Doug Umberger

Winter 2011/2012 Playlist

Hello, friends! As I do do front time to time, below are my very random music suggestions for this time frame in my life. Take a listen, and hopefully you’ll delve as deeply as I did into this beautiful music. Thanks! Have a great day!

Fun. ft. Janelle Monae: We Are Young (Acoustic) 
Clint Mansell: Lux Aeterna
City & Colour: The Girl
Vampire Weekend: The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance
Mumford & Sons: Dust Bowl Dance
Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros: Carries On
Adele: Hometown Glory
MGMT: Time to Pretend
The Civil Wars: Barton Hallow
The 88: At Least it Wasn’t Here
John Mayer: Dreaming with a Broken Heart
Parachute: She is Love
J. Frank Wilson & the Cavaliers: Last Kiss
Fleet Foxes: He Doesn’t Know Why
Janelle Monae: Oh, Maker
Xavier Rudd: Messages
Old Crow Medicine Show: Wagon Wheel
Rod Stewart: Maggie May
Flogging Molly: Whistles the Wind
The Shins: New Slang
Joshua Radin: I’d Rather Be With You
Angus & Julia Stone: Paper Aeroplane
Penguin Cafe Orchestra: Perpetuum Mobile
Sam Cooke: Wonderful World
Amy Winehouse: Back to Black
Brett Dennin: Darlin’ Do Not Fear
The Youngbloods: Get Together
Norah Jones: Rosie’s Lullaby
Ben Harper: Waiting on an Angel (Live)
Wintersleep: Weighty Ghost
Dion: Runaround Sue
The Xx: Stars
Madcon: Beggin’
George Winston: Northern Plains
The Eagles: Take it Easy
Balmorhea: The Winter
India Aire: The Heart of the Matter
Margot & The Nuclear So & So’s: Broadripple is Burning
Johnny Cash: I Won’t Back Down
Ingrid Michaelson: You and I
Dispatch: Two Coins
Matt & Kim: Daylight
Grizzly Bear: Two Weeks
Woods Brother: Luckiest Man
Band of Horses: Our Swords
Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs: Maps
The Dodos: Walking
Mat Kearney: City of Black & White
Tennessee Brothers: Take Me Home, Country Roads
The Outfield: Your Love
Pretty Lights: Finally Moving
Feist & Ben Gibbard: Train Song
Hey Marseills: To Travels to Trunks
KiD CuDi: Pursuit of Happiness
Griffin House: Better than Love
Jack Savoretti: Soldiers Eyes
Blind Pilot: I Buried a Bone
Noah and the Whale: 5 Years Time
Drake & Rihanna: Take Care
Blaine Long: Happy Man
Iron and Wine: Serpent Charmer
Eddie Vedder: Society

Phraseology.

Allow me to take a moment, as a Speech nerd, and serve as an advocate for this wonderful new application that I ordered for the iPad. It’s entitled, “Phraseology” and I wish I knew about this before I ordered the pricey and overly-complex “Pages” app. Phraseology literally takes each unit of speech within your essay, blog, or general note— mind you, I’m using it as we speak— and hereby rearranges, integrates, and suggests better outlets to your style and grammatical structure. Needless to say, I’m madly in love.

If you have an iPad, I could not highly recommend this ingenious tool for your everyday lifestyle enough. For $1.99, live and learn by this useful application, and progress the development of your writing capabilities via verbal and written communication.

I Love You, Apple.

There is nothing more therapeutic than listening to Pandora while Tumbling, Stumbling, or just writing. This upcoming semester is going to be a challenge for me; however, I’m blessed to have the valuable resources such as an iPad and iPhone to alleviate these issues and assist me in yet another worth-while semester of sustainable student leadership, memorable performances, challenging academic curriculums, and an award winning pledge program for my fraternity.

Hello Again, Tumblr. Thanks, Apple.

Lossography

         As a Speech & Communication major at York College of PA, it would be terribly inaccurate (and a disservice to my future aspirations as a professional) to say that coping with a death, in any means, is a simple and effortless process. With the exception of few mere cultures, communication— after receiving information of someone’s death— is almost immediately masked with a negative connotation, and unfortunately, it stands to reason that in a time when effective  communication could lead to comfort, joy, and closure to those who need it most, it transitions into ongoing distress through precarious and inappropriate statements. With a secondary focus on the American culture and their viewpoints on what is the “norm” in the death system, I will embark into a lossography on my numerous and somewhat-too-frequent deaths that occurred in my life span from birth to present.

