BE(ING) THE CHANGE | Blog and Portfolio of Tony Lee (@sheckii)

I’m Getting Google Glass — And This Is What I’ll Do With It

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 12:55:05 +0000

About 1,000 people got selected to buy Google’s newest product. And I’m one of them! Google Glass is a camera, display, touchpad, battery and microphone built into a Trekkie-esk eyeglass. It can take a video or photo of exactly what you’re looking at, have a GPS tell you exactly where to make a turn, Google search whatever’s on your mind… Basically, Google Glass is your personal assistant. On June 19, at 3 p.m., that technology — one I’ve waited three years for — will be mine! … for $1,600, but let’s not dwell on that too much. My friend Ashish Abraham will be joining me Wednesday to pick up the Google Glass, and I can’t wait to hang out with one of best pals from St. Bonaventure University. But what do I plan to do with Google’s latest invention? One Second Everyday Inspired by Cesar Kuriyama’s TED talk, recording an one-second video clip per day always intrigued me. I tried it after my 28th birthday, but forgot a day within the first two weeks. Not that I plan on wearing Google Glass everywhere, this should help me accomplish this incredible way of self reflection and storytelling. Increase Google+ Activity, Especially Live Streaming I love Google+. Really. To be fair, I love all social media, but I see a future with Google+ that I do not see with Facebook. (I should probably write a blog post about that…) I plan on interacting with other Google Glass users and developing more of social dialog on Google’s social media page. But, most importantly, I want to take advantage of Google Hangouts. Whenever I do something cool, I want to share it live with Google’s free Skyping program. Blog About Augmented Reality Friends that know me understand my not-so-subtle crush on augmented reality. AR is “a technology that superimposes a computer-generated image on a user’s view of the real world, thus providing a composite view.” (Thanks, Google, for this definition) As a communicator who believes this idea/technology will change how people receive information, I’m glad to be one of the early adapters of this technology. And by glad I mean giddy like a school girl. In The End… I hope Google Glass will make me a better communicator. I not only take pride, but also responsibility in delivering content to others. I love my profession, and I can’t wait to get started. tony@sheckiiville.com @sheckii

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Thanks, Bona’s, For Making My Dad Proud (Part V or VII)

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Fri, 10 May 2013 14:52:36 +0000

Two hours and 23 minutes before the most important presentation of my life, my dad decided to show affection. From the same parent who complained about an A- because it wasn’t an A. The same parent who complained about couple bogeys after I shot under par for the first time. The same parent who never read a single newspaper story I wrote… I had more things to organize for the presentation. Call me B Rabbit because my palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy – but unlike that Eminem song, I was only on the verge of puking. “Good luck!!! I’m verh proud of you. Let me know the result.” I slowed down. I went outside the townhouse and into my car. I teared up, and all the nerves disappeared. I just smiled and took a screenshot of that text message. All I ever wanted was for him to be proud. I won the Gold Award for Best IMC Graduate Defense Presentation for that presentation and passed my plansbook with an A. My friend Emily Sorokes after the presentation hugged me and said, “I know your father would be proud.” I don’t think she knew the magnitude of what that meant to me. On a subconscious level, I must’ve picked Microsoft for because I wanted to make the former chief architect of all Windows operating systems proud. Proud. That’s all I wanted my dad to be. I created The Intrepid in that spirit, too. But once that happened, I got to look at things with a new perspective. Pardon the cliché, but you forget to smell the roses when you blindly work for one thing your entire life – and that part’s not a cliché. I wrote about how Denny helped in part three. Part one was dedicated to friends who had no reason to even talk to me. My fifth goodbye to Bonaventure is to the professors and classmates who helped me become this person. Because I want to make you guys proud, too. Professor Pat Vecchio always gave me advice – and a song lyric – and helped me feel worthy of my accomplishments – from writing skills to sobriety. Shelley Jack motivated me to be myself and never apologize for it. The strength of sharing part two couldn’t have happened without Shelley sharing her divorce story in class. Same with Dean Lee Coppola, who taught an Intrepid ethics workshop for the staff. That was the first time I publicly talked about any painful student journalist experience. And, of course, Denny Wilkins. You were a father to me when I didn’t think my father loved me. I’ll omit needless words. Thank you. So many students to thank, but one that I absolutely need to: Kristin Sullivan, thank you for that tweet. That was the first time anyone said something like that about me. And if I had a tenth of your heart, I will die accomplished and happy. And same with the rest of my IMC cohort. Man you guys had to listen to me talk in class. A lot. But unlike my undergraduate experience, y’all never superficially judged me for it. And wanted to hang out with me. We’re not just a cohort. We’re family. I also want to thank Simone Bernstein for being the first unofficial Bona’s staffer I had. The Intrepid’s teaching philosophy and editing process came from what she and I did for her blog. And her unwavering support, even though she’s the Simone Bernstein, has meant the world to my confidence. And finally, Ms. Maddie Gionet, who volunteered to take on my life’s biggest burden – because she wanted to be there for me. It wasn’t even her dream. So, I thank you. Cliché as it sounds, its people like that at St. Bonaventure University that makes the experience worth it. These people are just some who allowed me to give my father and I a relationship. Without these people, I may have never received that text message – one that I waited my entire life for. So thank you, St. Bonaventure University and the amazing people from it. Corny as it is, I want to make you guys proud, too.

