The Truth Board

The high school syndrome

2012-01-30T15:39:00.000-08:00

I only loved five classes in high school: Independent Study of Art, Humanities, a class called S.E.A.L (which mostly surrounded an interest in culture), Creative Writing, and AP U.S history. Every morning I woke up, went to school, and tried my best, so that I could get A’s and graduate but I never really actually cared about my classes. I can’t help but wonder and lament about my abysmal ratio of classes I liked versus hated and as I sit and reflect upon this occurrence I realize the commonalities between these classes and the reasons I liked them.
Firstly and foremost, in all these classes I had teachers who have an inexhaustible love and passion for what he or she teaches. Secondly and for the most part, each of my teachers had and have confidence in their students. This may seem trivial, but this trust let my teachers give me, or my class, a lot more freedom for student led discussion and more creatively generated work. If I could say anything about high school, it would be that I liked the classes that had a vague structure, but let me fill in the blanks. When I had the most say in my learning, I churned out my finest work and while enjoying the process. My art teacher let me create my own lesson plan and guided me through different projects that I ultimately chose, and I made some of my best art pieces so far in that class and I loved working on them.
Now three years later and this dilemma still remains a fresh thought in mind, but why? Perhaps because I’m running into this same problem at my university where I now pay teachers to bore me to death with power points and lectures that talk at me instead of include me. College, where I now choose to skip class because I would rather catch up on other work rather than go to a class where the most interesting things I’m seeing are the doodles I’m drawing in my spirals. Maybe I’m misguided in my attitude but lately I feel, as a English major with a writing emphasis, I have had little or no say in what classes I have to take and when I finally fulfill the credits that are required, the electives offered really have no relation to the type of writing I thought I would pursue in college. I entered college with the belief that I would be able to write creatively at least every semester and yet somehow all my lower division and upper division classes rarely involve any creative writing at all.
I don’t mean to complain, because I have had classes like British Literature two, Language of Fiction and Language of Poetry, that I absolutely adored, but for the most part the things I’m looking at and studying don’t really align with my goals of writing fiction. I find myself working constantly on analytical and critical essays and every time I start a new one I ask myself “why did I choose a writing emphasis when I hate this style of writing?” In truth, there aren’t even that many creative writing classes for majors which definitely makes me second guess my choice in emphasis.
This thing that I feel which savors a little like regret makes me stress a hope that something about the English department might change in the future. If I could ask for anything I would want more discussion-based classes that let students really participate in their learning. Maybe more workshop classes that let you edit and rework your writing rather than just turning in one final draft to your teacher for a grade. Lastly, I honestly just would want more options for people who came into this major with hopes of flexing their own writing muscles instead of lauding or critiquing the style of someone else’s. I went through high school barely caring about anything I learned, I don’t want college to be a repeat.

Underwear Goes Inside the Pants

2012-01-28T22:01:00.000-08:00

While working at the McCarthy Dormitory last Saturday night, I decided I should turn some music on as I attempted to start my homework. I was about to click Wiz Khalifa's music station on Pandora, but decided I was in the mood for something different. I chose Dubstep. However, instead of some bass and random noises that people call music, a song in which a man was sharing his opinions on different issues in the world began to play. I was going to change it but then I began to see his humor (as he used extremely sarcastic wording), and posted some lyrics on my Facebook to see if anyone else had heard of it.

This homeless guy asked me for money the other day. I was about to give it to him and then I thought he was going to use it on drugs or alcohol. And then I thought that's what I'm going to use it on. Why am I judging this poor bastard?

To my amazement, instead of people continuing with the lyrics or commenting about them, I just got 9 likes and 2 comments from my family members who were not particularly happy about the drugs and alcohol reference.

The results of my "experiment" made me analyze exactly what I do think when I come into contact with the homeless. For example, if I am going to 7-Eleven or the market and there is someone in front asking for money, I either look for a different entrance or drive the extra half a mile to another location. I know that these people are not trying to hurt me or cause conflict but I am overwhelmed with such sadness and pity that I would rather not face them. Truth is, I have given homeless people money a few times in my life, but I did not feel better about myself. Instead I kept thinking about the person who had received my change. I wondered about things such as how much do they make in a day, how did they get to such an awful place as they are, and if they had any family?

