Last weekend I was driving home from Target. Finley and I went and were charged with buying a George Foreman grill, and a measuring cup. This is a dangerous assignment, because Magan was at work and I was all alone in Target. I am very capable of buying the whole store. (In any case we came home with the only 2 items we were sent to buy).

On the way home I started feeling melancholy. This was quite odd because I just came from Target and was on a “I just got a George Foreman” high. I thought back on the day and tried to remember anything that went wrong, or maybe something bad that had happened. I came up with nothing. Suddenly I realized what it was, Magan wasn’t with us.

Since I meet Magan we haven’t spent more than a few days apart. In fact, I think the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other is 3 days. Needless to say I like spending time with her. We had Finley about 3 months ago and our lives have changed completely. Our time together is much more meaningful.

We’ve become quite the modern family. It’s rare that the 3 of us don’t go somewhere all together. It’s not that we can’t function away from each other, we just seem to bring out the best in ourselves when we’re together. So if one of us is missing, it feels like a hole.

In one sense it’s a little ridiculous to think that a trip to Target can bring up these feelings. But on the other hand, it just shows me how much I love and care about my family. If you’d have asked me a year ago how much I loved and cared for Magan, I’d have given you a completely different answer than if you asked me now. Having a child together has only strengthened our relationship. Sure, there are times when we don’t get along (this is usually when we’re sleep deprived), but as a whole we are a much better couple.

Basically, I love my wife. I love my Daughter. If I could, I’d spend all my time with them. Too bad work and responsibilities get in the way.

Last weekend I was driving home from Target. Finley and I went and were charged with buying a George Foreman grill, and a measuring cup. This is a dangerous assignment, because Magan was at work and I was all alone in Target. I am very capable of buying the whole store. (In any case we came home with the only 2 items we were sent to buy).

On the way home I started feeling melancholy. This was quite odd because I just came from Target and was on a “I just got a George Foreman” high. I thought back on the day and tried to remember anything that went wrong, or maybe something bad that had happened. I came up with nothing. Suddenly I realized what it was, Magan wasn’t with us.

Since I meet Magan we haven’t spent more than a few days apart. In fact, I think the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other is 3 days. Needless to say I like spending time with her. We had Finley about 3 months ago and our lives have changed completely. Our time together is much more meaningful.

We’ve become quite the modern family. It’s rare that the 3 of us don’t go somewhere all together. It’s not that we can’t function away from each other, we just seem to bring out the best in ourselves when we’re together. So if one of us is missing, it feels like a hole.

In one sense it’s a little ridiculous to think that a trip to Target can bring up these feelings. But on the other hand, it just shows me how much I love and care about my family. If you’d have asked me a year ago how much I loved and cared for Magan, I’d have given you a completely different answer than if you asked me now. Having a child together has only strengthened our relationship. Sure, there are times when we don’t get along (this is usually when we’re sleep deprived), but as a whole we are a much better couple.

Basically, I love my wife. I love my Daughter. If I could, I’d spend all my time with them. Too bad work and responsibilities get in the way.

I appreciate your call the other day. I had written my letter in October of last year and I had given up on a response from the school. It makes me glad to know my letter was not ignored.
If you have any further questions for me I am more than willing to answer them. I’m proud to have gone to FAMU. I just wish my experience was as professional as the school strives to be.
You mentioned just before we ended our conversation that you hoped, in the future, you could amend my feelings about FAMU. I don’t think that will be necessary. I have made my peace with my 2 years at the School. I don’t view the entire experience in a bad light. There were just a handful of bad experiences.
*However, if you have any connections with the Financial Aid Department; I do still owe some money to the school.
Again, thank you for you call. Have a good day.

                My name is Sean Cook and I am a recent graduate of Florida A&M University. I graduated in May with a degree in Photography. I waited several weeks before I contacted the school about my diploma. I figured these things take some time. To my surprise I found that my department never submitted my name for graduation.

                I tried for several weeks to call the school and find someone who knew how to amend my situation. Most people I spoke to were no help at all. One person even told me they didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t know who could help me. Eventually I found Mr. Glenn in the registrar’s office, and he assisted me in actually graduating. I am now graduated on paper, but I have a financial aid hold on my diploma.

