I had the good fortune of finding a group to attend the Oakland Athletics vs. Florida Marlins game last night. Now, as a Philadelphia Phillies fan, I'm rather spoiled when it comes to winning streaks, amazing pitching feats, and having some of the most ridiculously dedicated fans. However, over the past year I have come to realize that not all fans are created equal, and some are just a little bit better than others. Sure, it's easy to root for the Phillies when they win a World Series in 2008. Sure, it's easy to root for the Dodgers when they're rolling in moo-lah and actually playing baseball. Sure, it's easy to root for the Giants just because everyone else is and because they won a World Series in 2010. It is NOT easy to root for a team whose best player bats average at very best. It is NOT easy to root for a team that cannot fill their own ballpark. It is NOT easy to root for the Oakland A's.
I have a lot of respect for A's fans (and that's not simply because my boyfriend is one). Game after game, there are those few fans who show up to the games, who buy their A's gear, who root for them regardless of a losing streak (which happens more often than not). While most Bay Area residents jump on the Giants bandwagon, these true baseball fans remain with their band of misfits, secretly hoping for a miracle. Do I think the A's will end the season with a winning record? No. Do I hope something miraculous happens and I see them play against my Phillies in the World Series? Absolutely.
Having been spoiled with Dodger Stadium growing up, the Coliseum looks like a concrete eyesore and attracts only a few fans per game. Growing up a Dodgers fan, I got used to people arriving late and leaving early (there is traffic!!!). But at the Coliseum- it was the bottom of the 9th, the A's were losing to the Marlins 3-0, with 2 outs. And no one was leaving. Chants of "Let's Go Oakland" broke out, people cheered, and people hoped. Now, I'm an optimistic fan, but when you're down to your final out and need multiple runs, even I lose faith. THAT is the Oakland difference. As terrible or as disappointing as the team may be, they still have a solid fan base that remains true to the "green collar baseball" and rejects the (repulsive) orange and black.
I tip my hat to you, true Oakland A's fans. And I'll be rooting for you.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
There's A First Time For Everything
I finally did it.
I got myself a/two tattoo(s).
For the past year I've debated getting my first tattoo, knowing that I would face stigma from my family, some of my friends, future employers, and acquaintances. In 2006 I lost a good friend- Ashley Menard- when she was brutally murdered, along with her parents, by her older brother Brandon. It's taken 5 years for Brandon to finally admit that he did indeed murder sweet Ashley and her parents, and it will take even longer for him to receive a sentence and pay for what he did. As my first blog entry recounted, a year ago I lost my friend Zachary because law enforcement officials decided to shoot first and ask questions later. I wanted to get a tattoo that would remind me of the injustices in the world, and that would honor two irreplaceable people. Eventually I hope to make my way into the legal field as a lawyer or a prosecutor. Ashley and Zac have only made this dream more meaningful to me, and I wanted something to remind me to strive for justice so that someone else will not have to face the loss of two friends like I, and many of my high school marching band friends, have.
I initially wanted the word "Justice" written between two angel wings, but was told it was an impossible tattoo for someone with a wrist as small as mine. Alternatives were posed and finally I settled on having two angel wings, one on each wrist, so that when my wrists come together, the picture is complete. I call my right wrist tattoo my "Ashley Wing", and my left my "Zac Wing". Together, they work as a reminder of my commitment to the pursuit of justice for victims and their families.
The process itself was fun.
My roommates Kirk and Estevan accompanied me, as did my co-worker/friend Hannah. My tattoo artist Danielle was amazing. She explained the entire process, made sure I was absolutely sure, and waited for my nerves to calm down before inking me. People greatly exaggerate the pain of getting a tattoo: I can liken the pain to that of dragging a safety pin or push pin across your skin (it's less painful than you'd think). My Ashley Wing was done first and stung during the other wrist, so I was able to concentrate on that pain instead of the tattoo. There was little to no bleeding, and after only 30 minutes, I was completely done. Danielle gave me a discount for being "a great first-timer", and she even gave me a lollipop when I was done! They're healing and look clean, and perfect. I love it/them! As permanent as this decision was, I am glad I went through with it.
I know mom will not be happy (she might even categorize her feelings as those of "disappointment"), but this is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life, not her. It is something extremely personal, and something that I needed to do in order to help with my coping/healing and to remind me of the commitment to justice that I am making. Look for my new tattoos the next time you see me! I cannot wait to show them to you!
In conclusion, if you're going to make a decision like this, make sure it has a purpose, even if it's one only you need to understand. So when you make the move to a tattoo, make it a move with a purpose, people.
I got myself a/two tattoo(s).
For the past year I've debated getting my first tattoo, knowing that I would face stigma from my family, some of my friends, future employers, and acquaintances. In 2006 I lost a good friend- Ashley Menard- when she was brutally murdered, along with her parents, by her older brother Brandon. It's taken 5 years for Brandon to finally admit that he did indeed murder sweet Ashley and her parents, and it will take even longer for him to receive a sentence and pay for what he did. As my first blog entry recounted, a year ago I lost my friend Zachary because law enforcement officials decided to shoot first and ask questions later. I wanted to get a tattoo that would remind me of the injustices in the world, and that would honor two irreplaceable people. Eventually I hope to make my way into the legal field as a lawyer or a prosecutor. Ashley and Zac have only made this dream more meaningful to me, and I wanted something to remind me to strive for justice so that someone else will not have to face the loss of two friends like I, and many of my high school marching band friends, have.