I know I would never end up living on the streets because of my family, but there is always that “what if” question looming. What if I did become addicted to drugs or alcohol, would they be able to help me? And would the pennies and nickels people gave me help or hinder? It is amazing that a 4 minute and 54 second song could have such a strong impact on me.

Narrated by a comedian, Wikipedia states that the song toped the UK Singles Chart in which it was first released in 2006 under the name Lazyboy. While the song is funny, what isn't is the fact that the current homeless rate is 636,017, according to www.endhomelessness.org. This means that for every 10,000 people in the general population, 21 of them are without a home, and for veterans the average becomes 31 homeless vets per 10,000 vets in the general population. Because of these startling facts, I believe that there needs to be more programs out there that give the homeless opportunities to get out of their particular finiancial situation and start over again. Instead of people laughing at the problems of our world, they should be willing to take a stand and help make a positive change.

- Victoria Federico

Birth Right

2012-01-27T10:02:00.000-08:00

Leaves on trees give sound to sighing winds that move in and out of my living room window. Peering through the glass are pieces of sunlight that illuminate dancing patterns of dust. They hardly seem worried about settling anywhere on this lazy Sunday afternoon. Although I had not invited anyone over, the room is full of friends. My house often seems to gather company much in the same way that it gathers the dust I watch float towards no particular direction.
They sit on the couch, chairs, and futon arranged around each other and discuss their days. I chew on a toothpick and space out, my legs kicking off the end of a loveseat I am draped over. Preoccupied with thought, I am not engaged in the room’s chatter. With another birthday around the corner, I find myself contemplating the meaning of my finite existence, a task that hushes my voice among the outgoing assembly of students whose minds are still fresh from class, work, and life outside this room and my thoughts.
The conversation is silly and light-hearted. I only half listen until my ears perk up at my name.
“Wait, Rica, isn’t your birthday this week?” my roommate Nora asks, momentarily tearing herself away from a crippling Reddit addiction. Her Persian skin and dark features make her a shadow in the unlit corner of the kitchen.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s on Friday.”
I silently pray that this answer will end the discussion. On the twenty-seventh day of the first month of each year, catastrophe ensues in the form of a botched party or failed plans or an empty bank account all in the name of my birth. My resentment of this day is only half-serious, but still I hold dear this cynicism because, frankly, I can. Leslie Gore got it right- It’s my party, I can cry if I want to.
“Oh my God,” Sean squeals, sprawled out on a futon covering a good chunk of the living room floor. His blue eyes are wide with anticipation. “What are we gonna do for it?”
More aggressively than I intend, I answer, “I don’t know, why do I have to do something?” After a brief pause, I collect myself and recover the answer. “I mean, I don’t know. I hate birthdays… they never work out.”
Life for you began exactly so many years ago, some floating voice says. Then it rips me away from an age I had just gotten comfortable with in order to don some new identity. This year, I am forced to forsake the all-too infamous age of 21 for a much murkier hue of 22, casting me to a fate known as being in my 20s. Gross.
Sean tries hard to rally. “Com’ on… it’s supposed to be a fun way to remind you that you were born!” I sit unconvinced as others chime in on possible party ideas. What purpose does this reminder serve? I have heard that the highest percentage of suicides occur between Thanksgiving and Christmas, a time where people are dragged into days meant to fill some void in us. How many are instead reminded of what left the holes there in the first place? Is this true of birthdays too? I wonder if anyone felt so poetically inclined as to end his life many years later on the same date it began.
What will this pile of celebrations become when I crush under the pressure of age and expire? What compels me to find comfort in only the most perverse views of this personal holiday? Dripping wax crawling down candles look like teardrops; wrapping paper seems a superfluous decoration stuffed in a trash bag.
And yet, I still want to believe in some sort of renewal or awakening that we all seek on this day. Will this year be important? Will some profound life event make seeing this day next year more significant? Finding meaning in it feels like reading palms with no knowledge of the lines’ symbolism.
Still combating the rebuttal from a crowd eager to have to a party to look forward to over the weekend, I concede to the notion of raging while still reserving my right not to.
“OK, OK, I get it. Look, just be on-call, all of you… we might go out, or I might just make you sit with me and commiserate all day. Either way, I expect full attendance and no complaining. “
And maybe that’s it. Maybe we all need one day to be allowed to act in ways we are deprived of the rest of the year. Birthdays are the only days of the year where people are truly excused for being loud, unreasonable, irrational, miserable, wasted, annoying, or passed out in the corner of a bar. If nothing else, I am allowed to revert back to the state of mind I had when I was in fact born, knowing the self-indulgence can be excused simply with the presence of a birthday hat or pin or shot.
This is the one day where age and its meaning should not weigh on my mind. I have the whole year to do that. Perhaps someone a long time ago decided that if one should be so lucky to live to see another birthday, it is her birth right to be distinguished as someone who has made it another year in this realm. Certainly that someone deserves a day of free shots, good wishes, and permission to act badly. We all deserve happy birthdays; some of us just find happiness in negativity. And that is my right, one day a year.

