Coupled with 20 mph gusts and a lot of humidity, the first fortnight was rather tough. Hardening, I'd say now in retrospect, now that 45 degrees for me is nearly short sleeves weather.

My classes thus far have been excellent. From a journalistic standpoint, any journalism major would do well to come here and hone their skills. The professors are very knowledgeable and direct with what they want -- you're provided with all the syllabi at the beginning of the semester for all the courses. Classes meet Monday and Friday from approximately 10 am to 4 pm. The 10 am start is a mild godsend after waking up at 7 am three days a week for my internship.

Speaking of which, my internship at the Caller has been beneficial and challenging. They treat you as though you were a reporter in training in many ways by encouraging you to find and write your own stories. Everyone in the newsroom is young, witty and an outstanding writer -- there's a lot to learn from them. It's also been great to interact with some big names in the media. Working in the same newsroom as Tucker Carlson is never boring, and the former executive editor and current CEO are also tremendous sources of advice, both concerning journalism and concerning life.

I have been fortunate to write many pieces for the Caller, ranging in scope from cybersecurity to current events in the sports world. In one particular instance, I was sent to cover President Obama's signing of the Violence Against Women Act at the Department of the Interior. I strolled up to the Secret Service guys guarding the separate media (read: VIP) entrance (which was in effect a side door propped open with a medium-sized rock).

I expected one of two scenarios:

First: the agents grabbing me by the shoulders, demanding I name at least 17 Presidents, prove my citizenship (I forgot that I wasn't in Arizona) by signing a Beyonce-worthy rendition of the Star Spangled Banner and interrogating me to see if was current in my knowledge of Michelle Obama's latest hairstyle. I would 2 for 3, though I won't tell you which criteria I'd nail.

Second: A sequester-stricken Secret Service agent dressed in blue jeans and white Obama polo with "Secret Service" written across the shoulders like a football jersey, perhaps with the number 44 below. In this scenario, I pictured Steve (his "Hi, my name is Steve" name tag would likely given him away) shaking my hand, asking if I could get him an Andersoon Cooper autograph and sending me on my merry way.

What actually happened was somewhat of a middle ground. I approached the group of very professional-looking gentlemen in black suits with clear earpieces and stated my business. They proceeded to pat me down, scan me with a metal detector from head to toe, ask if I could get them an Andersoon Cooper autograph (just kidding) and sent me along toward the glamorous, rock-guarded VIP media entrance. Mr. Bunch was in.

Upon arriving, I received a name tag with my name printed on it (they were forewarned of my arrival -- via smoke signals from the Daily Caller I suspect) and was ushered up to the press balcony at the back of the building. From there, I could see the stage where President Obama was to sign the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA). Below me, multitudes of supporters, Congressional folk and maybe a few party crashers mingled. I sat next to a young woman from the Washington Post who was very kind and who offered me a cookie. At this point in time the Daily Caller and Washington Post were experiencing some strife over the Menendez scandal (look up that mess and a half on your own) and so naturally I suspected either cyanide or arsenic in the cookie. I noticed it had come from a pre-sealed package and so I graciously accepted it (though the whole time I was thinking of whether I could convince the judge that I had thrown an arsenic-covered cookie into a gallery of Congressional big wigs by accident). After watching her take the first bite I dared to nibble on a chocolate chip. Noting that my windpipe hadn't swollen shut and my heart hadn't exploded, I figured the rest of the cookie would be safe to consume as well.

Fabricated attempted media assassinations aside, I enjoyed the event tremendously. I had never seen President Obama in person before other than from a few hundred yards away at the inauguration, so it was a treat to only be fifty yards away this time. I figure if I keep making equivalent gains I'll be dunking on him on the basketball court in no time (8 foot hoop required). It was exciting to be an official member of the Washington D.C. press that day -- to mix and mingle with actual paid reporters from some of the top publications in the country. I can truthfully say that after 3 years of journalistic experience at PLNU and a few weeks of training at the Washington Journalism Center, I didn't feel inferior by any means whatsoever. That's saying something.

