The ‘Wizard of Oz’ was and still is my favorite movie. I would sit as close to the TV as my grandfather would allow me to sit, day after day, and stare in awe at the world of Oz as it unfolded on the screen. I also loved the books, and as an adult I read the “twist” Gregory Maguire put on Oz and loved those books, as well. I recently saw the newest Oz movie, ‘Oz: The Great and Powerful,” and yep… you guessed it! I loved it, too.

So when I fell in love and got engaged it only seemed natural for me to do a Wizard of Oz themed wedding. I’m going to finally get my ruby slippers!

And just like Dorothy in Oz, this will be an adventure for me. You see, I’m not from Pennsylvania. I grew up in a land far, far away that seems like a fairy-tale place to some. I ws born and raised in Louisiana, and it couldn’t be more different from Pennsylvania than Oz was from Kansas.

I am planning not only a Wizard of Oz theme, but also a Southern theme… very Southern, actually. Mason Jars. Sunflowers. Outside. Gumbo. Groom’s Cake. All of it. I recently found out a groom’s cake is a southern tradition. I also found out that pot-luck weddings aren’t the norm here.

Helping me I have an array of colorful characters. My fiance’, for instance, is from Lititz, Pa. He’s not the “country” type, nor is he the wedding planning type, but bless his sweet little heart he’s tryin’! I sometimes think he may be color blind, though, because some of his color suggestions are… interesting.

I have seven bridesmaids across three states (Pa., La., Wa.), a photographer in another (Maine), another photographer in another state (Ind.), an officiant in NH, and people traveling in from about four more states other than the ones already listed.

It’s a mess, y’all.

I have a feeling by the time we say “I Do” I will have wished for Glinda and her wand, or even the incompetent (albeit kind-hearted) Wizard. I may also need a new heart, new brain and lots of courage as we go through this process.

I thought it would be a good idea to share my experience for those who may be going through something similar, to offer tips and advice, to get tips and advice and to laugh at everything as it unfolds. I’m told laughter will keep me as sane as possible, so it’s a good thing I have humorous friends who are willing to travel the yellow brick (wedding planning) road with me.

Laissez le bon temps rouler, y’all!

Back-to-school season.

But after spending 17 years in a classroom (from kindergarten to college), this is the first year I won’t be returning to an institution of learning.

The reality of my new “adult life” finally hit me this week as my sister started her first week of college. For months she worried about how the food would taste and how hot the dorm room would get without air conditioning.

Now, she’s completed her first full week and is already busy with coursework and finding the perfect extracurricular activities.

I can’t help but feel a bit jealous of her. The differences between college life and “adult life” have been an adjustment these past few months.

Now, I no longer live two blocks away from my college friends.  I can’t call and ask them to meet me at the frozen yogurt shop down the street or at the bar for a round of drinks.

I’ve also realized that Chinese restaurants and pizza places aren’t open until 3 a.m. for late night cravings. Happy hour happens during the time when I’m working. I won’t have a Christmas or summer break ever again.

I know I’m one of the lucky ones, though. I received a great job offer within my field of study right before graduation. I jumped right into the real world, tossing that cap and gown into the back of my closet and moving to Pennsylvania to start my career.

Sure, there are things I miss about the college lifestyle (see above), but I realized I can’t live vicariously through my sister’s college experience. Although I may want to give her advice on where to sit in class and what sort of parties to avoid, she’s embarking on a journey of a lifetime and deserves to enjoy it on her own.

That doesn’t mean I won’t be sending her cards or calling her to make sure she’s surviving finals week.

Actually, that is something I won’t miss – finals. I won’t miss finals at all.

What is your favorite college memory? What shocked you the most about the real world? Leave a comment sharing your favorite memory or advice for adjusting from college life to the workforce.

It’s only after my perfect little smart phone is back, balanced in the palm of my hand, that I realize how irrational and ridiculous my reaction had been. Regardless, at least once a month I go through the same episode.

Curious about my silly fear, I put “anxiety about losing cell phone” into Google’s omnipotent search engine. Pages of results popped up. I quickly learned I was not alone in my reaction. In fact, my fear has a name, “nomophobia” (fear of no mobile phone). A British team of researchers coined the name, and “experts say nomophobia could affect up to 53 percent of mobile phone users” according to the British paper Daily Mail.