            First and foremost, I need to lay the foundation to my credibility and state my complex vision of life after I received information that I was adopted at nine years “young” (for all intents and purposes of pursuing a gerontology course). While my mother—since since a very young age—was persistent in getting me this information, it was not until my maturity struck at age nine where I filtered the life-altering news into a sudden reality and served as an advocate for adoption indefinitely. Less than a year after my realization of my adoption, my Grandmother, Florence “Flo” Umberger (on my Father’s side of the family) died at age 85 in her home due to heart issues. Since this is the first significant death that occurred in my life, I found myself remembering vivid details of the entire process until her funeral came to fruition. I distinctly recall walking back from the bus stop after school and entering my eerily silent home on that warm afternoon in May of 2000. Since my mother manages an at-home daycare, I was curious as to why the babies were not crying or roaming the house in a common yet tamed fashion. I walk through the front door, and without even a moment, my mother broke the news: “Grandmom died.” Nothing more; nothing less. Looking back at this exact moment in time, I suppose my mother was expecting something more from me; perhaps, she sought a dramatic outburst or seeking emotional assistance for the impact this first death has on my life will be eternal. In return, I was silent. No emotion or tears shed whatsoever from an already blank expression. In fact, I actually found the underlying philosophical context to be rather intriguing. Here, I was faced with an inevitable flaw in human life that I quickly grasped most likely due to the previous realization of my adoption after peeking clinical maturity regarding adoption. I had no closure with my Grandmom while she was alive—thus, I could not possibly tell you what my last words were to her. On the contrary, Dena (my sister who is 5 years older than me) grasped the concept of coping, utilized her emotions, and (naturally) was crying when I went upstairs to see her. Seeing my sister so sentimental in utter weakness and denial was the other fascinating factor in my first outlook towards death since my sister has the will power and emotional strength to master any task. My sister and father never showed weakness; therefore, Dena rightfully scrutinized my behavior in being naïve, and went (almost verbatim if my memory recalls), “Doug, do you not understand? You will never see Grandmom again. No more going over here house with her dog, or getting rare $2 bills in her cards from the holidays, or even having her homemade Chicken Noodle Soup. She’s gone.” These comments, while precise, were counter-productive in an attempt for me to be sympathetic because I felt that statement from my sister was all the closure I ever needed. I knew my Grandmom had died and there was nothing I could do about it. I thoroughly enjoyed her company and those vague memories of going to McDonalds for hash browns and coffee on Sunday mornings. And that, to me, was acceptable. I do not recall any of the funeral services. I only recollect those timid yet dominant words when my mother stated her death.

         Approximately three months following the conclusion of my Grandmom’s funeral, I traveled independently across the country (targeting 20 US states and three Canadian Providences) for 22 days with my neighbor and best friend, Thuy Nguyen. Thuy (pronounced ‘Twee’ for further clarification) came to America when she was five and immediately enrolled into a full-day English program in elementary school where she learned English within two years. We quickly became best friends, and I will never forget her invitation to go on this remarkable journey across the nation with her family. Mind you, this trip (immediately after my Grandmom’s death) serves as a milestone in my childhood, and the landmarks we visited or memories we share is unforgettable. It took years for Thuy’s relatives to successfully move to America from Vietnam. However, her father, after finally reuniting with his daughter and wife, died from a spontaneous flu one year ‘post-arrival’ to his family. It truly was an ironic twist after returning from a euphoric moment in our voyage across America only to be faced with such a dismal and bewildering death. I supported my friend unconditionally in what was a pivotal moment in the state of her adolescence. Any assistance that she needed during that process, whether it would be for school or recreational, was complete in my pursuit of her happiness. I remember being aided by my father at the kitchen table since I found Thuy’s scenario to be so excruciatingly painful. It certainly took longer for me to accept the death of a family friend over the death of my own Grandmother. Whether it stands as emotional insecurity or unfortunate timing, I instantly put Tom (Thuy’s late father) into a larger perspective. He was in his early forties pursuing a career to support his family when disaster inconveniently struck; whereas, my Grandmother was slightly more successful in accomplishing a fulfilling lifestyle. In contrast, my Grandmom was 85 with six grandchildren. Tom was in his early forties with a 10-year daughter who he knew for only three years and a wife he had not seen in six years. I sincerely loved my Grandmom; however, the spontaneity of Tom’s death put my view on the taboo subject of death into a different perception. My memory fades when remembering my emotional presence during the viewing of his death; my family, nevertheless, supported Thuy and her family through this overwhelming and sudden tragedy, and she is still one of my dearest companions to this day.