Your weekend warrior,
Rica

Player Haters Ball

2011-05-04T19:39:00.000-07:00

So it’s that time of the year again. The sun’s out a lot more. Beach trips become a daily routine. And, ah yes, the NBA playoffs. The ultimate showdown of the best professional basketball teams duke it out for one year of bragging rights. I have been a basketball fan for years, but there’s just something about this current season that makes it seem like everything’s at stake and every game matters. Derrick Rose, who was awarded MVP, is bringing the Bulls back to their glory days. Lebron and company want to show that they are a force to be reckoned with and no one can stop them. Dirk and the Mavericks are desperately fighting to get that championship ring. Boston wants revenge. And last but not least is Kobe and his posse going for that three-peat.
You would think that a team who has so much championship history would be one of the most respected teams in the league. Well, quite the opposite. It’s crazy how many people of my peers hate the Lakers, mostly because they’re not from Los Angeles. Yet most of them complain that there are too many fans in one area. Hmm, I wonder why. You chose to be in the heart of the LakeShow. Regardless, when people hate on the Lakers, it’s because of one man: Kobe Bryant.
This is a guy that’s so easy to hate on. Before most haters begin to criticize his game on the court, they immediately bring up his scandal back in 2003. “Kobe’s a rapist and blah blah blah.” Seriously? What year are we in again? Whether it was consensual or not shouldn’t be the reason to hate on the guy. Don’t get me wrong. That’s something that shouldn’t be tolerated. Besides, the girl dropped the charges. But when that happened, people began speculating that Kobe paid her to do that. Yeah, pretty sure Kobe would be in jail for bribery and you that know the media would be all over that.
But let’s not talk about the past and talk about the present. A lot of pressure is on this team as of now. The haters desperately want every team to beat the Lakers, and if they do, they will rejoice. My only hope would be that Lebron gets knocked out too. He has a good team now, but I’m honestly so over the hype. They are a great team, but everyone expected them to be undefeated and dominate every team. It turns out that by the end of the season, they pretty much blended in with the rest of the top teams.
I would love to see the Lakers and the Bulls for the Finals. How awesome would that be? It’s a classic matchup. Not to mention that it’s Phil Jackson’s old team that he used to coach; you know where he coached that Jordan guy. Plus, if the Lakers were to win it all again, it would be Jackson’s 4th three-peat, totaling at 12 championships. Six with Jordan and six with Bryant. That’s a basketball story. Despite the haters, the fans stay persistent with their team, and I hope that once again, the haters will keep their mouths’ shut again this year.
By: Aaron Frias