While I was at FAMU I had Florida Bright Futures and Florida Pre Paid scholarships. My Tuition was always covered, and I always got a refund of the money left over. In the process of trying to finalize my graduation I found that I owe the school $2,600 dollars. So again I start calling people at the school trying to figure out this balance, because to my knowledge I should not owe anything.

Again after several weeks of calling I was given many different reasons for my balance. I was told it was a Loan Exit survey that I never completed (although I never applied for a loan), It was a simple cashiering hold of $252 and I should ignore the $2600 balance, and one person told me I didn’t have any holds at all and they didn’t understand my problem. Regrettably I did not record all the names of the people I spoke to. All I know is they work in the Financial Aid and Registrar offices.

This past week I finally discovered the source of my balance owed. I spoke with Mrs. Bryant in Financial aid on 10/12 and she told me she would give my file to “someone” to review. Someone will call me back before the end of the next day. Two days later, after not receiving a call back, I called Mrs. Bryant to find the status of my Financial Aid. She informed me it was a Loan Exit Survey, but she lifted that hold. She informed me I had a Cashiering hold and I should contact Student Accounts.

After several attempts of contacting Student Accounts I reach someone who tells me my Bright Futures scholarship was removed from my last 2 semesters and that I owe the school $1,400. I then speak to Mrs. Williams in Financial Aid, Mrs. Whitley in Financial and, and then Mrs. Cotton in the business office. After a few hours of calls and holding, I find that I was ineligible for my Bright Futures scholarship because I have used all of my hours.  I was issued the Bright Futures Scholarship for fall ’08 and Spring ’09, but then it was reversed.

I understand that I now owe money and that’s ok. My problem is with the way I found out. In talking to someone in Financial Aid I was told rather curtly that my balance would be sent to collections in November if I did not start paying. I was highly offended because I had just found out that day that I even had a balance. Is it the policy of the school to not inform students of owed balances? Was I even going to be notified I was being sent to collections?

I have tried to contact Marcia Boyd in Financial Aid to explain my situation and set up a payment plan. She has not returned my call, and is out for the day today.  My wife and I have just bought a house, and are expecting our first child in a few months. I don’t have $2,600 dollars to pay a debt I didn’t plan for. I feel like FAMU has wronged me by mistakenly issuing a scholarship and then resending it, further wronging me by not notifying me of monies I owe.

Again, I accept that I owe the school money. I am just offended in the manner in which I found out, as well as the manner in which I was treated. I don’t think at a State University I should call for months, and speak to many people who are almost completely unhelpful. It seems very unprofessional. I know FAMU prides itself on it’s legacy, but to me, this legacy is tarnished.

I appreciate your time, and I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Sean Cook

I began my Table Tennis (TT) career when I was probably 8 years old. Naturally being a Baptist kid, my first experience was at church. There sat the “Ping Pong” (PP) table next to the pool tables.

(Side note: To Baptists, pool tables are ok in the Fellowship Hall, but not so much in the Pool Hall down the street. This is an over generalization; and if you don’t like that I stereotyped Baptists this way then get your own blog and write your opinions.) {I’m in a feisty mood at present. This is honest and truthful. If you’re in the mood to read lies, see Glenn Beck.}

At the time I much preferred the Church’s scooters to the PP table. The scooters went fast, and I could run into other people. With PP, I couldn’t get a chance at the table because of all the college kids.

My TT experience from age 8 to age 20 is pretty bleak. Im sure I played on occasion at a youth camp, or High School retreat. Most likely I was terrible; and who isn’t? When you play only a few times a year, you don’t have much hope of getting better. It wasn’t until Crossroads that I really got my start.

Now Crossroads was the College group I was a part of in my illustrious Junior College years. In amongst all the wild Junior College antics (i.e. what to eat for lunch, should I go home to my parent’s house over my 4 hour break, bitchin’ about the weather) I learned to play what I now realized was called Table Tennis. PP was the term middle school kids used. TT is the proper term, and the only way to refer to the sport. The church where Crossroads made it’s home had 2 professional TT tables. These were $1,000 tables that were donated. (Side Note: Why do Mega Churches get all the crazy donations? Someone just had a few grand lying around and decided the youth department needed professional tables? Give me one of those tables. I’d use it to it’s full purpose …not as a buffet for youth events. I stray…)

Many days I’d find myself alone, practicing. There were several people there at what I like to call the Awakening. One such person was Steven Coley. There were many games played between us. Most times I lost, but sometimes I would squeak by with a victory. Steve is better than I am, and I attribute this to his skills at a tennis player. In fact, most of the people who were better than me played tennis. Some people just had natural talent.