Millions of people? And here I thought I was original. Huffington Post author Barbara Greenberg described the feeling in a similar way: “I am referring to the level of anxiety that makes you feel like you are alone, disconnected and sinking into quicksand.”

But nomophobia does not just apply to losing your cellphone. It also encompasses the fear of breaking your cellphone, and the fear of being without reception.

With my phone sitting right next to me on the desk, I try to break this fear down in a rational sense. It’s just a piece of metal and plastic. Expensive, but completely replaceable. It does not, and should not have an elevated importance. But it’s the constant need to be plugged into… well, everything: Facebook, Twitter, messages, phone calls, etc., that makes it seem irreplaceable.

Let’s be honest though. My life is important to me, and the few close people surrounding me. I’m not an important public individual. If I needed to go for a day, a week, or even a month without a cellphone, I could. Probably the most important thing I would miss is a text messages from friends telling me which bar they are currently at.

The first step is admitting you have a problem, right? I should Google that…

As a child of the ’90s, my trust of Google should come as no surprise. The Internet and I practically grew up together.

The Internet certainly made school easier. Previous generations skipped to the school library and searched through encyclopedias larger than their heads for research projects. What did I do? I just logged on to a computer and went to the World Wide Web.

My first memory of using a search engine goes back to Ask Jeeves. That man in the suit knew it all. I just had to type in a word or phrase and he would give me millions of links to click. I was hooked.

As I grew, I progressed to more commonly known search engines like Bing and Google. I was taught to trust these search media to give me correct information since the first links Google provides are generally the most relevant information to your search.

But, there are times when search engines have been wrong. Sometimes those first links aren’t the most relevant or correct.

This sad, but true fact was brought to my attention by the Evening Sun’s editor, Marc Charisse. It was a typical Monday as the breaking news reporter, filled with phone interviews, car accidents, train derailments and school board meetings.

I was surviving on Red Bull alone when Charisse rolled his chair to my desk. He said something about not wanting to add to my stress of a day with a sympathetic look on his face.

My mind was racing. Did I spell someone’s name wrong? Did I misuse affect and effect? (These are the questions that haunt a journalist.)

Then, he spoke of my misfortune.

“John Denver didn’t write ‘Home on the Range,’” he said.

Well, of course he didn’t write that song, I thought. As my dad would say, that song is older than dirt.

But then it came rushing back. That Sunday night, I was writing a story about a local buffalo farm and singing an old folk song that mentioned buffalo roaming on a plain.

I decided to reference the song in my article. My memory recalled a cassette tape of lullabies, a 6-year-old me, and the soothing voice of John Denver. My fingers typed in “Where the buffalo roam” into Google. And there he was —  John Denver. I closed the tab without thinking twice.

As a journalist, I should have known better. I should have double and triple checked that fact, clicked on more links to find out the origins of the song. I trusted Google too much.

I think Google and I will always have severe trust issues. He may give me some information I trust too quickly, only to be shamed later. But I know now to dig deeper than just the first few links.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I am a journalist and I strive for correct information. At the scene of breaking news, I ask how to spell someone’s name at least five times for fear of misspelling it. At events, I make sure to get all the information needed to tell the story. I go over my notes several times before handing in a piece for publication.

However, it’s important to remember that journalists are human. We’ll make mistakes, but try our best to mend them.

Although I’m not sure if this is enough to mend my misfortune, I can only hope those who know the song will forgive me for quoting John Denver’s version instead of Dr. Brewster Higley’s wonderful poem to the tune composed by David Guion.

And yes, I Googled that.

I can’t wait to drive my new (used) car, a Subaru Impreza that I will officially buy later this week.

I strolled back to my old ride, a 1999 Oldsmobile Alero that has been passed through three generations of my family, one that’s been faithful to us for about 177,000 miles and counting.

An Alero, likely much nicer than mine.

And I felt a little bad for it – just looking at the window that remains up by the grace of God, the little dings and scratches it’s picked up, the way the driver door swings aimlessly without one of its hinges. It’s about time for retirement, I thought with great affection, or at least a fix-up by someone with more know-how, and a much bigger wallet.

