Iran Shouts, "Death to Dictatorship!"

Yahoo News reported today on the protests going on in Iran over the fraudulent election of June 12 in an article titled, "Defiant Tehran protesters battle police," by Ali Akbar Dareini and Brian Murphy of the Associated Press Writers.

Does that cover my legal obligations to quote this article?

"Thousands of protesters defied Iran's highest  authority  Saturday..."  What does this mean for the Middle East, what does it mean to Americans? I'm going to try to explain what I think this means.

The news today is filled with negativity and hype.  The Associated Press does a really good job when it comes to reporting the news and only the news.  They do not speculated and rarely opinionate.  However, like all news agencies, the fall victim to the negative side of the news.  And why not, it brings in the high ratings and thus the high revenue of advertising.  

But that's a side note to the more pressing news that Iran is in the beginning stages of reform and before it is over, I am sure we (meaning the U.S.A.) will be involved.

"President Barrack Obama [warned Iran] to halt "all violent and unjust actions against its own people."  He said the United States, "stands by all who seek to exercise," the universal rights to assembly and free speech."

Interesting quote, yes?  Is our peace loving, talk first president really prepared to back those words?  Would he really lead the U.S. into helping one side of someone else's civil war?  And people were afraid of President Bush II.

Wait, did I say civil war?  Yes.  I believe this faux election in Iran could lead to more than civil unrest and become an all out war, a war we would no doubt be asked to participate in since... well, it's our fault.  Before I get to why it's our fault let me feed you one more quote.

Mehrdad Khonsari, a consultant to the London-based Center for Arab and Iranian Studies said, "... history has taught us that people in these situations lose their initial sense of fear and become emboldened by brutality."

So if history teaches us that, does it not also teach such emboldenment leads to revolution?  It did for the British Colonies of America some 230 some odd years ago.  Creating a nation which valued Truth, Justice and Liberty for all.

Liberty for all?  Is that why we are in Iraq and Afghanistan?  or was that just my motive for joining the army?

Maybe it's a universal want.  Aprox. 3,000 protesters marched against the faux election some chanting, "Death to dictatorship," "Death to the dictator," and my fave, "Death to Khamenei!" - a "once unthinkable challenge to the authority of the successor of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the father of the Islamic Revolution."

So why is all this the fault of the U.S.?  Because of the Domino Effect.  Here's how I see it.  The U.S. liberates Afghanistan - The U.S. liberates Iraq - Syria releases it's control of Lebanon - Israelbegins talking about a two state solution - Iran's youth gets a taste of freedom and wants more - Ahmadinejad cheats in the June 12 election - Iranians demand a fair election.

Will there be a revolution or at least a major reform in Iran? Why wouldn't there be.  History has also taught that a repressed people who feel emboldened will stand against further oppression.  So what does the Iranian gov. do? 

Block "Web sites such as BBC Fasi, Facebook, Twitter and several pro-Mousavi sites used by Iranians to tell the world about protests and violence.  Text messaging has not been working in Iran since last week and cell phone service in Tehran is frequently down."

But an emboldened people will find a way, Sami Al Faraj, president of the Kuwait Center for Strategic Studies said of the opposition networks, "They can resort to whispering... they can do it the old fashioned way."

I mentioned something about all the negative news didn't I?  Well here is a positive thought, one I never saw coming but now I can see it:  Peace in the Middle East in my life time!

Freedom/Liberty is contagious.  Once a people taste of its fruit the want more and more.  Don't believe me?  Look at the history of the United States we started with only giving true freedom to land owners and now even illegal immigrants are getting treated better than many of our fore fathers.

Give us Liberty for All or give us death!  Let Freedom ring, eh?

Ozymandias is Alive

Ozymandias is real but his name isn't Adrian Veidt it's Shai Agassi and he's gonna save the world.  In a time when a graphic novel has sparked all kinds of conversations about age old problems a real life counter part to Watchmen's superhero Ozymandias has appeared with a bold new plan to save mankind.

Shai Agassi started a company called Better Place, plans to replace all our gas powered vehicles with electric cars and to build a world wide infrastructure to support these vehicles.  Just like in the graphic novel Watchmen Agassi has invented power stations to be placed all over our city's and towns to charge these vehicles.  In the graphic novel Veidt invents a charging station that looks much like a fire hydrant you plug your car into when it's parked.  Will this change how the world runs?  Will it stop wars over oil?  How prolific is Watchmen and it's writer Alan Moore?

