From my parents:

Three journalism books:

• City Room by Arthur Gelb of the NYT

• Bias by Bernard Goldberg

• Arrogance by Bernard Goldberg

That makes four books I’ve received since August that decry (and detail the decline of) the media industry. I wonder if people are trying to tell me something?

• A spiffy new wallet and smallet.

• A hypo-allergenic comforter.

• Blessed financial assistance.

• The Pearl Harbor soundtrack (perhaps the most beautiful music in the world)

• A fan.

• Two sets of fine sleepwear.

From my brother:

• The Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince DVD

From my sister:

• Cable Caddy

From my grandparents:

• Blessed financial assistance.

From Shele and Bobby:

• Blessed financial assistance.

From David Layfield and Debbi Ann:

• A Persian bookmark

Two days ago I wrote this post because I was curious about who was on the most TIME magazine covers in history.

I figured another news site, Gawker.com, might find the information I found intriguing, especially because the post was somewhat relevant (the end of the year, Obama’s record-breaking pace, etcetera).

I submitted my link to Gawker’s tips inbox, and a few hours later it was published on Gawker.com.

Later that day I was surprised to get an e-mail from a producer with the NBC Nightly News who asked me to call right away to verify that it was I who had researched the numbers and created the chart. He said he wanted to include a short blurb about it that evening.

And, sure enough, just a few hours later, my blog Teqnolog was mentioned by Brian Williams in this primetime clip. It was after watching that clip that I first realized I had multiple personalities.

By the end of the day traffic to my blog had skyrocketed far beyond the norm. In fact, Teqnolog was listed as #1 on WordPress.com’s list of the fastest growing blogs. The post was listed in WordPress.com’s top 50 posts of the day.

It wasn’t until the next day that I realized the story had been spread online.

I found the same story on Yahoo! News, Asian News International, The New Nixon, and even USA Today and the New York Post. Those, and quite a few other blogs and online news sites.

Now that’s what I call a viral post.

Here’s a look at the difference in Teqnolog’s traffic:

Daily:

Weekly: (the middle bump is when Teqnolog was linked on Cult of Mac)

Monthly:

Who knew that when I got my acceptance letter from Lee University I would end up writing front page stories for a daily metropolitan newspaper, climbing Mount Sinai, and perhaps most importantly of all, getting my hands on a Paul Conn bobble-head.

So when I was asked to speak tonight, my initial reaction was one of thrilled excitement. And then I read what we were supposed to speak about: our story. The story of our experience at Lee University – what we learned, how we changed, etcetera.

And this slightly scared me. I was prepared to make three points and give a speech that you might hopefully remember years down the line.

But… instead, it’s my story. I don’t know how to talk about myself. In fact, I feel like I’m equipped to talk about anything but myself. And so I’ve labored for days trying to pinpoint those key memories that might provide just a five-minute glimpse into the last four years.

So here it is, the most concise graduation speech you’ll ever hear:

Dishes. Doors. Ice Cream. SLC. Lee Clarion. Improv. Washington D.C. Newspaper. Egypt. Graduation.

In case that was too fast, I’ve prepared a slightly slower version. So, here’s how it goes:

I don’t know why I came to Lee. In fact, when I came to visit the campus during my senior year of high school, the guys I met told me stories about jumping out of windows and lighting themselves on fire before jumping in the fountain. But I came nonetheless. I came to Lee because I wanted to attend a Christian school that wasn’t too far from home and offered a lot of options.

I remember the end of my first day on Lee’s campus. It was a moment from the movies. My parents were getting in the car to leave, waving goodbye from the parking lot behind O’Bannon Hall. And I was walking backwards in slow motion to the dorm, waving and walking and waving and walking until, bmm, I hit my head on a pole.

But over the next few weeks the benefits of living on a college campus became apparent to me. I could look out my dorm room window at 4 a.m. every night for a week and see delirious guys playing softball.

Sometimes, when everyone would fall asleep after 3 a.m., the guys from Bowdle would come and pull a prank in our cluster, like turning all the furniture upside down or wrapping the dorm in fishing line. So in return, the next night O’Bannon would strike back at Bowdle.

In time, I developed a secret mission. Every morning after the pranksters went to bed and before those pranked had yet to rise, I would prank both sides by undoing the pranks they had so elaborately set up, without leaving a trace of evidence. Needless to say, everyone stopped pranking each other…. which kind of ruined my prank.