As I think back I don’t think I was all that great. Consistent…maybe, but far from the best of the bunch. I feel like my role in the great TT awakening was the godfather of the table. I was more a promoter, not a player. Don’t get me wrong; I’d still play as much as I could. I was an ever-present mascot for a game that I had come to love. I found posters describing techniques and official rules, I bought my own paddles, and bought my own 3 star balls…I was committed.

I was so psyched about this new sport that Steve and I found the Pensacola Table Tennis Club. They meet once a week and it was open to anyone. We went a few times, and even brought some friends along. We quickly learned that we were out of our league. The guy who ran the club was a former Olympic player (at least that’s how I remember it. He may have only mentioned something about the Olympics, but in my mind he played there.) Things were going great for this new sport of mine.

At one point I organized a Crossroads TT tournament. I had sign-ups, and made out a tournament tree. I can’t remember if it was double elimination or not, but I just remember pumping it up to the greatest thing to hit the church since the Flag procession. (You know what flags I’m talking about. The big banners with the names of Jesus on them.) I feel like after the Crossroads tournament my TT life went downhill. I don’t remember playing that much, and eventually I moved here to Tallahassee (AKA the TT desert).

Tallahassee has little to offer a former TT promoter. I feel like Don King would feel if he found out boxing was made illegal. I’m not saying I’m Don King, no wait…Maybe I AM saying I’m Don King. I’ve had my heyday and now Im in the doldrums of my TT life. If I don’t have a resurrection soon, I may lose all my skills.

I see myself sitting on my porch and telling my kids of the times dad was a player. How I used to inspire people to play a sport they thought was goofy, or just a kids game. I’ll spin tales of victories, and epic defeats. How in ’05 I got a splinter and was out of commission for a whole 3 days. All these things are a very real possibility. A possibility I hope never comes true.

I am in the process, albeit a slow process, to build my own TT table. I’d make it an outdoor table because my wife would not allow it in our living room. I hope my plans of this table come true. If so, then maybe the great TT promoter/inspirer will rise again to former glory. Tallahassee you better watch out…Stiga and Butterfly may soon be in your vocabulary.

It was nice to read about how much fun I was having, and to think about all the hours I spent in the labs and out shooting with my friends. The troubling part came when I paraphrased a statement by the photographer Richard Avedon. I had just watched a DVD about his work and he was fast becoming a favorite artist of mine.  I paraphrased him with something like this:

If I go a day without doing something related to Photography, I feel like a piece of my soul is unfulfilled.

After I read that I sat for several minutes. I then thought about just a few days ago Magan asking me a question that was in the same vein. I was looking at a new lens and she asked,”What are you going to shoot with it?”

I know exactly what she was asking. It was an innocent question, not intended to incite an argument. It was simply a question.  Maybe she asked it for the exact reason I interpreted it; What are you going to do with a lens and a camera that sit in a box for weeks at a time?

I feel like it’s easy to blame outside circumstances for my lack of work. I mean I’ve got a whole hat full of excuses. FAMU burned me out, I don’t have anyone to shoot with, I just bought a house, I’m going to be a father in a few months…the list goes on. All of these excuses are just that; excuses. I don’t produce work anymore because I’m flat out lazy. I’ve bought into the American Dream of sitting on the couch and watching HGtv until I can’t keep my eyes open.

Like I said before, my cameras sit in their cases unused for weeks. What kind of photographer does that? If a musician never plays their instrument can they call themselves that? What does it take for someone to call themselves an artist? I’m not sure the exact answer to that question, but I do know it takes more than I’ve been doing.

I have no more big revelation than I have reached a state of knowing. I know I’m unmotivated. I know I need to continue my passion. I know I can’t call myself a photographer if I don’t produce work. I know I need to change.