As the character Rorschach would say, "This needs further investigating."

for info on Better Place goto: Better Place

Alan Moore won't watch Watchmen...

Looking like the face on the Shroud of Turin but much older, Alan Moore is the epitome of Goth Punk.  You might guess he is a poet or a writer, so should you be amazed to find out he is the writer of comics greatest, most thought provoking stories?

The works of Moore tend to be wordy, as the art form of comic books and graphic novels often use the "less is more" approach, letting the art fill in the gaps; he gives "more than less" in every story he writes.  The words cascade across almost every frame of art, combine the two and it is as if you are living the story not merely reading it.

Some call Moore the greatest graphic novelist of all time, even prophetic in his story telling.  His acclaim comes from his many amazing stories but none so much as Watchmen.  The graphic novel given credit for changing thew ay comic books are viewed, was written in the late 80's (originally published by DC as 12 monthly issues between 1986-87) is about to be put up on the ole' silver screen, much to the writer's dismay.

When asked by Wizard:  The Magazine of Comic, Entertainment and Pop Culture (pg 54 Wizard#209) if he would ever see the film adaptation of his great work, he replied, "...that's never going to happen...  I'm never going to see the fucking thing."

Moore has an unfavorable attitude toward Hollywood.  If you have had the displeasure of sitting through the film adaptation of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen you just might understand why he feels the way he does.  However, other books of his which have seen the lime-light of Hollywood:  V for Vendetta, a faithful translation of graphic art to moving picture or From Hell which benefitted much from the performance of actor Johnny Depp, you begin to question where Moore gets his attitude.

In a recent interview with journalist Geoff Boucher of the L.A. Times, Moore explains his opinion, "I find film in its modern form to be quite bullying.  It spoon-feeds us, which has the effect of watering down our collective cultural imagination.  It is as if we are freshly hatched birds looking up with our mouths open waiting for Hollywood to feed us more regurgitated worms.  The 'Watchmen' film sounds like more regurgitated worms.  I for on am sick of worms.  Can't we get something else?"

So why would I call one of my "hero's" of the written word a big baby?

I think an artist should be thrilled at the idea so many have been moved by his work they want more.  With a film adaptation, as faithful as a film can be to an original work, so many more might have the opportunity to be affected by it, the artist should be thrilled!

Is it not a bit shocking how Moore can dislike film so much that he would take his name off the movie he inspired?  Dave Gibbons, the artist behind the graphic novel, Watchmen, is a talent to be recognized but people didn't buy the book for his art the way the might for any book published by Image Comics.  No, they bought the book because of Moore's prose.  They bought it and shared it because of the story Moore created.  They love the story and they will go see the movie because they want Moore.

I say:

Dear Mr. Moore

Get off your high horse, go see the film, enjoy the spoils of your work, you deserve it.  Did you hear Frank Millar cry like a little bitch about 300?  No, you didn't did you?  Why?  Because Zack Snyder stayed faithful to the book and made a much larger audience aware of his work just as he is doing with Watchmen.

... big baby!

But I guess when you are an intelligent, talented yet, eccentric writer you can get away with being a complete dick!

The Department of Ethnic Diversity

Mr. Andrew Hacker has worked for the Department of Ethnic Diversity for fifteen years and since its creation, shortly after the end of the Minority/Majority Civil War (M&M War), the D.E.D. has had an overwhelming success rate in deterring conflict between races. The department made very few mistakes and never one as bad as this.  Today was one of those days that Mr. Hacker hated.  Today a mistake had to be rectified.  Mr. Hacker looked at the file on his desk and shook his head unable to comprehend how this could have been over looked for so long.

            Birth Number #539-1998-02-29                        

Given Name: Benjamin Woodworth

            Scheduled Race:  American African            

Birth Race:  Non-Hispanic Caucasian

This was not going to be a good day.

Mr. Hacker, dressed in his finest tight blue suit, stepped out of his office, the file in his brief case next to his MacBook and walkout to his TSV (Time Shared Vehicle).  He pressed his thumb to the pad on the door and the vehicle unlocked.  He set his brief case aside and pushed the command key on the TSVs’ console.  The quiet hum of the electric hybrid engine began and the TSV asked in its robotic voice, “Destination please?”

“Yes, the home of Benjamin Woodworth, number five-three-nine,” Mr. Hacker replied.  The TSV worked itself out onto the road and finding the shortest distance between the office and Mr. Woodworth’s home Mr. Hacker arrived all to quickly.