DC Update: Parker Attempts to Ice Skate, prepares for Olympics

Good evening readers,

I hope I find you all well in the midst of the winter storm sweeping across our nation. A bit of climate justice occurred today, as it snowed a few inches in my hometown of Tucson, Arizona while Washington, DC remained relatively dry. After a few weeks worth of taunting poolside pictures sent to me from my friends at the University of Arizona, it's nice to have a bit DC weather hit Tucson.

Life in DC has progressed well as I have further acclimated to my environment. I am no longer 'that guy' on the subway looking at the map or scouring his phone to figure out if he's on the right train, and subsequently it's been a while (knock on wood) since I've been that guy sprinting from platform to platform because I hopped aboard the wrong train. I realize these things are all part of the learning curve – I'm just glad things are straightening out.

Work at the Daily Caller has been going well. As with many professions in the “real world,” things can either be exciting and fast paced or slow and comparatively less interesting. I guess you can't always count on a meteor exploding over Russia to keep the newsroom alive and the news feeds rolling at breakneck pace. That said, I've enjoyed my first few weeks there and am looking forward to the next several months. Hopefully things will continue to improve as I acclimate to that environment as well.

As part of the “fun” section of my week (thankfully I was able to have one between work, class and outside studies) I learned how to ice skate. Several of my WJC classmates joined me near the National Mall at the National Gallery of Art's Sculpture Garden, where the rink was set up.

Having been on ice once in the past ten years (an ill-fated snowboarding excursion conducted on solid ice with no powder) I didn't expect to be Apolo Anton Ohno right off the bat. And though I have been involved in a wide variety of athletic training activities since I was young, none of these exercises has involved skates, a board, or any kind of foreign device between my feet and the ground.

That said, after several “sighting laps” – to euphemistically use a racetrack term – of me grabbing onto the rail and walking my way around the ice, I graduated to skating while holding the arm of a friend. I tried not to be too embarrassed by my sighting laps, especially when the occasional five year-old flew by, weaving in between other skaters, or couples floated past, hitched at the arm and basking in the frosty, romantic glow of their ice superiority. Somehow the tandem of myself and the nervous female friends I employed as balance posts never fully attained the fluidity – or unrequited passion – of our lovestruck ice mates.

I did consider simultaneously employing and patenting the “tugboat technique” by hitching myself to the back of the Zamboni, but I refrained due to a lack of rope and out of fear of what I would do if the driver began to do donuts on the ice. That said, after the ice was – to use a baseball infield term – “drug,” I was able to navigate myself around the rink without using the hand rail or anyone else for support.

I am proud to say I didn't fall once, push anyone down, run into anyone/anything or tear something. With a such a positive day one of ice training in the books, I hope to perfect my triple axle by the end of the semester. Though I fear my attempts to woo the French judge are in vain. C'est la vie.

Until next week.

Some DC Reflections: Inauguration, Work, Avicii

Good evening loyal readers. I'm sure those of you on the west coast are warm, cozy and thankful you aren't in the northeast tonight. For those of you in the Boston or New York area, DC is dry as a bone and I'm loving every second of it. I'm sorry for the foot (at least) of snow you've been hit with.

Tonight I'd like to catch you all up on my adventures, and maybe even provide a little photo/internet evidence.

I began my internship at the Daily Caller this past week, and worked on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at the newsroom aggregating reports, composing blurbs and, thankfully, writing my first widely-published story (not a cheap shot at the Point Weekly by any means).

In this program in DC, my three days of internship work counts for 4 credit hours, while on Monday and Friday I take classes that add up to an addition 12 units. Thus, when things are all said and done, in theory I would have completed a full semester's worth of schooling plus garnered the invaluable experience of working and living in a bustling, professional world capitol. Not a bad deal.

That said, I have a few impressions of DC I'd like to share with you.