One of the highlights of being a freshman at Lee four years ago was that a little site called Facebook was still in it’s infancy and Tyrone from Baltimore only had 3,000 friends. It’s amazing to see how times have changed. Now everyone has 3,000 friends. And, like Tyrone, we don’t know any of them.

Speaking of friends, when I came to Lee my freshman year I was blessed with real friends for the first time in my life. Friends who brought chicken noodle soup to me at my dorm when I was sick and friends who would celebrate my birthday even when I tried my hardest to keep the date a secret.

It was these friendships that led me to develop even more lasting ties with a wild group of Bible-reading, guitar-strumming, hummus-loving guys. And a few of my tremendous friends, Josh, Andi, Jason, Philip, and Cheryl, have all been there for me even when my long hours tucked away in the student media lab have kept me from being the least bit social.

In the spring of my freshman year I started an alternative campus newspaper dubbed the Lee Headlines, printing it in computer labs every week and delivering it around campus, infuriating the traditional newspaper staff until, a few weeks later, I abruptly found out that our Lee accounts had printing limits.

During my sophomore year I joined the Lee Clarion as news editor, determined to bring about change in the official campus publication. Working for the student news media was one of the greatest learning experiences I’ve had. Last fall I became the managing editor and the paper was so successful that by the last issue, as many of you know, we couldn’t quite keep it on the stands.

During my junior year I spent my spring semester in the nation’s capital interning at the Washington Times as a business writer while taking classes at the Washington Journalism Center. I got experience on everything from liveblogging press conferences at the capitol building to writing front page stories about oil prices. These moments boosted my confidence that journalism was the right place for me to be.

And this time last week I was in Cairo, Egypt, finishing a three-week cross cultural experience that left a profound impact on my life. I’ve never inspected my faith more deeply than on this trip, I’ve never learned so much about the world outside of America, and I’ve never had more eye-opening adventures than I did this month.

We climbed Mount Sinai to see the sunrise, we went swimming in the Red Sea, and we took a five-star river cruise on the Nile. The whole time I couldn’t help but wonder if Lee was sending me on a vacation before graduation. But we weren’t just sight-seeing; we were critical thinkers who just happened to have a lot of cameras. The whole experience was about learning so much that can’t be found in a classroom.

And that’s how I would describe Lee. I can’t count the number of professors here who aren’t even in the religion department and yet put so much emphasis on their spiritual life. Just this last month I got to see precisely how much one of my professors truly cares for his family and how much joy he gets out of putting others first. These are things that can’t be taught from a textbook. Love is the primary lesson at Lee University. And not ring-before-spring love, but God-and-others-before-me love.

The people here have a heart to serve God and to serve others. The president joins us for lunch, teaches classes, answers our questions, and opens his office in times of need. Professors truly love what they’re teaching and they love spending time with students.

The memories I gathered from Lee – sneaking into the dome on top of O’Bannon Hall, being the first member of the Dr. Carolyn Dirksen fan club, speaking in chapel, and even rolling a cart taller than I am full of cookies and sandwiches from the dining hall to the dorm in the middle of the night, all shaped my experience at Lee. These moments, no matter how silly or how educational, are what will make me a Lee University alumni.

I am indebted to many, my professors and my friends, but as is the case with many graduates, my parents deserve much of the credit for their incredible support and prayer.

God has truly blessed me so much these past four years that when I reflect, I realize it’s not my story that I’m telling, but His. Lee University is a story of God’s love, grace and blessing, with more pages than ever possible to print.

So, my coolest discovery today is a new website called Hunch.com. Essentially, you can ask it any question and it will help you make a decision.

By answering ten questions, Hunch compiles your answers and gives you a percentage. For example, I asked the question “Should I ask out my dream girl?”

89 percent can be pretty persuasive.

Check it out, ask it a few questions, or choose from the pre-selected queries by topic. Trust me, you’ll like it… it’s a hunch.

There’s a special spot in my heart for fictionalized stories that include real people, acquaintances and friends. Likely, it’s because that used to be my writing genre of choice during my high school days.

Regardless, it’s come back to bite me, and I can’t say that I’ve been more pleased. My improv teammate David Wirt just published the fifth part of his improv battle series and pits me against Tyler Langford. Enjoy the read:

The dull smell of humanity breathed gently, pressed by the breeze onward, entwined with the blare of brass horns and the chuff of horses straining against bridles.