Ben was dictating his next best seller, “How a Civil War Saved America,” to his iMac his Automated Security System popped a video box onto his screen showing a man dressed in a tight blue suit walking up to his door.  Ben commanded his iMac to save and power down, took a sip of coffee and left his home office to answer the door just as the bell rang.  He opened the door and greeted the with his usual Cruisesque smile, “Howdy.  What may I do for you?”

Mr. Hacker smiled back and replied, “Hello, Mr. Woodworth.  I’m Mr. Hacker from the D.E.D.  Uh… the Department of Ethnic Diversity?”

“Yes, of course.  I’m writing a chapter on your department for my next book,” Ben said.  Lifting his right brow, the way he did whenever he had misgivings about something he continued, “What does the D.E.D. want with me?”

******

After about an hour of explaining and many attempts to calm Ben down Mr. Hacker had finally gotten to the part that calmed every red blooded American down: money.

            “The D.E.D. is well aware of the inconvience going through a Transracial operation causes that is why we are prepared to offer reparations,” Mr. Hacker explained as Mr. Woodworth robot assistant Asimo refreshed his drink.

“What kind of reparations,” Ben asked?

            “Name your price,” Mr. Hacker boldly stated.

            “Name my price?  Are you kidding?”

            “No.  The D.E.D. has nearly in exhaustable funds in matters of peace such as this.  So, name your price.”

“Okay.  One million dollars a year for the rest of my life.”

Now, Mr. Hackers eyebrow raised, “As I’ve explained our audit of your life predicts you will live another fifty years…”

            “As a black man,”  Ben interrupted, “ Yes, I understand that.  I also understand that even with your guarantee that I will live another fifty years, as a black man, I am more than likely to die of some terrible disease.  I’ve done research on this.  According to the [U.S.] Department of Health & Human Services website, black males are more susceptible to “…heart diseases, stroke, cancer, asthma, influenza and pneumonia, diabetes, HIV/AIDS.”  There will even be an increase in chance that I will die of a homicide canceling out your guarantee!

            So yes, I will be asking for one million a year for the rest of my life.”

            “Alright.  I’ll take that down.  However, I’m going to leave you some littiture I want you to read and there are some questions I’d like you to answer before we finish the paper work.  I’ll come back in two weeks time…”

Works Cited

"Data/Statistics: African American Profiles." The Office of Minority Health. 2005. U.S. Department of Health & Services. 13 Apr 2007 .

Davis, Jr., MD, FACS, Kenneth. "African American Health." Net Wellness. 17 June 2002. University of Cincinnati. 13 Apr 2007 .  

Haunting, the Eye of Hurricanes

The eye of a hurricane will pull you in, the words will shock you, and the meaning will entice you. This is perhaps what the advertiser of the film want. The film is An Inconvenient Truth and what I’m looking at is one of the posters used to bring people into the theater. As a whole the poster is almost threatening. The ominous hurricane eye, filling the top two-thirds of the poster, over takes the hazy blue-grey, evening sky, with a terrifying swirl of white smoke. The smoke is supplied by two of three, tall chimneystacks, centered in the middle of the ad, pulling the eye from the hurricane down. Not all the way down, to the left (the posters’ stage right) is the copy stating, “By far the most terrifying film you will ever see.”
Terror upon terror, your eyes will still follow the smoke stacks down to the main body of the factory they support. Behind the factory you can discern the fading dusk. The eye continues down into a black fade until the bottom fourth of the poster is a black matte designated for the title of the film. An Inconvenient Truth stretches across the blackness in bold lower case lettering larger than any other group of words; they are printed without any more space between the letters than had they been one word. The only way to tell them apart is the fact that the middle word, “inconvenient” is in an eye catching orange-red color. Below the title is the subtitle, slightly smaller yet just as tricky as the words above it. This time the lettering is in all uppercase, still all white yet once again red is used to draw your eye. The subtitle reads, “A Global Warning,” with “warning” slightly crooked and all in red looks as though it had been stamped there with a sure hand leaving the stamps rectangle shape around the words.
Less interesting and common on all American movie posters are the film credits placed at the bottom center in white lettering so they may be seen by curious parties but make no more statement about the film then the "who made it," question only geeks like myself ask.
When I look at the smoke coming from the building on the bottom left I find that the two plumes of smoke present in the middle of the poster is repeated here. This time, it seems, the eye is lifted up in almost a heavenly way back into the haze to be abruptly stopped to read the copy, either for the first time or for a second time. “By far the most terrifying...” Haunting, the way this poster was designed. The “two plume” devise is used again on the bottom right of the page, though only for the purpose of symmetry.
I am left with so many questions I’d like the to ask the advertisers: why is the third and most prominent smoke stack empty; why is it not filling the air with hurricane smoke; why the lower case letters; why the upper case letters?