All of these sentiments were short-lived, however.

Hours after I drove the Alero home from my successful trip to the car dealership and headed into work, it turned on me.

I walked out of the office into the summer heat to find my rear-view mirror dangling inside the car.

Granted, this has happened once before, on a very hot day last year. But after the hassle of gluing the mirror back onto the windshield, I learned not to park it in the hot sun without the windows or the sunroof open. That car should have been feeling nice and breezy.

There was only one conclusion, I thought.

It knows.

Wish me luck this week. Hell hath no fury like an automobile scorned (especially one scorned for a younger, prettier car).

Lunch with The Evening Sun staff.

I graduated college with nothing more than a prayer of becoming a journalist.

It was 2008, the newspaper industry was reeling, some say it still is, and I didn’t have a journalism degree.

I was desperate to be a writer.

Well, somehow it worked out. Thursday was my last day at The Evening Sun and soon I’ll be writing for The Maryland Gazette.

Looking back, I realize how fortunate I’ve been. I’ve gotten lucky, worked with great people, learned a lot, and made plenty of mistakes.

When I finished school, I was given a bit of advice from a veteran journalist.

The most important thing, he said, is to find a job where you can learn. Work with editors that are passionate and patient and willing to teach, he told me.

I couldn’t have asked for better teachers.

I owe a lot to the editors of The Evening Sun. Thanks for taking a chance and hiring me. Thanks for all the extra hours you worked because I couldn’t get a story right. (I’m sure it was frustrating at times.)

You see, they didn’t just correct my stories. They taught me how to do things the right way, often over and over again.

I’m grateful to have learned from them.

Another piece of advice I received:

“Almost everything pays better than writing – but very few careers are even half as much fun.”

I know what that means now.

I’ve flown in a helicopter as it swooped between power lines. I’ve waded through flood waters to watch a rescue boat cruise along a washed-out street.

I’ve seen lions eat, followed the tracks of a black bear, and searched the woods for owls.

I’ve chased director Steven Spielberg and actor Daniel Day-Lewis through the streets of Gettysburg. I patrolled the battlefield for Sarah Palin and covered a Rick Santorum rally.

Anarchists have squirted me with water guns. Neo-Nazis have shouted at me.

Oh, it’s been a thrill.

Sure, I’ve also sat through hours of debate on chicken manure. And I’ve read hundreds of pages about casinos and lawsuits.

But it’s the personal stories that will stay with me.

Strangers have shared with me their hopes and dreams and passions – I’ve been floored by them.

I’ve shared a beer with veterans and heard what war is like. I’ve cried at funerals with mothers and fathers. I’ve laughed with them at parties.

I’ll never forget the sight of a Latino mother crying in the street. Her teenage son was killed in a car crash. She called his name and reached for the casket as it passed.

Perhaps, what I’ve learned most in the past two years, is what a sad, strange, surprising, beautiful world we live in.

And everybody has a story to tell.

So, to the next Gettysburg reporter, I say be curious. Enjoy this job and good luck. You’re taking over a beat that thrilled me.

I’m hardly one to offer advice. But I feel the need to write something for you. The Gettysburg reporter before me left a stack of notes and phone numbers. It’s still in my desk, waiting for you.

The best I can add is a few observations:

Listen to your photographers. The best lede I ever wrote came from Shane Dunlap.

Everybody has a story to tell – but it’s rarely what you expect.

Be available for breaking news. If Wanda Murren is calling you at 6 a.m., trust me, you want the story.

Be curious and keep your eyes open. The best stories, I’ve found, don’t come from press releases or municipal meetings.

Make friends with Katie Lawhon. The biggest news in Gettysburg will always come out of the battlefield.

An iPad will break if dropped.

Ask everyone you meet for story ideas. I’ve gotten tips in the check-out line of the grocery store.

Most of all, enjoy this gig. It never failed to surprise me.

Oh, one more thing. I almost forgot the most important observation I can offer. Always remember, no matter what — to get the name of the dog.