Goodbye Michael Scott

2011-05-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

Who would have thought that recreating a show based off of office-cubicle-life from England would be a smash-hit here in America? I’m talking of course about “The Office”, a show that originally ran as a short series in the UK became a television phenomenon in the USA and is about to finish its 7th season. Whether you’re a fan of the British version or the American version, it’s tough to criticize Steve Carell’s performance over the past 7 years. He has crafted such a believable character that it reminds the viewer that there are so many people out in the world of the workforce who are exactly like him. With that, the awkward moments of the show, which are normally his fault, feel realistic as if you are in the room with him.
Michael’s last day at Dunder-Mifflin was definitely one to remember. In an interview with Steve Carell as to why he was leaving the show, he said that it was just time to hang out his coat and put that character to rest. It was time for him to move on. In terms of the show, his character became engaged with Holly, the new HR, and decided to move back to Colorado with her to help take care of her parents. Though the writers needed a reason for Michael to leave the company, I kind of wish this wasn’t the reason. It felt kind of rushed and all-of-a-sudden. I wanted Michael’s leaving to correlate with Steve Carell’s leaving. This was a decision that was out of Michael’s control, for the most part. Steve Carell wasn’t fired or asked to leave the show. In fact, I’m sure NBC could have done at least five more seasons with Michael Scott if they really wanted to.
Regardless of the reasons for Michael leaving the company, I was a bit shook up to see him take off in that airplane. Sticking with a television program that’s been on the air for years is like being married to these characters. You become so wrapped up with their lives and know their personalities so well that it’s hard to let go of them. Sure you could always watch reruns, but it won’t be the same knowing that Michael isn’t around any longer.
In terms of the future of the show, it seems as if Will Ferrell will be taking over Michael’s position. Now, I’m not biased towards Michael and against the fact that he’s being replaced. Plus, I love Will Ferrell; the man’s a comedic genius. Still, it’s weird seeing someone else permanently sitting in Michael’s office chair and I don’t think the writer’s are using Ferrell’s sense of humor to its fullest potential. They’ve made him somewhat of an awkward character who occasionally has some funny moments. I’m hoping that he’s the kind of character who takes awhile to come out of his shell and can eventually be the Ron Burgundy- like character that I was expecting him to be. I haven’t lost hope for this show. Season 6 was definitely the weakest season so far in terms of story and comedy, but with Michael’s leaving, the writers definitely stepped up their game and made the show as funny as Seasons 2 and 3 (arguably the best seasons of the show). I am banking on the fact that Season 8 will be the last one. I don’t doubt that it’ll be a good season; in fact it will probably be great. But a show only stays on the air based off the ratings and reviews. Viewers will give the show an unfair criticism just because one character is gone. I just hope that once the show is over, there won’t be any spinoffs. Coming next Fall: Jim & Pam!
By: Aaron Frias

Stop it, George Lucas

2011-05-04T19:37:00.000-07:00

No, seriously, just stop it. You know exactly what I’m referring to. Back in the late 1970s up to the mid-1980s, George Lucas not only created a movie trilogy, but he created a universe. It was family-friendly, epic story about good vs. evil, likable characters, and overcoming adversity. Star Wars was on everybody’s minds at the time. Even if you weren’t born when it was a hit, myself included, Star Wars should be a part of every childhood. In fact, it should be required by law. They will change your life, as they did mine when I first saw them.
But then, Lucas decided to belittle his own franchise when he started the prequel trilogy. When he first announced that he was going to be filming Episode I, never would Star Wars fans realize that this was the beginning of the end. The trailers blew my mind when I first laid eyes on them. They were flashy, stylish, high-tech; man I couldn’t wait to see those movies. But then afterwards, I would always leave the theater wanting more. It was missing that magic spark; that fuzzy feeling I get whenever I watch the original trilogy. Episodes I and II were okay. Episode III was better, but nowhere near the quality of the original. I was hoping that it would end right there.
Then came the DVD releases of the original trilogy. Unfortunately, these versions would be the “touch-up” versions, meaning that Lucas would add-in CGI elements alongside the classic animatronics that Lucas once relied on. These CGI touch ups hinder the movie experience. They stand out so much and it’s so obvious when it’s there. Recently, Lucas announced that the movies would be released on Blu-Ray. Once again, they would not be the original theatrical versions but with even more touch-ups. Look, it’s cool that you haven’t forgotten about your movies, Mr. Lucas, but honestly, how many times can you release the same damn movie? Why do you like making your fans pay for the same movie over and over again? Get this: starting next year, Lucas is going to release all six episodes in theater with 3D. Dude, are you kidding me? Once again, you like torturing your fans because you know the absolute hardcore fans are going to pay to see them in 3D. Movies should remain in their original form. You don’t see The Godfather being retouched a million times. You don’t see Back to the Future retouched using CGI. You don’t touch classics.
By Aaron Frias

