"The important achievement of Apollo was demonstrating that humanity is not forever chained to this planet and our visions go rather further than that and our opportunities are unlimited." -Neil Armstrong

The student editorial staff of the University of Georgia's campus newspaper, The Red & Black, resigned Wednesday evening in protest of the board of director's decision to name a non-student employee as the paper's editorial director. Ed Morales, who was formerly the paper's editorial adviser, was granted complete editorial control of The Red & Black, a move that led students to walk out and tell their story elsewhere.

As a former editor of a campus newspaper, this news hit home: for two-and-a-half wonderful years, I had the privilege and the honor to be a part of the New University during my time at UC Irvine. I began as a Layout intern, transitioned into a staff member and writer, and served as the paper's Managing Editor for a year and a half. The experience and the skills I gained at the New U, along with my involvement in UCI's alternative media publications, ranged from editorial to management, and I was fortunate to have the guidance and support of amazing mentors and veteran journalists.

The biggest challenge was the struggle to define ourselves to some in the community who did not understand the leadership and the history of the New U. We were a campus paper that, yes, was once funded and fueled by the power of the university and of the student government, but had since broken off. The New U remains today, as it has for decades, an independent and entirely student-run publication.

There were many stories in my time at the New U that led to controversy. There were stories that upset the administration and stories that upset various groups of students on campus. While managing the paper, I cannot think of a week that went by quietly. Our primary goal was never to incite unnecessary anger, but we did work to shed light on various aspects of campus life that needed attention: from safety violations to shutdowns of protests to shitty service at the campus Starbucks.

I can safely and confidently say that there was never a moment in which I or any of my fellow editors were told by anyone in the university that we could not publish a story. The university respected our independence (our funding came entirely from advertisements), whether they approved of what we were doing or not--and, yes, there were times when they did not approve.

Independent college journalism is vital to any campus community. To hear that a campus newspaper was taken over is a shame and, in my opinion, a violation of an important freedom. A student paper should be run by students. A newspaper for students that is controlled by non-students is not a campus newspaper anymore; it is a propaganda tool, a newsletter to promote an agenda while at the same time silencing the stories that are deemed unfavorable.

1. I am made up of more words than I've ever actually written.
2. I have always been afraid of spiders. Always. I don't care what size they are.
3. I hope to be someone people can count on.
4. I can change ukulele strings, but not guitar strings. I don't know why this is.
5. I dream of living near the SF bay and writing. Someone pay me to do that, please?
6. The way to my heart is thoughtful, meaningful conversation and silly little laughs.
7. I am passionate about helping people. I believe that, more than so many other things, is what will help build a society that can persist through tragedy.

(via Lauren @ the little things we do.)

Somewhere between 96th and 103rd, I burst into uncontrollable tears in the backseat of a taxi. The driver actually pulled over to hand me a tissue and ask if I was okay. All I managed to get out between sobs and hyperventilating was that I lost my best friend.

"As in died?" the taxi driver asked patiently.

I shook my head and realized how idiotic it sounded. Of all the horrible things in the news--of today--and this is what I was shedding my tears over? How could I explain to this taxi driver who could barely understand me and probably thought I was absolutely nuts that I was upset because someone I loved no longer seemed to care about me? How could I sum up, in two sentences or in five words, what it was I felt? It felt so superficial, so trivial, so...juvenile.

He handed me the box of tissues from his front seat and I sunk into my seat as he pulled away from the curb to continue toward my destination. I was realizing how ridiculous my outburst was, but at least it was better than crying on the subway.

We got to my corner, and I paid. Before I got out of the taxi, I handed the box of tissues back through the window in the plastic divider.

"Take it," the driver said. He smiled, nodded, said "good night," and drove off.

My autographed You've Got Mail poster from the raffle at Housing Works' "We've Got Mail" event in February.

It's taken me more hours than I'd like to pay proper tribute to you after your passing, but here is my attempt now: a letter to heaven, and I hope it finds you well. You may wonder why write this to a woman I never knew, but as Chris Matthews put it the other night: "Because this is about us."

Your writing was more than words on a page, on a screen. You were a storyteller in every sense of the word: it's because of you that I know that complicated matters of the heart can indeed be put into words, and that none of us are ever alone in loving, losing, or learning to begin again.

I was only a child the first time I saw one of your films. I have loved them ever since. There was something different about the heroine of your stories--the way she laughed, the way she spoke (so eloquent, so real), the way she rolled her eyes and brushed the hair from her face. I so wanted to be Kathleen Kelly (part of me still does today) because even though she lost at some things, she won too, and isn't that the message we all need? You can fall and you can fail--in fact, you will fall and fail a lot--in love, in work, in friendships, in life...but pick yourself up. See, I've had falling outs with friends, and I've made mistakes for 23 years, and I fell for the wrong person once who's since broken my heart every day for two years now...but it'll all pass. I believe it.

Yes, let yourself grieve, and feel every emotion of the pain of what you had and what could have been, but you'll be okay. And, please, don't be afraid to start over.

The themes of your films strike a timeless chord, and even though future generations will never know that familiar dial-up sound, there's still something about the characters and their journey that captivates hearts and souls. "I always recognized in those stories pieces of people I knew and conversations I had had," Linda Holmes wrote on NPR after learning of your passing. "They were like choral compositions where everything else is just pretty sounds, but you can pick out the alto line because you sang it in choir fifteen years ago. You could never reproduce the entire thing without amplification and help, but that one part makes sense."

Sleepless in Seattle taught me something about loneliness as much as When Harry Met Sally taught me about growth. The way I write, the way I speak, the way I think has been subtly influenced by your writing, and you share the credit (and, let's be honest, the blame)--along with Didion and Plath--for the messy and emotional basket case I can be, and the messy and emotional words that have led to these blogs.

From your films to your essays, and your forays into topics of friendships, romance, feminism, aging, and more, the pages of the book you created truly never tired. Charles McGrath's obit in the Times for you ended with a bit of your writing that brought forth the simplicity of why people--why I--adored you:

Ms. Ephron’s collection “I Remember Nothing” concludes with two lists, one of things she says she won’t miss and one of things she will. Among the “won’t miss” items are dry skin, Clarence Thomas, the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and panels on “Women in Film.”

The other list, of the things she will miss, begins with “my kids” and “Nick” and ends this way:

“Taking a bath
Coming over the bridge to Manhattan
Pie.”
You saw New York differently than so many, I'm sure of it. You saw life so differently too--not that you lived it differently, but that you knew how to express it differently, and more authentically than most.

Nora...it was nice to have met you.

Ciao,
Traci