Beyond that knowing state, I don’t know what my next step will be. Logically this should be an awakening to get back in the swing of things. (And maybe it will) But my fear is that I will continue in my ways, and take pictures of my cat with thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

                Life began for me in the summer of 1983. I lived in a world of simple pleasures like Ice Cream, and Baseball. Through my childhood I would speak to my parents and they would speak to me. We would ride in the car and listen to the radio, and talk about the days happenings. These interactions began diminishing as the technology in our household increased; namely the cell phone. Other technologies had a great effect on our family dynamic, but the invention of a piece of plastic with circuits boards that allowed me to be “mobile” has proved to be the most detrimental to my existence as a human.

                As this essay strives to focus on the iPhone and not all cell phones, or technology in general; I will spare you my personal history with my humanitarian fall through the uprising of technology. Suffice it to say this one piece of glorious technology was not the sole player, but merely the catalyst to my demise.

                I stated before that life began in ’83, but I thought life became worth living in July of 2008. Apple had introduced the iPhone about a year before this, and I had been totally enthralled by this product. I would read reviews, look at pictures, and watch videos. I was obsessed. I can even remember the first time I held an iPhone. I was at church and my wife Magan, and she said that our friend Randy has an iPhone and he’d probably let me look at it. I talk to Randy and he hands me his phone. I essentially turn into a 3 year old child who has just meet Barney. I flick it open and stare at it for a few seconds in awe.  I click a few applications, but my hands are literally trembling from all the hype I’ve placed on this one moment. I eventually hand it back to Randy and said something like I was just too nervous to look at it now. That should have been a big warning sign.

                I didn’t hold another iPhone until I bought my own in July ’09. This was partly due to my fear of freaking out like I did with Randy’s iPhone, and the fact that I just felt weird asking someone to lend me their phone so I could explore it. This doesn’t mean I stopped my intense research of the phone. I still watched videos about the phone, and talked about it probably every day. When Apple announced the release of the 3G iPhone, I knew this was my chance. I was still in a contract with another service provider, but I’d resigned myself to paying the termination fee and getting my “Dream Phone.”

                Launch Day comes around and I take off work to go stand in line. Magan and I get there a good hour before the store opens, but we were already thwarted by at least 60 other people.  We get to the AT&T employee and learn that all the phones in the store are gone; the last one having gone to the 10 year old in front of us in line. We would have to order ours, and they would be here in about a week.

                Paying a God Awful amount of money we leave with the promise that our lives will be changed in a week’s time.  The next week drags by at a snail’s pace. A call comes in and they tell me my phone is ready, but Magan’s will be in the next day. Magan being the wonderful wife she is says I should go get it and she’d survive another day iPhone-less. I go and pick up my phone and that Barney feeling hits me again. In hindsight there may or may not have been the sounds of tolling funeral bells in the background; I say that with the knowledge I know now. I probably placed the bells in the story after my demise became apparent.

                Before the iPhone I had a cheap slider phone. I could call people, text, and take horrible photos. Getting this new phone was the technological equivalent of fighting with a billy club to wielding a Tommy Gun. The iPhone had the Internet, e-mail, a calendar, an iPod, and applications that I could download. I was in heaven…or so I thought.

                The first several months were great. I could be seen anywhere around town; iPhone in hand. It hasn’t been 3 feet from my side except for showers, and rare occasions.  I was attached at the hip as they say. I saw no problem with using it in conversation, or while driving, or even in church. With a full QWERTY keyboard I could type until my thumbs were numb. (Actually with a glass screen there isn’t much abrasion or impact. It’s a rather good design)

                Any free minute would find me on my phone looking up some worthless piece of information on the internet, or playing a new game I just downloaded, or just mindlessly scrolling through the menus. I would open the phone sometimes just to look like I had something to do. There is no real reason for you to have your phone in your hand the entire time you are in Target. The same applies to the Grocery Store. But there I was; important as always.

                I find myself closed off at work with my ear buds in.  Some people claim the iPod started this alienation trend, but for me it was the fact that I have a portable video screen.  I have become addicted to movies and videos. Music has been pushed to the side, as well as branching out of my 3 foot tether. Before my iPhone I felt I could hold a conversation for more than a few minutes.  Now I feel like a Minute is an eternity. I rely on a device for entertainment rather than my own imagination.