First, I was able to attend the Presidential inauguration, so rather than reiterate my experiences there I'll post a link to the reflective piece I wrote for the Point Weekly:

http://www.pointweekly.com/2013/02/05/a-students-reflection-on-the-inauguration/

Here is the collage I made of my various experiences at the inauguration:

A million people is difficult to describe. If you ever get the chance to join in an event with those kind of numbers, seriously consider doing it (unless it's like a North Korean military rally or something) -- it's incredible.

Additionally, here you may find a quick picture I snapped of the conference room of the Daily Caller, where I officially began my work:

Below you can find a link to my first published piece for the Caller highlighting an interview with the President of the NRA (which I did not do, the video was sent to me and I compiled the rest of the article) here:

http://dailycaller.com/2013/02/08/david-keene-un-arms-treaty-an-attempt-to-end-run-the-constitution-video/

Finally, I had the opportunity for a little fun before my internship began. Some of you may be familiar with Avicii, but for those that aren't, he's a world famous Swedish electronic DJ in his early twenties who's nominated for at least one Grammy this year. His song, "Levels," was arguably the biggest electronic music song of 2012 (hence it's Grammy nomination).

I was lucky enough to spend about an hour and a half of his three hour set on the front row, taking everything in and occasionally checking my ears to see if they were bleeding. It was loud. Unbelievably loud. As in, the bass took the breath out of my chest kind of loud. Regardless, I enjoyed being on the front row leaning up against the barricade and not fighting in the sea of nearly 10,000 dancing, shoving and cramped fans.

I captured a picture of the animated Swedish superstar below:

That's all for this week loyal readers, I'll be back next week hopefully with more adventures!

An Introduction to Studying Abroad: Where in the World is Parker Bunch?

Good evening loyal readers, I write to you this evening from the bustling metropolis that is our nation's capitol. While I am sure many of you are scratching your heads and wondering what could have possibly possessed me to leave beautiful, sunny San Diego and travel to the frozen tundra of DC, fear not -- I shall explain.

As an upperclassman at PLNU (though this opportunity is also extended to sophomores) I was faced with the dilemma of if, where, when, and why I should study abroad. Obviously at this point you know the ending, but allow me to finish "Quentin Tarentino-ing" this point by detailing the body of the story. As I was saying, as an upperclassman at PLNU, study abroad is highly encouraged, unless you are an accounting or nunrsing major, in which case you have little to no free time to travel to Los Angeles, let alone Madrid. However, if you are NOT an accounting or nursing major and your evenings are not full of tear-stained reports on Apple's plummeting stocks or the respiratory system, you have the wonderful opportunity the explore the world.

Study abroad students at PLNU often go to European countries such as Spain, France, England, Italy, etc. However, the opportunity also is there for travels to more exotic places, such as Australia, Russia, or South America. The options are all but unlimited.

So, how did I end up in Washington, D.C.?

As an upperclassman journalism major at PLNU, I was presented with the opportunity to study abroad, or to study somewhere domestic, yet geographically different. It was not a decision made out of a lack of desire to go to Europe -- quite the opposite, in fact. Rather, the domestic studying I am doing in D.C. is accompanied and highlighted by an internship. In my case, it is with the Daily Caller -- one of the local D.C. publications. The program is available to a variety of writing-based majors, and other, similar programs are available for Political Science/Social Science, etc majors as well. Here, I stay in apartments on Capitol Hill, near the Capitol itself. I take 12 credits of classes in addition to a 4 credit internship, making a total of 16. All course value completely transfers for credit at PLNU.

One of the main reason's I'm here is that I felt this experience would look better on my law school applications than spending a month in Barcelona eating pescado, helado and chasing toros in las calles.

However, I want to pause for a moment and stress that my decision is in no way more "academically responsible" than studying abroad in Europe, or Australia. Your experiences are what you make of them, so if Europe is calling you and you feel it will be a good opportunity, take it. When it comes to studying abroad, don't fret over what you could be doing, rather, focus on what you want to be doing. I envy the students who went to Europe, or Australia, or who are sitting beachside in South America while I'm here trudging through snow in Washington.