EA Sports: Not in the Game

2011-05-04T19:36:00.000-07:00

Even if you don’t play video games, chances are that you still know about a game franchise called “Madden” by EA Sports. This is a football simulation video game that has been a huge success over the years, allowing NFL fans to control their favorite quarterbacks. It has proven to be a great commercial success and more of these games are bound to keep coming in the future. Now, with every video game there has to be some kind of competition, right? Every shooting game competes with Call of Duty; every fighting game competes with Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter; every massive multiplayer online role playing game competes with World of Warcraft. Who competes with Madden? Sadly, no one.
Back when the game first hit the scene and as the years went on, technology for video games was getting better. The graphics were getting better and so was the game play. So it should go without saying that the Madden games were getting better and better every year. But then comes along other gaming companies like 2K Sports who also wanted to get in on the NFL licensing. While these two companies were competing to create the better NFL simulation game, EA Sports gradually began to feel threatened. Madden was making a realistic approach to the graphics and presentation. 2K Sports, on the other hand, was making the game play fun and exciting. Turns out, that’s exactly what the fans wanted. Good graphics are nice but game play will always win.
So how does EA Sports handle their competition? By making the graphics and game play superior to 2K Sports? Well, you would think, but they end up doing something that no one saw coming. EA Sports decided to buy out the NFL licensing so that only EA Sports could produce a football video game based off of the franchise. In other words, it would be illegal for 2K Sports to create another NFL-based game since EA Sports has those rights. Since then, Madden has simply been just an okay game. The series has definitely come a long way, but there is still a lot of work to be done. But EA Sports has ZERO competition for Madden, unless you count NCAA Football…which is EA Sports too! If Madden still had competitors, maybe for once they would make a good game. Not that Madden is a bad game by today’s standards, but I feel there’s a lack of heart and soul that other gaming companies put into their games.
To give hard proof that 2K was always better than EA, take a look at the NBA video games that they make. When 2K announced NBA 2K11 with Michael Jordan on the cover, EA Sports announced that their game would be called NBA Elite, which used to be called NBA Live. When 2K11 was finally released (before Elite), the game got rave reviews. It got countless 9s out of 10s from just about every gaming website and magazine. EA got intimidated and still had another month before NBA Elite was to be released. Turns out, EA decided to pull the plug on Elite, saying that it was going to be inferior to 2K11. Even if there wasn’t going to be competition, they said that the game would just be horrible on its own. EA needs to learn that they aren’t the only gaming company around and that we live in a dog-eat-dog world. They should compete with their games, not their money.
By Aaron Frias

Green & Yellow

2011-05-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

**Disclaimer: Written before the 2011 Super Bowl**
The month of February has proven to be both a great time of the month and also somewhat depressing as well. Single Awareness Day (otherwise known as Valentine’s Day) is around the corner and sadly the NFL season officially comes to an end for awhile. However, that means the Super Bowl is this weekend, America’s favorite unofficial holiday. Whether one watches it for the game, the commercials, to simply be with friends at a bar/party or all of the above like myself, Super Bowl Sunday is an eventful day. Those who will watch the game religiously this Sunday know exactly what’s at stake. The mighty Pittsburgh Steelers versus the determined Green Bay Packers will both fight for every play during Sunday’s matchup. Pittsburgh is looking to gain their 3rd championship in the last 5 years, while Green Bay needs to prove that they don’t need Brett Favre to win a Super Bowl.
Brett Favre played 16 seasons with the Packers from 1992 to 2007. Think about that for a second. When he started playing for them in ’92, millions of newborns had been brought into this world. When he left the Packers, those same newborns are now teenagers. So it’s safe to say that he had a major impact on this town, generating millions of fans and even his own restaurant in Green Bay. Within those 16 years, he gained over 2000 passing yards, over 400 passing touchdowns and two Super Bowl appearances with 1 championship. Favre has gained an admirable amount of respect in the football world.
After the 2007 season, he announced that he was going to retire but decided to return as a New York Jet. That somewhat left Green Bay in the dust. Second string Quarterback Aaron Rodgers had some major, MAJOR shoes to fill. Coming fresh out of Cal Berkeley, he knew what had to be done to get the team and its city back on their feet. Well, fast forward to 2011 and he has taken his team to a Super Bowl matchup.
Not being a fan of either team for this particular game (I’m a St. Louis fan and yes it’s torture), I always root for the underdog. The Steelers have some major guns on their side like Roethlisberger, Ward and Polamalu to name a few, so this team knows exactly what it takes to bring their city another victory. However, considering Green Bay’s past history and their strange transition between quarterbacks, they deserve this championship. Yeah, yeah the Steelers are an amazing team but I’m sorry, if they win this Sunday, that just makes the NFL boring and predictable. Green Bay hasn’t won since 1997 and far overdue to win something major.
But the question still remains. Can Aaron Rodgers escape the shadow of Brett Favre? Should he be called the new “Brett Favre” of Green Bay? The one thing that is going to especially bother me are all of the pregame reports on Sunday before the game actually begins. I can see it now. A short, mini-documentary will air and will be ALL about Favre, his last Super Bowl appearance and then transition to Rodgers briefly. When it ends, the reporters will then give their insights about Rodgers filling in the shoes for Favre. Just watch for it this Sunday, it’s going to happen. If I’m wrong, then the 2012 apocalypse is going to happen.
If I were in charge of FOX, I would urge the reporters to not speak heavily about Favre. I understand that it’s pretty difficult to talk about the Packers being in the Super Bowl and not think about what Favre has done for this great franchise. However, this isn’t 1997 when Favre was young and agile. All eyes should be on Rodgers and I don’t think it’s fair to him or the Packers’ organization. Everyone usually forgets that it should never be about one particular player of a certain team (I’m referring to you, Lebron). It’s about the team franchise first and then using their money to formulate good players and coaches. Just like graduation is usually for the parents of the student graduating, winning a football game is for the fans. Who doesn’t love bragging to an opposing fan when your team wins, especially when the underdog wins?
Sunday should prove to be an amazing game. If it’s anything like last year’s game with the Saints defeating the Colts, then we should have ourselves a football game. Although the only minor thing that worries me are the Madden predictions. Every year before the Super Bowl, EA Sports will simulate the Super Bowl using their successful video game Madden 11, selecting the teams that will play on Sunday. According to the simulation, the Steelers will defeat the Packers 24-20. Madden usually has the most accurate stats for each individual player and the team as a whole in real life. What’s even worse is that Madden has been correct in selecting the winning teams in the past 5 years, with the scores eerily close to the actual final scores. My obviously hope is that Madden is wrong and that Green Bay can overcome the Steel Curtain.
By Aaron Frias