The Evening Sun—Brett Berwager

I paused and looked up, not quite sure if I had heard correctly. I read the quote back to the re-enactor sitting in front of me, just to make sure I had written it down correctly.
“People say Lincoln was a great president. He was the worst president we ever had.”
She nodded her approval of my record keeping, and continued speaking, but I began to space out.

The heat, even under the shade of the tent, was suffocating, and I could feel little rivers of sweat gaining momentum as they trickled down my back, my shirt too saturated to absorb any more moisture.
What had started out as a simple interview with the re-enactor playing General Robert E. Lee had undergone an abrupt change of subject and I was beginning to regret ever sitting down.
Gathered underneath the shade with me were Al and Shirley Stone of Virginia. Al was portraying Robert E. Lee, and he and his wife Shirley have been traveling around to re-enactments for the last 17 years.
The story I had sat down to get was about why the Stones chose to re-enact, what it was like playing a general, or even how they were dealing with the heat.
Two minutes into the conversation, however, things were headed in a different direction.
It started with my use of the name “Civil War,” a term Shirley Stone did not agree with.
“It was a war of Southern independence,” Shirley Stone said.
The Stones see the war as the South’s fight against taxation without
representation, and not about slavery.
“Slavery was on its way out anyway,” Shirley Stone said. “It was economically not feasible.”
This is where I paused.
“But you would agree that slavery is wrong?” I said. I was almost scared of the answer.
They assured me that they knew slavery was morally wrong, but they felt the war was about states’ rights, and not slavery.
“It’s not right, but it was legal,” Al Stone said. “All you’ve been taught is the Northern version.”
Another re-enactor, William Coe, a friend of the Stones sat down, making our little circle a square.
“There’s not much difference between Lincoln and Gaddafi,” Coe said.
He continued, explaining that the Irish immigrants up North working in the factories had it worse than the slaves down south.
At this point in the conversation, I was done. After five more minutes I politely extracted myself from the tent, wondering how I was going to write a story about this.
In the end, there was no story, but there will be this blog post.
I was stunned to find these views of the Civil War still existed. Maybe that was naive, but I was still taken aback. No, Lincoln was not perfect. However, the worst president the U.S. has ever had? Far from it. The Irish had it worse than the slaves? Just by the fact that they were not “owned” by another human makes their life better by comparison.
The Stones were quick to explain they wanted to present another view of history. One they say that hasn’t been written by the victors. But I shudder to think the history the South would have written had they won.

Note: These aren't the fireworks at Codorus. I just liked the picture.

As it turns out, I think I had the perfect spot that Saturday night.

I was sitting near the water with my boyfriend and his parents, in front of a family with young kids.

I could hear the kids talking excitedly as darkness fell and a nighttime breeze cooled the summer air.

And then the show started, with a bang, of course.

“Wow!” I heard little voices shout behind me as brilliant flashes of colors filled the sky.

“It’s a fireworks show!” one of the kids joyfully exclaimed.

I had to laugh – it was just too darn cute.

And every time more than one firework shot off at once, the kids would say, “It’s the finale, it’s the finale.”

How cool it would be, I thought, to watch all this through their eyes. It probably wasn’t their first fireworks show, but they were still so memorized. And sitting in front of them, it was easy enough to get caught up in the simple wonder of light and color.

I couldn’t hear the kids during the actual finale, but I’m guessing they were speechless.

Here’s a YouTube video featuring part of the grand finale:

Those 136 graduating seniors were so excited. I distinctly remember that feeling—ecstatic euphoria perhaps twinged with apprehension or maybe even sadness. On that night three years ago there was no nostalgia, no sadness, and no regret from me. Echoing the attitude of many before me, I was ready to be done. Move on to the bigger and better. Grandeur awaited.

Three years later those dreams and hopes are not crushed, per se, but
greatly tarnished by the harsh reality of the economy.

Graduates of 2012, I hate to tell you this, but it’s rough out there. Jobs
are scarce. Internships are hard to get. And no one wants to pay you a
lot, if they pay you at all.

Before I turn you away by my jaded rant, it’s not all bad. There are jobs
and opportunities available, but you’re going to have to work for them.
You’re going to have to work harder than you ever thought. Forget about the
time-consuming senior research paper for your 10th-period English class;
that pales in comparison. Basic challenges like getting someone to call
you back for an interview will immediately present themselves.