I initially wanted the word "Justice" written between two angel wings, but was told it was an impossible tattoo for someone with a wrist as small as mine. Alternatives were posed and finally I settled on having two angel wings, one on each wrist, so that when my wrists come together, the picture is complete. I call my right wrist tattoo my "Ashley Wing", and my left my "Zac Wing". Together, they work as a reminder of my commitment to the pursuit of justice for victims and their families.
The process itself was fun.
My roommates Kirk and Estevan accompanied me, as did my co-worker/friend Hannah. My tattoo artist Danielle was amazing. She explained the entire process, made sure I was absolutely sure, and waited for my nerves to calm down before inking me. People greatly exaggerate the pain of getting a tattoo: I can liken the pain to that of dragging a safety pin or push pin across your skin (it's less painful than you'd think). My Ashley Wing was done first and stung during the other wrist, so I was able to concentrate on that pain instead of the tattoo. There was little to no bleeding, and after only 30 minutes, I was completely done. Danielle gave me a discount for being "a great first-timer", and she even gave me a lollipop when I was done! They're healing and look clean, and perfect. I love it/them! As permanent as this decision was, I am glad I went through with it.
I know mom will not be happy (she might even categorize her feelings as those of "disappointment"), but this is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life, not her. It is something extremely personal, and something that I needed to do in order to help with my coping/healing and to remind me of the commitment to justice that I am making. Look for my new tattoos the next time you see me! I cannot wait to show them to you!
In conclusion, if you're going to make a decision like this, make sure it has a purpose, even if it's one only you need to understand. So when you make the move to a tattoo, make it a move with a purpose, people.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
In Constant Sorrow
I apologize for the discontinuities and random assortment of thoughts that follow, but I feel they are justified at 12:30am. I just returned home from working at the Alison Krauss & Union Station concert at the UC Berkeley Greek Theater. Now, those that are my friends know that I enjoy country music quite a bit, so being able to see Alison Krauss while making money was the best way I could've spent this Saturday evening. While she is a superb singer and a fantastic entertainer, her concert disappointed me in that she failed to perform "Whiskey Lullaby", one of country music's most tear-worthy songs. Amidst the disappointment, the concert was saved by Union Station's performance of "In Constant Sorrow" from one of my favorite films: O Brother, Where Art Thou? If you've never seen this film, or heard the Soggy Bottom Boys version of the song, you need to rethink your priorities. For your viewing pleasure:
Unfortunately, my sister informed me that George Clooney did NOT sing "In Constant Sorrow" and instead chose to give his singing role to Union Station. I simply closed my eyes and pretended Mr. Clooney was up on stage. It almost worked.
My coworkers and I were rewarded for our hard work with a private dance recital from some slightly (read: very) intoxicated patrons throughout the concert. As ridiculous as some of those people looked, the happiness on their faces made me want to grab a bottle of wine and join in. I realized that it didn't matter that people were staring at them, or that they couldn't dance, or that they were a handful out of 3,500 people there. They were content to show their elation through (poor) dance, and probably had a better concert experience than every other person there sitting in a chair. They got me thinking: maybe we don't need to move with a purpose. Maybe, sometimes, just moving is enough. So move, people! Get up and dance! Walk! Run! Make a difference! You'll be glad you did.
Unfortunately, my sister informed me that George Clooney did NOT sing "In Constant Sorrow" and instead chose to give his singing role to Union Station. I simply closed my eyes and pretended Mr. Clooney was up on stage. It almost worked.
My coworkers and I were rewarded for our hard work with a private dance recital from some slightly (read: very) intoxicated patrons throughout the concert. As ridiculous as some of those people looked, the happiness on their faces made me want to grab a bottle of wine and join in. I realized that it didn't matter that people were staring at them, or that they couldn't dance, or that they were a handful out of 3,500 people there. They were content to show their elation through (poor) dance, and probably had a better concert experience than every other person there sitting in a chair. They got me thinking: maybe we don't need to move with a purpose. Maybe, sometimes, just moving is enough. So move, people! Get up and dance! Walk! Run! Make a difference! You'll be glad you did.
Friday, June 24, 2011
One Year Ago
One year ago today, Zac Champommier agreed to meet with a friend in a Chipotle parking lot to see a movie. That friend peered into cars as he looked for Zac's, and was abruptly stopped and held at gun point by a group of men in the parking lot. Fearing for his life, Zac attempted to drive away, only to find his exit blocked by the men. As one man jumped in front of his moving vehicle, the others unloaded a rain of bullets into Zac's car, ending his 18-year-old life with a single bullet through his armpit.