Sunlight gleams through pennants and banners, proudly emblazoned with the images of animals that most of the assembled crowd had never, nor would ever, see.

A squat man in a multi-colored jerkin and a floppy hat several sizes too big for his head steps forward from a shaded lean-to with an inflated sense of self-importance that is only slightly diminished by his woefully itchy tights.
“HEAR YE, HEAR YE! HIS MAJESTY, THE KING HAS DECLARED THESE GAMES A RESOUNDING FAILURE!” 

The announcer tries his best to make his voice booming and powerful, but only succeeds in sounding desperate and foolish in the face of the onlooker’s snickers aimed at his handlebar moustache.

“HIS MAJESTY BEMOANS THE LACK OF MASCULINITY AND STRENGTH THAT SHOULD BE RAMPANT IN HIS KINGDOM!”

The laughter seems split in it’s direction between the man’s quivering moustache and his equally quivering gut.

“IS THERE NO MAN AMONG YOU ABLE TO WIN THE FAIR HAND OF THE PRINCESS?”

The audience begins to shuffle and murmur, increasingly sure of the dissolution of the games, put in place by the king to find a suitable husband for his daughter.

“I, SIR TYLER OF LANGFORD, AM SUCH A MAN!”

The crowd jumps at this unexpected development, gawking at this new and impressive figure. The man sits on a horse of snowy white, several hands larger than any other steed seen in the games thus far. His armor is made of fine, polished silver with inlaid scrollwork of gold. His powerful frame comes to a top with a magnificent mane of mahogany curls.

“I WILL FACE YOUR BLACK KNIGHT AND WIN THE HAND OF THE FAIR PRINCESS!”

Gasps meet this bold proclomation as the spectators find their way back to their seats.

The announcer, looking somewhat perplexed and deflated, looks back over his shoulder into the cool shadows where the king sits. After conversing for a moment, the announcer nods his assent and begins his oration.

“VERY WELL, SIR TYLER OF LANGFORD! I SUMMON THE BLACK KNIGHT!”

Heads swivel and necks crane to catch sight of the countries biggest hero and most terrifying monster all at once.

The black horse steps into view first, looking like the mount of Death himself. With breath like smoke and eyes that seem to contain the very fires of hell, the living embodiment of night carries it’s rider towards the starting line.

The Black Knight. The great combination of hero and monster. Good and evil.

His breathing sounds like the wind across the gallows. His eyes peer from under his visor with the unfathomable rage of millions. The invisible cloak of his enemies blood swirls about him as a whirlpool of destruction for those who oppose his king.

And he has taken his position at the starting line.

Tyler places his helmet on and approaches his position.

Both fighters raise their lances in a salute to their courage and the thrill of the battle to come.

The young maid holds the flag before her at the gate seperating the two warriors paths of destiny.

With a flutter and a flourish, she runs for her life to escape the cataclysmic clash that inevitably comes.

Both warriors’ mounts rear back on their hind legs and plummet forward with reckless abandon. The white steed and the black mount, seeming to not only comprehend the battle at hand but wishing to prove their own worth against the other.

Closer and closer still the two knights converge. Lances held at the ready.

The breath of the horses and the thunderous roll of hooves on turf are the only sounds heard as the whole arena holds their breath in anticipation.

The two horses’ faces come so close that they bite at each other across the fence, mirroring the murderous intent of their masters.

With the clash of metal on metal and of old growth wood splintering, the thud of a falling warrior is heard.

Followed closely by another.

The two warriors rise to their feet, staring at each other from across the fence.

But only for a moment.

With a yell, both fighters seize their swords from their scabbards and prepare to finish the confrontation.

The black knight, with great fury, leaps onto the railing and seeks to cleave Tyler’s head in twain.

Missing by just enough, Tyler parries and dodges to the side, swinging his shield in a high arc, catching the black knight across the brow.

And sending a black helmet across the field.

Gasps come so close together that even the grass is stirred by the flow. The two fighters stand face to face.

The Black Knight with his sword under Tyler’s chin, where the helm offers no protection, and Tyler’s pointed shield at the, now exposed, Black Knight’s eye.

“HALT!” comes the command from the shadowed platform.