Why did this poster have so powerful of an impact on me?
When I was a boy, the trip to my grandmothers’ house was always long and boring for a kid in a time predating Gameboy’s and portable DVD players. It would be a trip of car games like finding the alphabet on license plates and Slug Bug. Then of course there was always the inventible punching of the younger brother and the pestering of the older one. My brothers and I would drive my parents crazy. Then about fifteen or twenty minutes away from her house we would see the large chimneys that rising into the sky as if they were built for a giant’s fireplace. We called them “cloud makers.” We knew that as soon as we saw the cloud makers we were almost there. But these great chimneys didn’t make the clouds, as we found out when we hit the fourth grade, they were the smoke stacks for the local factory burning up wood chips to power whatever machines they used behind those sheet metal walls.
To see the cloud makers of my child hood used to strike terror into others, hit me in a way I am still contemplating, then to include the hurricane... Let take you back to when I was in stationed in Iraq, when Hurricane Katrina and her sister Rita hit the Gulf of Mexico and devastated New Orleans and so many towns and cities of our great country. I remember sitting in the cafeteria on our base, barely eating as the reports came in on the big screen TV we had in there. The Fox News reporters telling us of the massive devastation wrought by Katrina and then, so soon afterwards, Rita... Maybe it was the all too familiar image that hit me the most.
“Warning! Danger! Destruction! Disaster!” The poster shouts at us, urging you to see this film and learn what it is that we must avert, avoid. Images of disasters flood my mind and my thoughts are filled with previous knowledge of the consequences we already face from a changing earth. The sands of African dessert pulled off the continent by powerful winds, sweeping them across the Atlantic to settle in the Gulf of Mexico, thousands of miles away. The coral started dying at alarming rates affecting every form of life in the sea. What other horrible things have been happening? Most importantly, is there anything we can do to stop it? Can this destruction be averted? And finally, will this movie tell us?
I found out the answers to my questions when I became an audience member sitting in the theater. I couldn’t believe what was going on. The world is in danger. The advertisers did their job well and I learned something that will challenge me for the rest of my life. I left my seat in that dark theater not only believing the copy on that inspiring poster but today I’ve added my own take on it and tell whom ever will listen: This is the most important film you will ever see!