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How I Learned About Love at St. Bonaventure (Part IV of VII)

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Fri, 10 May 2013 01:40:24 +0000

She said she loved California beaches. So I bottled it. For her. Sometimes I wish that would be a song lyric and not who I am. Since kindergarten when I drew our wedding picture to my crush, I’ve been a head-over-heals romantic who loves grand gestures. But after my parent’s divorce, that innocence turned into realism. And in high school, that realism turned into a misogynistic anger. I only saw women for sex. I consciously devastated lives, including a marriage or two. Maybe even a mother daughter relationship. Being a chauvinistic pig and a player suited me. I never had to open up and could leave whenever. So how did that guy revert back to someone who… bottles sand? The answer: my best friend, Kelley Burke. ______________________ Kelley and I transferred into St. Bonaventure University together. And by the time we introduced ourselves, she really, really disliked me. To be fair, she saw a loud, pretentious Cali boy with big diamond studs who wore green glasses. Like I said in part one, how I ended up with friends is a miracle. A year and a half goes by, and we’ve never hung out. We had nothing in common, her being a student athlete, me being a journalist who covered student athletes. But my roommate, Erik Jones, and Kelley were friends. She visited Erik to hang out one day. We said hi. Couple weeks later, she comes to do birthday shots. And a drunken slap and an elbow to the solar plexus later, we became BFFs. Kelley and I first bonded over sports, but we talked about everything. And we never bullshitted each other. We had different groups of friends, but always counted on each other. After my suicide attempt described in part two, I thanked Kelley for always being there. Through Kelley, I learned how to be a friend. I’ve never met someone so selfless. Despite multiple knee surgeries derailing her athletic career, Kelley kept smiling, not angry at the cards God dealt her, and put others first. Damn I respect that about her. And for the first time, I understood empathy. I understood compassion. Our friendship allowed me to become more like that kindergartener, full of innocence and kindness, full of hope and love. I opened up. Really opened up. I let her in. And vice versa. So naturally, I ended up hurting the one girl who I never ever wanted to hurt worse than I’ve ever hurt someone. And her vice versa. However, for the first time, I wanted to fight for a friendship. Kelley, even at our worst, always brought out the best in me. She showed me how to be a great friend. Simply, we make each other better. And because of that, for the first time, I understood love. ______________________ To this day, I’ve never fallen romantically in love. But I finally understand it. Kelley knows who I bottled that sand for. Kelley gave me shit for being sappy – a lot of shit. But that’s who I really am, a hopeless romantic, and Kelley made me realize that’s more than good enough. I never gave my crush that sand. That crush didn’t like me back. I didn’t get the girl, but for the first time ever, I put the real me out there. That star-shaped bottle filled with sand from my favorite beach now serves as a symbol – to never change who I am because I deserve someone who likes me for me, not because I’m filthy rich or knew exactly what to say. On commencement, I’m going to cry because I won’t see her everyday now. But, I’ll be fine. Because I’m graduating with my best friend, Kelley Burke, the one who taught me everything about love, the one who loves me for me. And the one I’ll always have in my life. [Click here to read part three - The Email Titled “When You Graduate…”]

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The Email Titled “When You Graduate…” (Part III of VII)

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Thu, 09 May 2013 02:04:45 +0000