Thank you Mike Judge

2011-05-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

Whether someone claims that they don’t watch television is lying when they say that they don’t have at least one favorite show. They are most certainly aware of an invention called television and on this invention they show shows. (Pulp Fiction) Those who are couch potatoes are fully aware of what shows are definitely worth watching and which ones will get cancelled after two episodes. Let’s rewind time back to the early to mid 1990s, back when MTV was actually called Music Television. Now days, MTV is enjoying their loads of money thanks to stupid shows like “Jersey Shore” but I won’t get into that again. (Read my last blog) But back in the 90s, it was actually cool to say that one watches MTV. During these golden years of said channel, a simple show created by Mike Judge changed the television industry as we know it. It was about two high school dimwits who don’t have a clue about life while laughing at nearly everything and nothing in front of their beloved television. I’m talking, of course, about “Beavis and Butthead”, a show that had such a huge cult following that fans have been begging for it to come back on the air ever since the series ended.
When “Beavis and Butthead” ended, Judge was busy at work working on his new show on Fox called, “King of the Hill”. Usually regarded as Judge’s most subtle yet cleverest work he’s done in his career, the show often gets a bad reputation. Fans of Judge got an idea of his sense of humor with “Beavis and Butthead” and expected “King of the Hill” to be just as funny. Being that I’m fans of both shows, the comparison of humor is vastly different from one another. At the end of the day, “Beavis and Butthead” is simple yet ingenious at the same time. Anyone can make a show about two stupid friends, but Judge creates them so vividly and lifelike that you completely forget that one is watching a cartoon. When the show ended in 1996, fans have desperately wanted the dynamic duo to come back on the air, and just recently Judge announced that they will be making a glorious return. Not only that, but they are returning to MTV.
For those who don’t watch the show religiously, (It’s on Netflix Instant Stream) the show consists of two high school metal heads that are completely oblivious to everything and everyone surrounding them. They don’t care about their futures because they are living for each individual moment and their life passes them by in front of the television. One of the great things about the show when it first aired in the 1990s was the fact that it was one of the few shows to air on a music channel that wasn’t actually about music. However, the characters Beavis and Butthead usually watch actual music videos that MTV would air regularly. With that, the two would constantly make fun of the videos if they didn’t like the genre of song. In addition, they always wear the same clothes, as most cartoon characters do, sporting their Metallica and AC/DC shirts. Even though the boys are completely idiotic, they have a keen taste in music. With the new episodes that Judge says will come out Fall of 2011, the boys will of course watch more music videos. (My God I can’t wait to see what they say about Lady Gaga and that Bieber kid) Also, they will watch UFC fights, YouTube videos and will watch “Jersey Shore”. It was about time that MTV did something worthy for their channel. At this point, I think that they too miss their old selves that they used to be. “Beavis and Butthead” was a HUGE reason why it was cool to say that one watches the channel. I look forward to seeing the return of quality television returning. The nostalgic feeling is taking over my brain and I love every second of it.
By Aaron Frias