                As I type this my phone is 2 feet away from me on my desk. My headphones are plugged in, as well as a power cord. (Video sucks a lot of power so I keep it hooked up) The hour or so it has taken me to write this will probably be the longest I’ll go today without watching a video, or playing a game, or checking my mail. I am in no way cured of this Technological Illness; I merely am merely of the problem. I’ve never been to an AA problem, but I hear that the first step to a solution is admitting you have a problem. If that’s the case then I well on my way to an eventual recovery. Does this mean I’ll drop the iPhone for another device…I highly doubt it. I think it means I will try and limit myself in its use.

                I hope this hasn’t turned you away from the wonderful aspects this device offers. Just because I am now a less patient, and more scattered person doesn’t mean you will meet the same fate.  Many of my friends live productive lives in society, and their iPhone is simply an extension to their personality. 

                I’ve got to go now. My iPet needs to be fed, I’ve got the last half of “Dead Poets Society” to watch, Im working on a new high score in Cubes, and I’ll probably Twitter 6 more times before I go to sleep tonight.  Oh yeah, I’ve also got some stuff to do here at work.

iPhone friendly version

Above is a link for the first edition of the podcats. This is a rough recording, but remember it’s just a pilot.

Let me know your critiques and criticisms.

Enjoy.

This was the receipt from my exit survey. Notice it hasn’t been updated in 2 years. TWO YEARS!

There are plenty of people who work at FAMU, God knows I’ve meet most of them trying to figure out my schedule. You’d think they could find someone to update this form that everyone must fill out before they leave.

As you might expect I let my true feelings about the school be known through this survey. Feelings include…My degree might be worthless, completely unorganized, and most stressful environment I’ve ever encountered.

When I recieved this receipt I was reminded of a form I filled out one time for an exemption from a class. It was an original piece of paper from circa 1970. I know it was original because it was yellowed, and typed on a typewritter. It wasn’t even on the paper straight.

Small rants might happen more often as I decompress from the stress of Florida A&M University.

I have been at FAMU for 2 full years, and I cannot wait to be gone. I’m in my last few weeks and it’s like pulling teeth every time I go to class. As soon as I step foot on campus I feel my temper dwindle to a firecracker fuse. No one does anything right and everyone is in my way. I have a good control on my temper, so all this aggression is kept inside. I generally wait till I get home and tell my wife about all the utterly stupid things that happened. Twitter usually feels my rage as well, but I tend to censor my tweets pretty well.

FAMU is by far the most unprofessional school I have ever attended or visited. Granted I haven’t been to a lot of colleges, but I feel I have a good grasp on what a genuine college experience should be like. I shouldn’t have to track down my professors and remind them we have class. I shouldn’t have to explain my financial aid over and over again to 4 different people. I shouldn’t have to print and re-print assignments because a professor lost the original. I don’t feel like these are normal occurrences at other universities.

I’m going to give you a few examples of what I deal with school. First a little background. I came to FAMU with an A.A. degree. This meant that all I’d need to take were classes for my major. I’d have a series of photo classes and a series of classes for my minor which is Print Production. I thought this would be a breeze, and I’d be a better photographer when I finished.

As it turns out I feel like I didn’t learn all that much, and came out a more callus and aggravated person. I came to this school primarily for one photo professor. I get here to find that he is just as frustrated with the school as I will soon be. He comes to class, and leaves as soon as possible. I can’t blame him though; I try and limit my time on campus as much as possible. That being said, here’s some examples of “Class” at FAMU.

There are a series of 4 classes that all Graphic Arts students have to take. We call them colloquium 1-3 and the 4^th is called Graphic Arts Seminar. If it were up to me I would call them “How to act like an adult 1-4” but I was not consulted on the naming of the courses. What we learn in these classes is essentially how to act like an adult in the workplace, as well as in real life. We use one book for the first 3 classes and the last one is a kind of free for all.

We learn how to dress for a job interview, not to spread gossip, what emotions are, how to treat your co-workers. Basically things you should have learned at home growing up. Some topics were as basic as oral hygiene, and setting your alarm to wake up on time. How on earth you made it to college and never brushed your teeth I will never understand.