Have your future goals in mind, but don't let this truly once in a lifetime opportunity pass you by altogether. Don't blind yourself to the present by only looking ahead to the future. I've never heard of anyone that has had a bad study abroad trip. There have been unfortunate moments, of course, but as a whole I have heard nothing but great stories, experiences, and life tales from those whoh have forsaken the familiarity of their domestic schools, traditions, and cultures and who dared take that courageous step into the unfamiliar, the unknown and the novel.

I hope over the next semester I can give you stories of equal caliber.

The Residential Struggle: Getting Along with Your Roommate

Good evening readers, tonight I thought I would talk about one of the biggest issues that nearly everyone faces in college: living with people who aren't related to you.

Now, those of you that grew up with brothers and sisters, part of this might be a review for you. However, chances are you haven't lived in the same room as them your entire life. Chances are, you had your own room, maybe even your own bathroom, and just had to get along with them in the house. My tips are for when all of those luxuries -- and all of that privacy -- is taken away.

Your first semester of your freshman year here at PLNU, you have almost much say in who your roommate is as you do what classes you will be taking. Which is to say, none. Who you live with is determined in part by the survey you fill out, which in part is to determine if you're a sociopath or not. If you lack a human soul and are Tom Riddle incarnate chances are you shouldn't be paired with an intern at the dolphin rehabilitation clinic. (Then again, Tom Riddle probably wouldn't be going to PLNU -- too much love is in the air).

Anyway, your roommate is almost always chosen for you, and you're stuck. So, how do you survive?

Notice I said survive. Chances are, you will, at one point or another, hate each other. Many times, though, you'll be good friends. Maybe -- dare I say it -- BBFs. Or, if you discover your soul mate, BBFLs. Those last two scenarios are rare, though, I'll be honest. Out of all the people I know here at PLNU and have gone to school with -- lived with and alongside of -- the vast majority switch roommates at one point or another. That is to say, they vary who they live with. Why is this the tendency? Because after waking up, showering, going to class, coming back, doing homework with, watching tv with, going out, eating, and sleeping alongside (read: in the general close vicinity of) the same person for an entire school year, you will likely want out. You'll want change, you'll want a new face, a new personality, a new lifestyle.

And, keep in mind, after your freshman year, you pick your roommate(s) yourself.

So, how do you live with the person you're paired with?

Rule #1: Have your own life. Don't do everything together. All the things I just listed? Do them with different people. Diversify your horizons -- make new, other, different friends. It will greatly prolong the threshold of annoyance.

Rule #2: Be respectful. Act toward them how you want them to act toward you. I understand that this goes without saying, but you'd be shocked how hard it is. Step back every once and a while and take inventory of how you two relate. I'm not saying you need to wait on them hand and foot, but be aware of what it is they want and what they are trying to communicate to you. And then, look in the mirror and examine what it is you are projecting. Keep in mind, your voice says a lot but your body often says more. And please, unless they specifically ask you, keep your headphones on while either of you is studying. Try not to watch TV while either of you is studying, either.

Rule #3: Carry your own weight. Volunteer to take out the trash, clean the room, or assist in other general, common ground chores. Don't force them to do everything, because they won't. Unless they're hyper-OCD and their autism forces them to keep the room spotless, chances are after a few weeks of playing housekeeper they'll ditch the Windex and trash bags and make you suffer the building trash pile. That said, orally determining each person's boundaries and responsibilities is also a good idea. Don't assume you believe the same things or live the same way.