Jersey Shore and Glee: Go Away

2011-05-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

I love the fact that when I tell people that I watch Beavis and Butthead, they are so quick to judge that I watch stupid television and have no taste in shows. (I’ve never actually been told that, but I can read it in their eyes). Then, these same people drive home and rush to their televisions to watch Jersey Shore and Glee. Now I’ve seen my fair share of bad television, but there’s nothing worse when bad shows get good ratings. If you’re reading this and you enjoy both of these shows, allow me to explain why I simply dislike them. It’s just a personal opinion. I don’t claim to be an expert on good television, but I like to dish on shows that get unworthy attention.
Let’s start with Glee. (I have to warm up for Jersey Shore). The minute that I saw a quick preview for the show before the world premiere, I immediately knew that people were going to go goo-gah over it. I thought to myself, “Just watch, half way through the 1st season, Facebook is going to be bombarded with statuses about the show.” And dammit, I was right. Don’t you hate it sometimes when you’re right?
My problems with the show? Well, I normally like movies and television shows that have a PLOT. You know, a story? I’ve spoken to fans of the show and they even admit that the show is literally 90% song and 10% story. I usually don’t like musicals, but this one takes the cake. I’d also like to add that I have actually attempted to watch an episode due to the hype, and to this day I wish I could gain my 15 minutes back that I wasted on it. Don’t get me wrong. I love music. It is practically my life. However, cover songs of extremely popular songs bother the hell out of me. These are the songs that everyone knows, lyric for lyric. They don’t exactly need to be covered. It feels like Kidz Bop is the official sponsor for the show.
Not only am I bothered by the show, but the producers are big babies. How? Well, recently they asked the band Kings of Leon if they could cover their song “Use Somebody” for the show. The band immediately rejected saying, “At the time of the request, we hadn't even seen the show. It came at the end of that record cycle, and we were over promoting [‘Use Somebody’].” Glee’s response: “"F-ck you, Kings Of Leon. They are self-centered a--holes and they missed the big picture." Notice the differences in the responses from both parties. One is calm and polite. The other is acting like a little bratty kid who didn’t get what they wanted for Christmas. I mean something just isn’t right here. You have a show that gains millions of viewers a week, making good money off of other musicians’ work and now you cry because 1 band had the balls to say no. This was the icing on the cake for me. Maybe I’m missing something here but Glee is simply taking up too much air time. Can Fox please replace Glee for Arrested Development??
Oh boy, then there’s Jersey Shore. My God. I have never witnessed such atrocious television entertainment than this show. Before the show began, the internet was filled with Guido jokes which poke fun of their lifestyle and personalities. For those who don’t watch the show or don’t know what a Guido is, let’s take a look at the definition from good ol’ UrbanDictionary.com. “An Italian American man usually residing in New York or New Jersey. He wears shirts that are too tight and unbuttoned 5 buttons too low to show off the chest that he spent hours and hours at the gym obtaining, he spends more time on his hair than his girlfriend, and continues to ‘hit the clubs’ long into his mid to late 30's. Often attracted to the female version of himself, the Guidette.”
Doesn’t this sound like an easy target to make fun of? Well, the geniuses at MTV decided to make a reality show (Reality show, how original) based on the lifestyles of said individuals. Jersey Shore was born and it hurts me to say that the show is in its 3rd season. A show about douche bags who simply cannot get over themselves. They fist pump in the clubs, work out, have an incredible amount of drunken hook ups and nonstop drama. And wouldn’t you know it? The people have spoken. Is this what America loves now days? They love it. Not only do they love it, but fans have made an attempt to quote the show nonstop. T-shirt time? The hell is that? I swear I had a girl come up to me and that’s literally all she said, in her high pitched voice. “T-Shirt time??” Oh that’s right! You watch bad television; sorry I was busy watching South Park and Entourage.
I really don’t mean to sound like a ranting jerk here and I apologize if I have offended your taste in television. But it just shocks me what passes as television now days. Maybe I haven’t given the shows a fair shot at redemption, but I feel as if I’d be wasting my time again. But if I’ve learned anything about American society is that we get bored very easily. These shows won’t last very long. Hell, The O.C. was insanely popular and got cancelled, so there’s hope.
By Aaron Frias