Virginia Woolf said: “Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.” When I wrote an email to myself titled “When you graduate…” about three years ago, I intended it to do just that: make a time capsule of my soul. I opened that email at midnight today. Maybe I wanted it to capture my soul, or maybe it actually did. Either way, that time capsule didn’t disappoint. [If you want to read that email, go directly to the bottom of this page.] At June 22, 2010, my first semester as a transfer student sucked. And my writing cleverly tried to hide that. I wrote in a forceful tone to hide insecurities, used clichés to conceal undeveloped writing skills, and had consistent paragraph lengths to resemble some sort of stability. A stretch? Not if you knew the writer. From the start, I tried to blame laziness. Even desire. Because coming to St. Bonaventure, where no one understood me, felt like a mistake. I even contemplated transferring. From academics to social life, Bond University, where I was currently studying abroad in Australia, provided what I wanted from college. I wanted to blame it on anything but me. [Click to see my photos of Bond University] The 2010 Tony had lots of smoke and mirrors. (The green glasses alone speaks volumes, right?) That “fake-it-until-you-make-it bullshit” included my Yoda backpack, fancy outfits and a $20,000 watch. That smoke and mirrors echoed in my writing, too. Denny Wilkins, the first professor to fail me for a writing assignment, taught me those overused compound modifiers and comma usage in that email. I wanted him to like me. Poetically, I wanted him to see the real me. Three years later, I wouldn’t be the communicator that I am without his love, support and mentorship – professionally and personally. And without Denny, the 2010 Tony’s wish of “being comfortable in your own skin” wouldn’t have been a reality in 2013. Thank you for bringing out the real me. And you’re right, Denny. Tone and word choice made all the difference. When I scheduled the 7 Goodbyes to Bonaventure, this post scared me the most. What did I write in that email? But, I knew it would be the only post where I could talk about confidence. And self-acceptance. I no longer write or act in that tone. That 2010 version who didn’t think others would like the real Tony Lee doesn’t exist. And even though I don’t have that “too beautiful and too good for you” girlfriend, I know now that I deserve to be loved. And won’t settle for any less. So thank you, St. Bonaventure. For the first time in my life, the unknown doesn’t scare me. The unknown implies there’s a future. Damn… Thank you for giving me a future. Thank you for — wait for it — making me extraordinary. In a way, this became another time capsule, too. So, here is my message for the 2016 Tony Lee: [Part I - How An Only Child Found Siblings & Love at St. Bonaventure] [Part II - The Wallet, The Intrepid, The Suicide]

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#7SBUgoodbyes: The Wallet, The Intrepid, and The Suicide (Part II of VII)

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Tue, 07 May 2013 18:11:50 +0000

In my room hangs the last wallet I’ll ever own. In a Ziploc bag, a brightly colored checkered-patterned wallet has faded away into a solid, dark-brown one. The bag also has a recent family photo that browned so much it looks 10 years old. This bag hangs at eye level, right above the bedroom light switch. I see it everyday. But unlike the leather, nothing could fade away what the wallet stands for. Because it symbolizes the night I tried to kill myself at St. Bonaventure University. ________________________________ In fall 2011, the journalism school provided buses for the J-school’s most prestigious award ceremony. On top of honoring the most promising student, the 51st annual Mark Hellinger Awards celebrated Dean Lee Coppola’s retirement. Because of the importance that year, about 100 journalism majors went, filling up two full-sized buses. I lost my wallet sometime between the bus ride and the next morning. I called the restaurant and bus company to ask if they found it. Three days later, the bus company called. They found it, but said I probably don’t want it. A worker found my wallet at the bottom of the septic tank, with everything still in it. Yeah. Wallet in the crapper symbolized how my peers thought of me. Flash forward two weeks. The Intrepid consumed my life, going on 44 hours without sleeping. By this point, some of the official on-campus newspaper’s staff publicly called some Intrepid staffers traitors. Being associated with me equaled J-school social suicide. The burden of putting people who believed in my dream in that situation… That alone almost killed me. Though publicly this will be denied, the university had enough of The Intrepid, too. It was branded “too controversial.” I saw the writing on the wall – and I wish I could say that only figuratively. Going into that 45th hour of no sleep felt like quicksand: the harder I worked, the more The Intrepid failed – and sunk the people associated with it. I wanted to make everything better so badly. That 45th hour sounded like disappointment: the tone of an Asian father who laughed at getting accepted to a school he couldn’t pronounce, let alone heard of. That 45th hour smelled like cocaine: the powder I let define me as a worthless, non-deserving failure. No one at the school liked me. I failed as a leader. Instead of making the school better, I perpetuated hatred. I disappointed my father. Again. I questioned my sobriety. That 45th hour escalated to a suicide attempt. I drove through 12 stoplights straight, accelerating to 100 mph in a 35 zone hoping someone T-boned my car. After the 12th, I got out and sat in the middle of an intersection, crying, uncontrollably, feeling worse than ever. “I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING KILL MYSELF RIGHT!” But really, I even failed at that. ________________________________ Though I’m alive, it took two years to admit something died that night: my intrepidness. My greatest strength became an Achilles’ heel. The culture at St. Bonaventure killed my desire to fight for a dream. I didn’t write this story so others would feel sorry. I definitely didn’t write it to shit on what was overall a positive college experience. Instead, I wrote it to say goodbye to bullying. And judging a book by its cover. But especially goodbye to a culture that almost killed someone for trying to make a better St. Bonaventure. When I walk at commencement Sunday, that Ziploc bag will be in my pocket. I want to honor those who helped me overcome this. Because despite all this, I’m still sober. I get to walk on stage for my dad. And to some current, past and future Bonnies, I know The Intrepid and its staffers made St. Bonaventure a better place. I’m still hoping to inspire people, even those who almost killed me, with an Intrepid story. (Oh the irony.) But really, I’m hoping The Intrepid, its staffers and the people that believed in it will one day somehow inspire me again to go after a dream. [Click here to read part I - How An Only Child Found Siblings & Love at St. Bonaventure] tony@sheckiiville.com @sheckii