Rule #4: Relax. This too shall pass. When things are at their most stressful (midterm and finals weeks) and your roommate has chosen to play a video game without headphones and is yelling at the screen while you're trying to study or won't stop Skyping their significant other who lives in a distant town and who they get to see maybe once a year yet they continue to try to date and live out a forced, untrustworthy relationship (another blog on that may be forthcoming at some later point) take a step back, go walk outside and breathe. It will end. Things will get better. You can (almost) always go to the library. Or to the study lounges in the dorms. Or you can go take a ten minute walk, hopefully not plotting their murder while doing so. Eventually, at the end of the semester they'll be gone. You'll be gone. Life will go on.

Rule #5: Reciprocate the love. Don't judge. This goes back to Rule #2: respecting them, but this is a different side of things. If your roommate buys you dinner when you're off campus, but them the next time. Or if they invite you to dinner at their parents' house, try to buy dessert. Don't come off as parasitic -- they won't extend the invitation or the benefits again if you do. Everyone has something to offer, whether they're materialistic or intangible benefits. Maybe they give good advice. Listen and then ask them about their problems. Just because you threw a curling iron at them ten minutes ago doesn't mean you can't comfort them because you discovered they broke up with their long distance, Skype-oriented significant other. People are different. Learn to see their differences and try to accommodate and assimilate them into the climate of your coexistence. Don't forget, if you don't like them, you can always change.

I don't want tonight's post to come off as an attack on the collegiate system of roommates. The institution of brotherly and sisterly coexistence is a two-sided sword. Yes it can be stressful and annoying, but it can also be incredible fun. You have the opportunity to come in contact with someone else's world, someone else's belief system, value system and lifestyle. Don't trash it, and chances are they won't trash yours.

Good luck.

A Mostly Thankful Thanksgiving

Good evening loyal readers, I come back to you refreshed and ready to tackle the home stretch... I think. Tonight I thought I'd say a few words about Thanksgiving break from the perspective of a student at PLNU.

First off, it should be moved to sometime in mid-October. While I am aware Thanksgiving has, does, and will always fall in November, that's really not the most convenient time for college students for a few reasons. Primary among them is that for those of us who don't live near the city in which we attend college, it creates a difficult 3 month gap from when we last saw our families. Those who live nearby obviously have an advantage here, as they often spend every other weekend back home getting their laundry done. For us non-SoCal residents, though, those nine weeks are killer. I have spoken to my friends from Tucson who go to school in Los Angeles, Washington D.C., Washington, Boston and Texas, and many of them agree -- the break is brutal.

And then at the end of those nine weeks, we have all of four or five days for Thanksgiving break (one of which you can all but dedicate to travel) before we have to come back to school. When we do finally struggle through the door and drape ourselves across our desks, weeping, our tears are initially vindicated by the knowledge that in just three weeks, we'll once again be back with our families. Unfortunately, those three weeks are the most difficult ones of the semester. They're full of projects, papers, and finals; you hit the ground running on the Monday you return.

And, while the break is short, it's just long enough to remove you from academia. Those four or five days, which, before you left, you swore would be filled with arduous reading, writing, and scholasticism, are inherently filled with food, sleeping, spending time with family and seeing friends. Which they should be -- it's Thanksgiving, after all. That's what the entire holiday is supposed to be about, that's what everyone around the country is expected to do. Which is my biggest complaint about the holiday from the perspective of a college student. It's wonderful, it's relaxing, but it can be detrimental. It can prematurely ready you for Christmas break -- the real relaxation period, other than summer -- causing you to fall behind in classes if you're not careful.

That said, it's a wonderful holiday. It's hard for me to express the feeling of coming home after 3 months of not seeing your family. The food, family, friends and fun (the 4 F's of Thanksgiving, if you will) are much needed and perhaps more appreciated than at any other time of the school year, other than summer.

I just wish the Pilgrims had eaten earlier.

Below, I included some of the pictures I took and collaged via Instagram of my Thanksgiving exploits. From the red mountains of Tucson sunsets to twilight saguaros to the University of Arizona vs Arizona State rivalry football game, there were a lot of incredible moments over my break. I'm especially thankful for my mother and father for welcoming me back and taking such good care of me. See you next week.