Both contestants stop and turn to face the commanding voice.

The King, resplendant in robes of rich purple and glorious blue leans against the rail and addresses the assembly.

“GREAT FIGHTERS! YOU HAVE BOTH DONE WELL, BUT THE MATCH IS OVER!”

Once again, the crowd finds themselves unable to breathe with the suspense.

“SIR TYLER, AS THE BLACK KNIGHT HIT THE GROUND FIRST, YOU ARE THE WINNER.”

The crowd turns to applaud the fighters when one peasant begins to protest.

“THAT AIN’T NO BLACK KNIGHT, SIRE! TIS ONLY HARRISON FROM THE PRINTSHOP! HE’S NO KNIGHT!”

Murmurs of dissension and black-hearted comments begin to stir on the lips of the people.

“SILENCE! YOU WILL SHOW RESPECT TO YOUR PRINCE!”

The crowd responds with appropriate tone.

“HUH?!?!”

“THAT’S RIGHT, PRINCE HARRISON IS THE BLACK KNIGHT. HE CHOSE TO KEEP HIS IDENTITY A SECRET BECAUSE HE LOVES WORKING AT THE PRINTSHOP. YOU WILL SHOW HIM ALL THE RESPECT BEFITTING A PRINCE AND A HERO!”

The young man wearing the black armor smiles shyly as a few catcalls reach his ears from some of the more amorous young ladies.

“NOW, SIR TYLER, COME AND CLAIM MY DAUGHTER. SHE IS ANXIOUS TO MEET YOU, AND WE ARE ANXIOUS TO WELCOME YOU INTO OUR FAMILY!”

The crowd bursts into applause as the two fighters turn to shake hands.

Tyler smiles winningly at Harrison and says, “You know, I kinda wondered why the king wouldn’t just give the princess to the black knight. But, I’m troubled. You, sir, are an excellent warrior and I feel that I do you injustice by not having any prize for you, but instead taking your sister.”

Harrison merely smiles back and winks, “That’s okay. I have a feeling the printshop will be doing a much more brisk business now. Also, well, it seems that I have become a trifle more popular with the ladies as of recently. So why don’t we call it even, Brother?”

WINNER: TYLER LANGFORD!

My professor for Modern Western Culture gave us an odd challenge Tuesday for extra credit: he asked us to contact Sea World and ask how long a dolphin could last in a sea of lemonade.

Here’s the e-mail I sent to SeaWorld:

Hi, I know it’s an odd request, but my humanities professor at Lee University in Cleveland, TN was talking about Charles Fourier in class. Fourier said that he believed the seas would one day desalinize into lemonade. Our professor, Jason Wolfe, challenged us to find out how long a dolphin would last in Lemonade for extra credit. Is there any estimate or idea? Please e-mail me back. Thank you for your help, -Harrison

During class today I received the following response:

Harrison,

Marine mammals have highly developed kidneys to maintain the proper osmotic equilibrium in a saline environment. If a marine animal were to enter fresh water, the water would enter their cells at a faster rate because their body cells would have a higher salinity than the water around them. Their kidneys and endocrine systems would attempt to establish homeostasis by excreting this excess fluid but become overwhelmed by the extra content. Extended exposure would lead to eventual cell damage and kidney failure. The speed at which death would occur depends upon the initial health of the animal so we cannot provide you with a specific answer.

The Ask Shamu Team
www.SeaWorld.org

Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh Lord, my strength and my redeemer.

When you’re searching for something, anything, to talk about at chapel and all that comes to mind is the college benediction, you might feel at a loss.

But in fact, I think our benediction, shorter than a Twitter message at 123 characters, deserves a message all its own.

Let the words of my mouth… be acceptable in thy sight.

As a journalism major, I’ve found that the words we speak: in print, on camera, and especially online, have tremendous impact across continents, and decades.

It’s been ten years since I first wrote out a newspaper by hand and tucked it underneath my parents’ bedroom door, eagerly awaiting them to return home and read through the headlines of the day: Harrison doesn’t like public school! Extra! Extra! The Keelys find a new puppy!

Ironically, it took me until the end of my sophomore year at Lee to realize that journalism was my passion, my calling.

And along the way I’ve met skeptics; those who dismiss the media as bearers of bad news, out to destroy reputations and spread gossip.

And while there are certainly writers in the world with no other mission, I believe the field itself is ripe with heroism.

