Jillian Smith

I was flipping through the TV channels trying to find something mindless enough to make me fall asleep, something that wouldn't keep me interested for very long and would soon be just a distant buzzing in my dreams. Mind you, it was 5 a.m. So as I numbly sat in bed pushing the channel-up button every 2 seconds, a cute southern-accented boy caught my attention.

Close your eyes. Now, picture you're on the beach. You look to your left and there is Hillary Clinton, in a bikini. Look to your right, and there is Barack Obama in his swim trunks. Now, no questions about it, Obama is sure to look better in a bathing suit than Clinton, however, is that all he is good at - looking better than his opponent? Sure, Obama is a nice-looking African-American man who has charmed his way through the Senate and into the hearts of Americans but how does his resume look? It barely exists.

At 2 a.m. on Saturday morning, I had just gotten home from visiting with my cousins. I was home in New Jersey for the night and jumped online to talk to some of my friends from Cabrini to see what they had done for the night. I was on my instant messenger when I noticed away messages saying things like "oh Cabrini" and "here we go again." I knew immediately something was wrong.

Before last semester, I felt very safe on campus. Being in the communications wing until 1 a.m. or later was the norm for me. I had a radio show 7 to 10 p.m. on Wednesday nights, which I was usually up there alone. That all changed towards the end of the semester when a man I didn't know, followed me into the radio station.