        Over the enduring course of eight years after the death of Tom and my Grandmother, I took a brief hiatus (if you will) from significant deaths in my life. Now, simply as a point of clarification, I have had 21 deaths occur in my 21 years of life from family, mentors, and friends. From 2000-2008, fifteen of those deaths took place; nonetheless, it would be simply impossible to delve into the core of each death’s perplexities without having a textbook for this course to read. In a limited fashion, I handled each death separately, professionally, and modestly. To begin, my “Mom-Mom” (on my Mom’s side) was one of twelve children in her vast Italian family. Four (perhaps even five) of her siblings died sporadically over this time frame in my life. My Mom-Mom is 87 now and one of two remaining members of her immediate family. Going to my great aunts and uncles’ house was sincerely enjoyable for an occasional breakfast or family gathering. However, due to extenuating circumstances, I was unable to go to any of their viewings or funerals; moreover, I reflected and gained full acceptance of their death almost immediately after receiving the news since I hardly knew these individuals. I could argue the same theory for my Great Aunt Val (on my father’s side) who I infrequently visited, but my family who knew her well sang the praises of her kindness regularly at the dinner table. In addition, I found this instantaneous sense of recognition and appreciation to KC Mearra, my third yet relatively close cousin, who wretchedly took his own life in a drug-overdose after returning from vacation with his family the previous day in 2006. KC’s suicide, as son of the Congressman of his town, made front page news and left the city, his family, and dear friends utterly speechless. I was unable to attend the viewing due to significant co-curricular activities, and I truly regretted it thereafter. My freshman year of high school, I received news that my peer and friend, Ashley Mohasi of Bordentown, NJ, was ran over by an automobile on Christmas Eve and was instantly killed. Ashley’s death, at such a young age of 16, left the high school and community-alike flabbergasted as well. I attended Ashley’s viewing with over 500 students of the high school attending; however, I am sure only a mere fraction of them actually knew any of her sharp wit and eagerness to make a difference in school. It was difficult attending a viewing after an eight year hiatus from significant loss for the casket was open. Ashley’s face was discombobulated on behalf of the accident. Did I find this decision of the open casket to be unsuitable? Yes. When someone is embalmed at an elder age, the funeral services are for an open casket are comforting after seeing the natural glow and blemish-free face of a frail and once unhealthy figure. Ashley’s case was the polar opposite which led to the emotional impact that it did for the school and all those who attended the service. Ashley was young, bright, and cheery; she brought spunk and a unique perspective on life into every classroom she entered. One cannot possibly compare a youthful figure like Ashley before her death to the morbid appearance she naturally conveyed at the viewing. In my solicited opinion, I found the family’s decision to have an open casket was in poor taste after seeing that image was my final impression of a friend I knew so well.

          Lastly in 2008, but certainly not least in this chain of unfortunate events, my dog of 12 years— after battling cancer and blindness— died in March. I am an animal activist; consequently, my passion and devotion for dogs sparked after receiving Cherub, “Chuba” (for short, since she was plump and loving) in Kindergarten.  This quest for knowledge and infatuation for animals made her death particularly more challenging than any other that I have ever experienced. Chuba was a separate entity of death, in and of itself, since she was an animal who exemplified unconditional love and for the reason that I knew what exact day she was being put to “rest”. Reflecting on the past, it was not until this point in my lossography that I showed any emotion and truly broke down. Society, mainly in North America and parts of Europe, takes the relationship with animals into an entirely isolated sociological experiment. Nowadays, pets are family in America. Some cultures (mainly China and oriental casualties) consume dogs regularly; however, my heart sinks deep into the bottom of my chest while my eyes overflow with meaningful tears just thinking about the morning I held her for the last time. Frankly, I have never seen my family so somber and depressed over anything as a whole. My body ached for weeks and I was silent for quite some time throughout my high school courses. Serving in my first week as the President of my high school’s Student Council, I had severe difficulty transitioning into the position and embodying sustainable leadership since the death of my dog was clearly reflective in my every mannerism. I feel the extreme notion of an expiration date (so to speak) with Chuba was what made it so dangerously unmanageable for my emotions towards the subject. I honestly believe if it was a sudden death, I would have been able to control my emotions, find the true meaning and closure in her death, and my façade (in the eyes of the student government) would have been more uplifting for such a cornerstone in my longevity of my career goals.