Navigating this desert economy looking for more than a mirage of a job, if
not a career, I have learned some simple rules:

1. The squeaky wheel gets the grease
A favorite saying of my mother, she would always use it to remind her
daughters that those who speak up, and those who are persistent will get
noticed. I always roll my eyes when she says this to me, but she’s right.
The job applicant that calls after not hearing back from a submitted
resume or interview shows interest in the job. Ten other people applied
for that same job — show them that you’re interested in their
store/business/company, and that they should be interested in hiring you.

2. Network. Network. Network.
You don’t need to memorize the Who’s Who directory of your area. A lesson I
keep learning over and over is the best job connections come from family
and friends. When your Aunt Joan says she might know someone from a former
job, or even her book club, give it a chance. Even if they can’t give you
a job, maybe they can give you the phone number of someone who can.

3. Take what you can get
Be prepared to take an unpaid internship. Another quote from my mom: It’s
called “paying your dues.” That unpaid internship will help set you up for a
paid internship, or even a job. No jobs in the field you want? Start
waitressing, bar tending, or take whatever other minimum-wage job you can
get. You can still look for other jobs, but making money is always somewhat of a
priority.

Looking over this list, I need to clarify that I am in absolutely no way
an expert on jobs. The thought is laughable. Yet I wish as that former
bright-eyed high school graduate someone would have told me what to expect
as I searched for my first internships and summer jobs.

This December I will again don a cap and gown, but this time it will be
for my graduation from college. As I move on from internships, and into
the search for my first post-college job, I hope to retain some optimism
from my high school years, yet stay grounded in the job market’s
economic reality.

Hey, even if I have to bar tend for the first couple of years after college, at least
I’ll know how to make a really good margarita.

I’m in the market to buy a used car and I’m overwhelmed.

Cylinder configuration? Engine displacement? Tilt-wheel steering?

The options are dizzying.

Dozens of websites, blogs and reports – each proclaiming a different car is, hands down, the best buy. I’m at a loss.

Of course, it doesn’t help that I understand little about cars. I’ve never been one of those guys to drool over horsepower or torque. (I’m still not sure what torque is).

No, my cars have always been chosen by circumstance.

My minivan in high school was a hand-me-down from my parents. I wasn’t picky. The van drove great, too, until the transmission started to slip. In the end, I’d creep up hills with a line of traffic honking behind me.

Later, in college, I came into possession of a Honda Civic formerly driven by my grandparents. Nearly 100,000 miles on it by the time I took the keys. It lasted through my first reporting job with a few minor repairs.

One of the power windows broke. It wouldn’t roll up and I covered the opening with Duck Tape. The tires seemed to be perpetually going flat. I have a distinct memory of changing a tire in downtown Baltimore during a rainstorm. I was late for an assignment and kneeling in the grimy rainwater that pools along the edge of city streets.

Still, I loved the car. A tank of gas cost $20. It was small enough to parallel park anywhere.

I’ve never before had the luxury of choosing a car and I don’t know where to begin. I’m not sure who to trust.

I fear a savvy salesman will spot my inexperience and sell me a lemon. Then I’ll be emptying my bank account in five months to replace the transmission.

In fact, it’s always been my goal not to own a car. To live, say, in Washington. D.C. and rely on public transportation, free from the hassles and headaches that come with constant car maintenance.

I still cringe every time I hear a strange noise coming from beneath the hood, knowing that the clanking or scraping or whining might signal a $600 repair bill.

Most importantly, I’m looking for a used car that’s reliable. Something inexpensive. A car that, hopefully, can get me through the next couple years without costly repairs.

I’ve narrowed my options down to a Nissan Versa. The website Consumer Reports gives the car a good rating – small, decent gas mileage and inexpensive.

But do I buy from a dealership or a private seller? What features do I want? How many miles should the car have?

The search is daunting.

I’ve spotted a few prospects, one in Chantilly, Va., another in Reading, Pa. But I’m taking my time, trying to research this thoroughly and make the smart choice.

In fact, I was searching online earlier this evening before I grew discouraged and decided to blog.

Now – back to the search.

Post your tips on how to buy a used car.