One year ago today, a group of LAPD officers and other officers organized by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration met in a public parking lot to debrief after serving a search warrant in the area. The plainclothes officers noticed a man peering into vehicles in the lot and came to the assumption that he was casing the vehicles for a break-in. As they pulled out their weapons and ordered the unarmed man to the ground, a white sedan maneuvered through the lot towards the exit. Attempting to stop the suspect's "accomplice", an officer ran in front of the vehicle and, when hit, the other officers felt justified in shooting at the unidentified driver later pronounced dead at the scene.
One year ago today, Carol Champommier said goodbye to her son as he left to spend time with a friend. As hours went by and no word came from Zac, Carol began to worry that something had happened to her son. As morning came and Zac was neither back home nor answering phone calls, Carol began calling Zac's closest friends, praying that her son had simply fallen asleep somewhere and had forgotten to let her know. It wasn't until she called local law enforcement to file a missing person's report the next morning that she was told her only son had been shot and killed.
One year ago today, I sat in my room and, like any college student looking to avoid work, logged into Facebook. "RIP Zac", "I miss you Zac", "We love you Zac" posts filled my news feed. As I continued to click through profile after profile, I came to realize what every post had in common. Every post came from someone who was also a mutual friend of Zac Champommier. "But that can't be", I reasoned. "Zac just graduated from high school 2 weeks ago!". As I called my close friend Ryanne, Zac's absolute best friend, tears rolled down my cheeks as I was taken back to August 4, 2006 when another close friend (in the same high school marching band as myself and Zac) had been killed. Ryanne confirmed what my heart already knew: Zac Champommier, master of the tenor-saxophone, friend to all who knew him, and without a doubt one of the most positive people I knew, had been taken from us by the trigger-happy Los Angeles Police Department.
One year ago today, the community was outraged that something like this could happen. Friends of Zac, his mother, and strangers touched by his story demanded answers from the LAPD, the LA Sheriff's Department, and the DEA.
One year later, there are no answers.
Carol Champommier has filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the LAPD, the LA Sheriff's Department, and the DEA. One year of waiting for a parent is not justice. One year of waiting for the hundreds of friends Zac had is not justice. One year of the same officials tasked with protecting and serving the community cowering behind their desks and weapons is not justice. On this one year anniversary, say a prayer for Zac. For Carol. For all of us. If a young man like Zac- a young man with his entire future ahead of him, with friends and strangers infatuated with his smile, with the most loving mother I have met- can have his life ended so quickly, so suddenly, and so tragically, then so can any of us.
So move with a purpose, people.
Rest In Peace Zachary Champommier...You are forever in our thoughts, our prayers, and our hearts.
January 21, 1992 - June 24, 2010
One year ago today, a group of LAPD officers and other officers organized by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration met in a public parking lot to debrief after serving a search warrant in the area. The plainclothes officers noticed a man peering into vehicles in the lot and came to the assumption that he was casing the vehicles for a break-in. As they pulled out their weapons and ordered the unarmed man to the ground, a white sedan maneuvered through the lot towards the exit. Attempting to stop the suspect's "accomplice", an officer ran in front of the vehicle and, when hit, the other officers felt justified in shooting at the unidentified driver later pronounced dead at the scene.
One year ago today, Carol Champommier said goodbye to her son as he left to spend time with a friend. As hours went by and no word came from Zac, Carol began to worry that something had happened to her son. As morning came and Zac was neither back home nor answering phone calls, Carol began calling Zac's closest friends, praying that her son had simply fallen asleep somewhere and had forgotten to let her know. It wasn't until she called local law enforcement to file a missing person's report the next morning that she was told her only son had been shot and killed.
One year ago today, I sat in my room and, like any college student looking to avoid work, logged into Facebook. "RIP Zac", "I miss you Zac", "We love you Zac" posts filled my news feed. As I continued to click through profile after profile, I came to realize what every post had in common. Every post came from someone who was also a mutual friend of Zac Champommier. "But that can't be", I reasoned. "Zac just graduated from high school 2 weeks ago!". As I called my close friend Ryanne, Zac's absolute best friend, tears rolled down my cheeks as I was taken back to August 4, 2006 when another close friend (in the same high school marching band as myself and Zac) had been killed. Ryanne confirmed what my heart already knew: Zac Champommier, master of the tenor-saxophone, friend to all who knew him, and without a doubt one of the most positive people I knew, had been taken from us by the trigger-happy Los Angeles Police Department.
One year ago today, the community was outraged that something like this could happen. Friends of Zac, his mother, and strangers touched by his story demanded answers from the LAPD, the LA Sheriff's Department, and the DEA.
One year later, there are no answers.
Carol Champommier has filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the LAPD, the LA Sheriff's Department, and the DEA. One year of waiting for a parent is not justice. One year of waiting for the hundreds of friends Zac had is not justice. One year of the same officials tasked with protecting and serving the community cowering behind their desks and weapons is not justice. On this one year anniversary, say a prayer for Zac. For Carol. For all of us. If a young man like Zac- a young man with his entire future ahead of him, with friends and strangers infatuated with his smile, with the most loving mother I have met- can have his life ended so quickly, so suddenly, and so tragically, then so can any of us.
So move with a purpose, people.
Rest In Peace Zachary Champommier...You are forever in our thoughts, our prayers, and our hearts.
January 21, 1992 - June 24, 2010
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