        Truth be told, the following year in 2009 had proved itself to be even more challenging in means of bereavement. After entering York College of PA, I immediately found a close niche of ten close friends who were truly inseparable in the freshmen dormitories. BryAnn Pierson, affectionately dubbed as ‘Giggz’, was someone I met on the first day of freshman year at YCP. She had an incomparable sense of humor (hence her nickname deriving from “Giggles”) and truly lived life to the fullest through expressing copious amounts of optimism along the way. Almost a week into school, I went down to the first floor of Manor North to find a note on BryAnn’s door. It said something along the lines of, “Pray for BryAnn’s Mom, everyone. She was rushed to the hospital.” It was in that moment where everyone’s heart in Manor North belonged to someone we barely even knew. The only thing I knew of BryAnn was her contagious laughter. The next day, September 11, 2009, we heard that BryAnn’s mother, Teresa, passed away unexpectedly (almost in a direct parallel to Thuy’s father). I texted BryAnn my sincerest condolences, but that was the furthest I could relate to her. Sadly, she held a conversation with her mother on speaker-phone only a couple of days before her passing which made this situation frightfully more challenging for our “group”. BryAnn returned to York shortly thereafter. One of the fondest memories I have to this day with “Giggz” is taking her (alongside my roommate, Ronnie) to Olive Garden and just talking as a team for the night about how she was doing. BryAnn, Ronnie, and I today are best friends after solidifying her comfort to others through that necessary ‘venting’ session. She confided trust in us and I will always be there to support her endeavors and lend a helping hand. She turned that sour taste into positive energy and now serves as the Secretary (Public Relations Chair) of the York College Student Body with me as her trusty Vice President. She will be taking Death, Dying, and Bereavement in the spring to assist in her development in coping; however, she appears to be doing exponentially better than before.

         Two months later, in the midst of my first set of finals, performances for “A Christmas Carol”, transitioning into an Executive member of the Student Body, and about one month before pledging a fraternity, my Grandfather (Pop-Pop), Joe D’Errico, died exactly one month before his 88^th birthday. In an already stressful time in my life, I had to exemplify superb time management through arranging all of my final exam schedules with my professors (coincidentally, Dr. Niles-Yokum was one of those reasonable professors for Sociology). My Pop-Pop was in severe health injuries for my entire life. My mother, sister, and I supported him through his surgeries to his Alzheimer’s disease. Entering the closing chapter in his life, he did not recognize any member in his family besides one individual—his loving wife, Lena (Mom-Mom) of over 60 years. Therefore, with this outrageous form of clinical disability, a majority of the family came to terms that he would, essentially, be in a better place once he passes. My Pop-Pop was, quite possibly, the funniest and most charismatic man I ever had the pleasure to meet and thankfully call ‘family’.  His leniency and undying love for Italian food and family bonding were quality traits that I aspire to have one day. I received the news of Pop-Pop’s passing immediately concluding a performance of “Carol”. It was difficult balancing the joy of Christmas spirit when a dear loved one dies subsequently before. I concluded the run of the production and immediately went home to assist in the funeral for family and friends. I was asked to read two passages from the Bible during his Funeral; whereas, my bold sister tackled the obstacle of giving a beautiful eulogy. My closure for my Pop-Pop came after noticing hundreds of family members and dear friends crying after Dena’s inspiring yet tearful speech.  She summarized his jokes and culinary expertise impeccably, and thus, I once again showed emotion on behalf of one man’s impact on such a community. If anything, Dena simply sparked wonderful conversation pieces for family to discuss during the reception for the funeral after the peaceful burial in his hometown. I received the leading role shortly after his death in YCP’s production of Our Town by Thornton Wilder. “Our Town,” ironically about death’s significance on society and how blind humans can be towards death, was listed as one of the greatest shows ever performed at York College and I was blessed to be the leading male role, and respectfully, I dedicated my performance to my late Pop-Pop, Joe. My Mom, sister, and “Mom-Mom” viewed the performance, noticed the acknowledgment, and left the performance in tears.

        Wilder once said, “The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude” (Our Town). My life, at 21 years old, has been surrounded by death. I see in a few of my courses that there are individuals who have yet to lose any member in their family or even a friend, and I am truly apologetic to those people. Without the numerous deaths that took place in my life, I would not have even a fraction of the strength and personal development that I do today. The way I handle death may be reserved yet it is meaningful and respectable. Communication with death is a challenge; however, with the intention of our own death eventually approaching as an inevitable flaw, one should seek basic understanding, grieving, and practicing for they are key to a healthy conscience and uplifting future in the celebration of life and, respectfully, death.