http://www.climatecrisis.net/downloads/images/poster.jpg

Observing Those Observing

It is late as I pull into the Cineplex parking lot. I do a slow drive by passing the movie posters with the show times posted below them. I missed the seven-thirty show by almost two hours but I can still catch the late show at nine-twenty. I drive around back and park near the theater exit, like always. I look around quickly to memorize my spot and briskly walk to the ticket counter.
I’m not to late. I ask for my ticket and hand over my card. I look at the attractive young woman as she prints out my receipt and ticket. My mind wonders and I think about how nice it would be to be young again and then laugh at myself over the silly thought of a 29 year old wanting to be young again. She hands me the receipt to sign and then my ticket. Our fingers touch for a half second, hers are soft, mine are rough, I think again about being younger.
I enter the main lobby still thinking about my own youth when my eye catches the flickering light of the arcade. There a group of teenagers are playing a pistol game. It looks like one of them is telling the others that the movie is about to start, as he is shoving his watch in their faces. I turn to look at the concession lines and decide that they are short enough for that I may buy popcorn and something to drink and still enter the theater in time to see the previews of coming attractions. In front of me, a couple orders a large tub of popcorn, two sodas and then adds Red Vines and Junior Mints, their total nears thirty dollars. They don’t seem to mind; they flirt with each other as the progressive woman shells out the cash. I’m next. The same girl that sold me my tickets has swapped places with a co-worker and is now taking my order. I ask for a medium coke and small popcorn. The young woman goes through the regular suggestive selling routine and asks if I want to up size my snacks for a buck more. I look at my watch, the show has started by now and I kindly decline. I pay for my snacks with cash this time to speed things up.
I hand my ticket to the kid ripping tickets. The teenagers behind me, joking and play fighting, hand their tickets over to get the official rip as I walk down the maroon carpeted hall to the door of my theater. I glance at the screen before I look for a seat. I relax a bit when I see that commercials are still playing so I haven’t missed the trailers. I continue looking for a place to sit and find one in the middle that is still empty but then I remember the excuse I gave my wife for “wasting money” at the theater and choose a seat that allows me to see the audience as well as the movie.
I watch as other latecomers trickle in. Some stop in the walkway looking for that perfect seat. Some are like the teenagers that followed me in go straight for the front row, or like the young couple that was in front of me at the concessions, go straight for the privacy of the find in the back for. Then the guy who had his buddies save him a seat comes in and when his friends spot him one of them shout, “Over here!”
If you had been raised with theater etiquette you would not believe you were in a room of people about to see a show. There are people laughing and joking and having a good ole’ time. The previews come on and the audience’s whispers’ float all over the room as they discuss which movies they want to see. Then a sound arises from the speakers, it intensifies to a louder and louder hum. This movie is presented in THX Surround Sound. The audience is quiet and tensely waits for the movie to begin.
The initial credits are placed in front of a backdrop of a slow pan over skyscrapers of a modern city. Geeks like me comment on cast and crewmembers we have read about or seen the other works they’ve done as their names appear. An abrupt and commanding, “Shhh,” is heard, someone is annoyed. A laugh and chuckle follow but is quickly silenced when a gunshot is heard from the speakers. The action has finally started and the audience takes note, finally buttoning up. They begin to really watch. All that is heard of them now is the sucking on straws and the crunching and munching of candy and popcorn.
Of course not everyone is watching intently. The young couple, in the dark, corner shadows, are giving more attention to each other than the film and the teenagers are still at it in the front, presently, tossing popcorn at one another. This all brings to mind the question of why people come to the theater at all when they can spend a 10th of what they pay here on a rental. Why come to the theater to for faux privacy like the couple or to play like the teens?
Why do Americans pay so much money for this experience? I don’t think I can answer that question with out looking into myself. But of course my answer may only fit me. I have a love for the theater that comes from childhood experiences. It is the first place I saw a man fly, the first place I saw a galactic space opera, where my favorite television cartoons were blown up to larger than life size in action packed movies. It was the family time I experienced. The popcorn and candy and soda my parents would buy for me. When the lights would go down and our dreams became reality. You could laugh along with everyone else and cry with everyone else or scream as the whole audience screamed. To peak through your mothers fingers as she blocked your eyes from the parts that were too scary. I guess for me the dark theater is a place where one can forget the outside world and be surrounded by people who enjoy the same stories as you do.
Maybe it is as simple as that, to escape without having to leave our community, to be a part of a community and separate from it at the same time. What ever the reason I do know that I will always love the theater more than renting and watching at home and I am sure that America will go on doing the same for times to come.