During my freshman year many students from Lee traveled to a New Orleans left ravaged by Hurricane Katrina. The mission was simple, to help rebuild… homes, lives, and families.

Had there not been the crazy journalists who drove into the city when everyone else drove out, had there not been the photographers who stayed behind while the levees shattered, had there not been the cameramen in canoes rowing down city streets, how would we have known?

How would we have known how bad the devastation was? How would we have seen the rows of bodies, the crying children, the hungry, the weak, the homeless? How would we have heard the stories of those left behind in the hospitals and in the attics?

Without those startling images, those chilling words, would we have been moved to donate our time and our money?

Seniors know that as graduation nears, friends and family, sometimes even strangers, inquire about the next step. What do we plan to do after we walk the walk? What do I say I plan to do?

I aim to live my life serving Christ through truth and word. In essence, journalism.

Let the words of my mouth… be acceptable in thy sight.

I know my answer is a tad cryptic, yet I can’t help but recall some of the world’s first journalists: the disciples.

Jesus’ disciples, writing down their eyewitness accounts of the most important headline in history.

After all, the Gospel means what the Gospel is: Good News.

When I came to Lee I wanted to serve, be it by scooping ice cream in the cafeteria, serving as a human doorstop, or collecting dishes to deposit at the conveyor belt.

It wasn’t until my sophomore year, when I joined the Lee Clarion as news editor, that I found where I was meant to serve.

I still remember how nervous I was before my first interview with Dr. Conn. I meant to ask him about his presidency; instead I asked him about his pregnancy.

During my junior year I was blessed to spend a semester in our nation’s capital to study at the Washington Journalism Center and intern at the Washington Times. And it was an experience that I’ll never forget.

And this final year has been such an overwhelming adventure.

Serving as managing editor of the Lee Clarion has taught me more about journalism than any classroom experience.

You can assign stories and design pages anywhere. So what made Lee such an invaluable season of my life?

There’s two answers.

First, family – all of you. I have never felt more at home than I do on Lee’s campus. Thank you for permitting my endless photographs, my avid Shenanigans, and my sporadic proposals.

Secondly, words. It’s advice, it’s encouragement, it’s prayer. All of which I’m more than thankful for.

Mr. Trowbridge, our advisor for student media, encourages our team to strive for excellence. His dedication to the students at Lee shows us that words and meditations can truly be one and the same.

At Lee, I have learned to be a journalist. I have learned to seek truth. Let the news we deliver serve God.. Let the words we write please the Lord. Let the words we speak be honorable to Him.

Let the words of my mouth… be acceptable in thy sight.

Take a look at my best 75 photos to date after the jump.

She’s probably the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, and she’ll go out of her way to make you feel dandy in a way no one else can.

I finally hit the big time now: Amy Beth’s blog: Ministry So Fabulous!

After I was blessed to receive the Communication & the Arts departmental award this morning, I found this post on her blog.

Amy Beth’s blog in general is a gift straight from the heart. She knows how to write. So check it out, and bookmark it while you’re there.

I walked into my Spanish class at Lee University last week and was the last person to sit down and grab a copy of the second test in the course from the professor, Dr. Carmen Guerrero.

It’s never quite natural that every eye in the room is focused on you when you sit down to take a test, and that’s exactly how I felt.

And then I saw why.

Every student received a test that was about a student at Lee named Harrison:

“Harrison is a student at Lee,” read the first box on the test. “He is taking Spanish classes and now he is learning about love relationships, people personalities, and finances. Help him solve all the situations he has to go through.”

How flattered I was!

All eight word questions included Harrison in some new predicament needing help from other classmates in the class.

It was a test I’ll not soon forget. It’s quite an honor, you know, when everyone else’s grade depends on you

Here are my favorites from throughout the years:

1. This was a comic produced of me and my friend Rachel for our high school newspaper. Unfortunately, because the full comic was so big, it was never printed. See the full strip here.

2. This skillfully-mastered image of my head was produced by graphic designer Chris Sirico for use as an illustrated headshot in my college newspaper.

3. This colorful comic was made by Jordan Holt as part of his Blackfox Comics series. See the full strip here.

4. This door decoration of my head and antennas was created by a mysterious Lee Clarion editor. When I returned to my office I found it etched on the glass with magic marker.