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#7SBUgoodbyes: How An Only Child Found Siblings & Love at St. Bonaventure

Tony Lee (@sheckii) — Mon, 06 May 2013 20:53:09 +0000

Mado is that wanna-make-you-roll-your-eyes frustrating, always-has-to-be-right booger of a little sister! … that I always wanted. As much as I hate her calling me out on everything, I can’t imagine living without a friend like her. In our two years at school, we saw each other every day at our home, St. Bonaventure University. Like family, we knew each other better than we knew ourselves. Like family, I love her unconditionally, too. So, like family, watching her drive away from school today devastated me. To be honest, I missed her before we finished loading her luggage… That microcosm explains how I feel about graduating in six days. Because this only child never had siblings — and is clueless on how to say goodbye or show them love. But I’m going to try: I envied siblings growing up, but loved being the center of attention. My dad, whose face is in the dictionary under hands-off parenting, preached self sufficiency, too. Three-and-a-half years ago when I came to Bona’s, even at 23, I still never learned to play well with others. And boy did that blow up in my face. I instantly became the black sheep of the Bonaventure family. The diamond-studded, flashy — but-not-as-ostentatious-than-the-bullshit-out-of-his-mouth — Southern-Californian, transfer student pissed everyone off. I just complained, judged and acted like I crapped out gold. People literally hated me. Just ask a random Class of 2012 journalism major who had class(es) with me. This isn’t an excuse, but I did not know how to respectfully say, well, anything. It took me a while to realize a lot of my friends at home only liked me because, well, I had more money than all of them combined. As a result, the first year and a half at Bona’s made me an outcast — a lot of it deserved, a little bit undeserved. Then, something amazing happened. Like only siblings can, people forgave. Unconditionally. People gave me a chance. People defended me. It may sound strange, but no one ever cared enough to do that. My dad, not that he didn’t love me, didn’t know how to show that type of support. Or forgiveness. Madison Thieman — Mado’s my nickname for her — was one of those forgiving siblings. When she first met me, she heard not a single thing good about me. Same with (in alphabetical order) Mark Belcher, Kelley Burke, Lauren Caputi, Maddie Gionet, Tim Harfmann, Courtney Kempski, Ryan Lazo, Jess Misiaszek, Sara Regal, Brad Smith, Jake Sonner, MJ Stevens, Mike Vitron and others. They had zero reasons to get to know me — let alone care about me. But they did. And I won’t cheapen what y’all did with a cliche. But, thank you. But back to Mado, the infuriating dork who annoys me to no end. (I know you’re thinking ‘I’ll be damned,’ but you need to get over it!) Though her older brother’s away, I plan on making Mado’s life miserable from afar and call out her antics in ways only family can. Though it’s unlikely we’ll do daily Insanity workouts or have impromptu ice cream runs again, we’ll find creative ways to still be in each other’s lives. Today, watching her drive off figuratively out of my Bona’s life, I teared up. Big time. My little sister was gone. I’ll have to learn to grow without her. And I’m not ready for it. But, thank you, St. Bonaventure University. You gave an only child the only gift he’s ever wanted: siblings — and the love that came with it. You gave a home to someone who never had one. But most importantly, you gave life to a person who didn’t feel worthy of friendship, let alone love. tony@sheckiiville.com @sheckii

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