The simpleton nature of the first 3 courses was compounded by the teacher. She is an adjunct whose profession is in advertising. Class always starts no sooner than 15min. after the scheduled time, and it’s always a soft start. She’ll call roll and chit-chat with people along the way; stand at the podium and shuffle papers for a few minutes and then ask what chapter we’re on. In all 3 classes we are assigned a chapter to present and then act out in a skit. I’m 25 years old and acting out skits on when you should use the company card. I really don’t understand it.

In the 3^rd class we are asked to give a small presentation of the work we’ve produced at FAMU. It’s nothing big, a 5-10 minute slideshow of your work. Im not sure if it’s common for this to happen; but the teacher will answer her phone in the middle to someone’s presentation and hold a conversation. Luckily she didn’t do it during my presentation because I would have stopped and said something about how completely rude it is to interrupt your student with a cell phone call. The people she did this to just continued on with their presentation like nothing happened.

The first 3 in this series of useless classes pale in comparison to the senior level 4^th edition; Graphic Arts Seminar. This class is taught by the dean of the graphic arts program. In this class we honestly don’t do much of anything. If you were to ask me what we talk about any given class period, I couldn’t begin to tell you. It essentially boils down to a father/son type talk about life through the eyes of a 60 year old man. Sure we have assignments, but they were crafted 15 years ago and copied and pasted into a new semester. If the first 3 classes started 15mintues late, that would be a miracle for this class. 30 minutes was the norm and sometimes we would be there longer. As I mentioned before, this is the class that the professor needed to be reminded of. We’d hunt for the professor and find him in his office eating, totally oblivious to class having started 20 minutes prior.

We were given group projects with vague titles. My group was Technology. No other direction, we just had to give a presentation on Technology. We meet the day before our presentation and planned out what we’re going to do. Our presentation lasted all of 10 minutes and consisted of the other members of the group reading directly from PowerPoint slides. I’m not saying I’m a great speaker, but I feel like I can hold my own. My classmates are in college and don’t deserve to be read to.

In Seminar we have a thing called a Capstone. It’s basically a presentation of the work you’ve done at FAMU. You show your portfolio, talk about what you learned, and tell what your career plans are. I signed up late for mine so I ended up with one of the first slots. We have a sponsor, which is one of our professors, who looks over our portfolio and helps craft our presentation. After being told by my preferred professor, “I don’t want to do it” I went with my 2^nd choice.

Watching my other classmate’s presentations I felt much better about my own work. The majority of presenters were Graphic Designers. I use the term “designers” lightly; I can design better than most of the design majors. Flyers for parties were present in almost all of the graduates, as well as drawings from freshmen year art classes. I felt like they had a copy of Photoshop, and read tutorials to produce their assignments.

It comes to the day of my presentation and Magan goes with me. I’m supposed to go at 1:30, but at 1:45 it was just Magan, one other student, and me in class. The professor arrives in usual style about 2, and asks if I’m doing my presentation today. I sarcastically say I’m presenting at 1:30. He then he jokingly says, “I guess we’re running late.” It was at this point I wanted to cuss and walk out.

I started my presentation around 2:10 with 5 people watching. I ended 15min. later with about 25 people watching. It was a constant stream of people through the door. However, the coup de gras was when the professor walked up to me while I was speaking and asked who my sponsor was and where he was. I looked at him and said “Seriously? I’m in the middle of my capstone?” Apparently I am responsible for making sure my sponsor was present. I was responsible for making sure a grown man was present for my capstone.

The use of the English Language at FAMU is quite loose. To be a professor only requires you to show up a few times a week. Sentences require a noun and any form of a verb. I be…I is…What be…these are common occurrences in a formal class setting. Did I mention the time one professor made fun of a student’s speech impediment? The student stutters her R’s sometimes; and the professor responded once with, “Wha, Wha, Wha, What did you say?”

All in all I feel like I am a more callus, frustrated person for having attended FAMU. I’m not convinced that my photography skills improved over the past 2 years. The stress of dealing with the administration, and completely bogus class work hindered me from producing quality work. That’s not to say I didn’t produce good work, I just feel like I could have done a lot better had it not been for a school that is run like a nightclub.

Looking back I wish I had gone to another college. I say this only about the college, because while in Tallahassee I have made a lot of friends, and even meet my wife. I just hate that I will remember my college days as full of frustration and grief. In time the good will outweigh the bad, I just need to wait