5. This illustration was crafted by Kevin Puett, a high school friend. It shows me in the classic “Mud & Guts” shirt given to every runner on our cross country team by our late coach, Buck Carney.

6. This spud’s for me. Lee Clarion designer Daniel Diffenderfer drew this Mr. Potato Head image that looks strangely like me.

What would happen, I wondered, if for some odd reason I was abducted on my way home and all I had left was the three Lee Clarion newspapers? Perhaps, as I was sailing along the highway, I would throw pages of the papers out the car window, hints of my trail left behind for police to one day find.

As I turned off of Church Street, how little did I know that my fears would soon seem truer than I could ever believe.

While I passed the public library on my bike, I noticed a white car slowly pulling toward me, and as I came nearer, a window rolled down and a man gestured toward me.

“Hey,” he shouted. “Can you tell me-”

I slowly sped up. If that makes any sense. You don’t know who’s on the roads at 2 a.m.

“Have a good night,” I repled as I pedaled on, hoping that the lost stranger would find some other late-night straggler to ask directions/harass.

“Police!” came a final demand as I pedaled faster and faster, through the intersection leading to the dark way home.

Were they police, or was the obviously unmarked car the charade of a drunken imposter intent on abusing someone for the night?

Not a chance I planned on taking.

Should I lead him down the path to my home or instead turn along Ocoee St., maybe he’d give up, maybe I’d lose him, and if I needed to, I could bike to campus safety’s office.

I made a sharp turn down the sidewalk of an empty Ocoee St., racing like never before, praying without realizing it.

In a minute I heard the car coming up behind me hurridly.

Still too far from campus safety to make it, I considered dropping my bike in the lawn of a neighborhood home and making a run for the back yard, the shadows, the trees.

In a second I careened off of the concrete, over a front walk and around a tree.

That’s when I heard the sirens.

Heart beating, out of breath, I halted my ride to freedom. Imposter or not, I had to give up. I needed to give up.

I prayed: I believed. Lord, this isn’t a bad guy. I’m trusting. I’m trusting in you. No matter what happens, I’ll go through it. If I have to go down to a police station, I’ll do it. I’m captive. To whoever he is, and to everything You are.

The car stopped. The man jumped out.

Only slightly aware of how the situation looked, I stood still as he approached me.

“Hands out of your pockets,” he said. On impulse I lifted them into the air.

He began patting me down, backside, then front pockets. If he tried anything I’d run.

“Pick up your bike,” he said. “Don’t get on it; bring it to the car.”

Then I noticed the array of flashing lights coming from his still plain vehicle.

“What are you doing out so late?” he asked. I explained, as calmly as I could.

I rolled my bike to the sidewalk, kicked up the stand at his request, and poured out words of apology until he stopped me, asking for identification.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m going to run a check on you.”

“Harrison Keely.” I took my student and state identification from my pocket to hand to him. “I thought you were-”

By now I became aware that my legs were shaking and wouldn’t stay still, no matter how I tried to calm down.

“Where do you live?”

I told him.

“You shouldn’t go off of the road,” he said. “If I were a bad guy, you would want to stay in the light. They don’t like the light.”

He had a smile and reached out his hand to shake mine, two strangers meeting in someone’s front lawn at two in the morning.

He gave his name, told me he was with the police department.

“Out looking for burglars,” he said. “This part of Cleveland has had a theft problem. Especially around this time of night.”

I asked him how many. He said around 30 thefts in the last week or so.

I had already forgotten his name. There goes any chance of looking him up.

He asked me my major. “Journalism,” I said, before he proceeded to inquire whether I would stay in Cleveland after I graduated.

I told him no, that I figured I might return to D.C., and explained the story of my time there.

“You going to write good things about the cops in the newspaper in the future?” he asked, adding, “Since you know I’m not going to turn you in?”

How do you answer that question? Journalistic integrity and jail?

I don’t know what I said, but I shook hands one more time, realized my legs had almost stopped shaking, and pedaled on home, praying, thanking God, and ready to tell the story.

I just spotted one such framed photograph on a quick excursion to the Lee University Office of Publications on the third floor of the Higginbotham Administration Building.

Granted, it’s not a thirty-inch gold frame displaying my shot exclusively, but it is an honor to have a piece of history up on that wall.

The picture, as you can see below, was a shot I took of my roommate in October 2007.