What Dreams May Come: Examining A Career in Broadcast Journalism

I was a clown. There were five of us crammed into a toy box on the corner of the stage with only enough room to maneuver out of it when we heard our cue. The lid closed left us saturated in darkness. I was to be the first out. My ears strained to hear the toy prince say the line that would deliver us from this sardine can. Three clowns were cracking jokes and behaving rather unprofessionally for actors in a stage show. I turned and “shh’d” them, shouting in a whisper, “this may not matter to you but, you’re not gonna ruin it for me. I going to be an actor!”
That was a long time ago, when children dream big and before the world crashes down on their shoulders. I was thirteen years old when I auditioned for The Oregon Coast Children’s Theater (O.C.C.T.)and was bitten by the acting bug. Ever since I have dreamed of being an entertainer, a story teller. With journals full of short stories and notebooks devoted to novels, I am constantly building stories in my head. At one time I thought I would be satisfied with simply acting stories out. Yet, I continued dreaming up more. I concluded that I could be a director/writer and that would satisfy me. My stories became greater, more epic. I spoke to my mentor, the Director of O.C.C.T., he told me of the many stories that he wants to tell but knows he will die before he tells them all and, I panicked. What if end up like him, a great guy living his dream but one who remains a starving artist. I grew up poor, and I have no intention of living poor my whole life just so I could be an artist. So, I gave my dreams the status of “hobby” and went to work for high pay and extreme boredom. I was being practical and told myself that through my “hobby” I was still living my dream.
I wasn’t living my dream and I learned that when I was on the set of a spur of the moment no script/no budget short. I was the happiest I had been, while working, and it was very apparent that I could not be satisfied with a job just because the pay was good. I needed this, I needed to tell the stories. I had to do this for a living.
First, I needed a wake up call.
Years had passed and I had joined the Idaho Army National Guard and my perspective on life changed. Those things you think are so important at the time seem so trivial when you see people blow themselves up because they let someone brainwash them into believing it was the right thing to do. I had grown less concerned with the silly stories I had been writing for years and began investigating things a little closer to home.
Working with the Kurdish people gave me inspiration. I began studying their history, culture and myths. I even picked up enough of their language to communicate... a bit. I was inspired to tell their stories. To tell the world who these country less people are. I left Iraq with plans to return someday to make a series of documentaries, when I was ready...
I completed my tour of duty in Iraq. My wife and I bought a home and moved in. One day as I was sifting through a box of old journals and papers I came across a script I had written years ago. I thumbed it over and was surprised that it still made me laugh. I sat there and began to read it from beginning to end. I grew more and more flustered. How could I have spent so much time on this script just to throw it in a box? Why did I not produce this? I became angry at my own weakness of not completing what I start. I took it to my wife and asked her. She reminded me about my passion for storytelling and my talent for telling stories. However, she did could not answer my question.
I spent much of my time in the next year pondering on this. Obsessing over it. I had told my Iraqi friends that I would be back someday, to the ones that understood more english than I kurdish, I promised I would tell their stories. I wouldn’t let them down. I began doing research on film schools and online schools. When those didn’t pan out, cost and need wise, I began looking at schools in the area and finally settled on UI. That wasn’t enough because, if I was going to quit a high paying job, with benefits, to follow a dream I had to prove to myself and my wife that I could actually earn a comfortable living.
I returned to research mode. What I found was motivating. The Moscow/Lewiston area offers a variety of jobs and even local internships in both TV and Radio. Fisher Communications, INC. being the most prominent offers an internship for broadcast journalism at KLEW in Lewiston. They brag on their web site of internships that often lead to careers spanning their vast media empire from Coos Bay, OR to Great Falls, MT. And should I get an internship it will open the doors of their 10 television and 26 radio stations.
To really do what I want to do, the documentaries and such, I would use said internship to develop my skills at producing. It is my plan to become a producer. I got this in my head when I read a book by Buck Houghton called What a Producer Does. He defines his title as, “[a producer] has an idea and pursues it... [he is] an inspirer of creativity... “ (Houghton viii-ix) as do I have an idea and am so inspired to pursue it. I left my comfortable wages and my comfortable life style for pen and paper; books and all night cram sessions and the life of a twenty-nine year old college student.
My plan is to work hard in school and work, as often as time allows, on projects that will build my resume. Before college ends I will have produced at least one 30-minute documentary on a global issue and develop a production plan for my kurdish docu-series. I will use these to promote my ability to get things done and to apply for internships. In my junior and senior years of college I will work for college credit with an internship at KLEW or other local station to gain experience in “on the floor” producing and learn the journalistic style of telling stories. I will take that experience out into the world and use it to sell my self to television stations and land myself a the starter job I will need until I can then sell my ideas and move into independent production, producing documentaries on topics that mean something to me. which I hope to parlay into producing independent film and later a television series.
I do understand that this will not be easy, but nothing worth doing is ever easy and there are a lot of “what ifs” in there however, what would the world be like if Spielberg never snuck onto the Paramount lot; what if Fox laughed at George Lucas; what if Christopher Reeves passed on Superman?
My wife tells me, I am not intimidated by my huge dreams and that I will make my dreams come true if I remain true to the passion that has always burned inside me. The passion that fueled my decision to serve my country in Iraq; the passion that forced my hand to turn in my resignation at work; the passion that has me working for a degree I thought I’d never get to earn; the passion that has my wife believing that a man can fly. And so I will be true to my dream and keep my promise to the Kurds. I know that I can make a living doing what I love and that is my goal.


Bibliography

Houghton, Buck. What a Producer Does: The Art of Moviemaking (Not the Business). First. Beverly Hills, CA: Silman James Press, 1991.

"Inside KLEW." KLEWTV.com 3. 29 Mar 2007. Fisher Communications. 29 Mar 2007 .

"Internship Program." Fisher Communications, Inc.. 2007. Fisher Communications, Inc.. 29 Mar 2007 .