Everyone's On Adderall

2011-04-29T17:10:00.001-07:00

Having spent a lot of hours studying and socializing with friends throughout these years, I've noticed how many are on prescription medication. I'm not talking about anti-depressants or allergy medicine, even though there's a fair number of those who are on it as well, but these brain controlling drugs everyone names adder all. It's a major combatant of ADHD, something I've recently found everyone being diagnosed with lately. Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is a neurobehavioral developmental disorder that may severely interfere with one's ability to get the most out of education and work, and it deprives one of maintaining interpersonal relationships, as well as maintaining a positive sense of self.
For someone who suffers from ADHD, and is looking for a solution to fighting this disorder, he or she should definitely look into long term medication of Adderall. This appropriate method showed me how truly effective and harmless this drug really is. But something just can't be right. Medication no matter how perfect, always has a flaw. Your brain will most likely adapt to the medication and before you know it, you have to increase the dosage amount after a few years of usage. What do you become when you suddenly decide to not take the drug anymore? I fear it might change your mood or will to accomplish anything anymore.
I personally believe that ADHD is something that can be controlled without the use of drugs, and something that can be prevented before it spontaneously occurs in your youth. It's a disorder that can be prevented early on by the parent of that child. I feel that parents who promote too many choices for their kid, or spoil them with constant gifts and unnecessary things induce this hyperactivity to their child. Giving them sugar all the time won't help lighten the case either. This is a rather blunt theory, but I just find it strange that just recently there has been this increasing existence of ADHD. I could go to a doctor tomorrow and say, I think I have ADHD, and acquire some Adderall just for the kick of it. I know that I am not alone. In fact, many people have already done so and sold it to others in schools for either academic purposes or just for leisurely activities. Some of my friends take it to help them with their studying or writing their paper. I admit to trying it once for a final and I have to say it has rather impressive effects. I admit that Adderall is an amazing drug, because it almost forces one to complete the goals you want to achieve as soon as it hits you. If I didn't take the pill for that final, I may have not done as well. Then again, I will never really know, because it's only an assumption. If, somehow they could erase all of the adverse effects, even the mild ones, they would have the most powerful, yet harmless, drug on the planet. Unfortunately, science will never trump nature in this form. The human brain is still far beyond reach to the conventional scientist.

- By Mortimer Canepa

Waiting

2011-04-29T16:40:00.000-07:00

Passions can elevate a person to the best of their ability, and allow him or her become an honest, and incredibly unique being. However passions remain veiled until you come across them. During my high school years, my mother had asked me, “what are your passions?” and I stood there contemplating and found myself without a true, personal answer. Strangely, the thought never came across to me then and suddenly the little light bulb above my head lit brighter than ever. Suffering a lack of motivation, there was no direct path I felt inclined to take. Instead of taking the road less traveled, I chose the generic, follow your persuasions motto. Although there was failure in finding an honest passion, the school taught me ordinance and brought an astute awareness of subjects which opened up possible directions.
College brought me the opportunity to discover what I may have truly enjoyed. Although always enjoying stories and writing, my English writing was weak amongst others. It is true that the English language is my third language but I have been a part of this country far too long to use that as excuse. The first semester was a chance to have a bright new beginning but I still had an unclear view on my passions. Fearful that my writings would further be panned by professors, English was not amongst the favorite of subjects in the beginning. However, I embraced the stories given in class and my responses and my overall writing was embraced rather quickly. Shocked by this occurrence, I felt inclined to believe that maybe the teacher was light on students. How could I have gone from mediocrity to actually being credible. Maybe deep down I was passionate about writing and should consider it as a possible major. After changing my intended major to English I immediately began to doubt it. However, many of my classes have been thoroughly engaging and provocative. Despite how interesting many of the subjects were, I can't tell you how many nights I spent glaring at the computer for a few minutes after just typing the heading. I would patiently stare at the silent blinking line waiting for me on the barren white page. Those first set of words always manage to remain distant from your thoughts until it suddenly finally arrives. I'd also always commit psychological suicide after deliberately waiting to write that long research paper at the last minute. Why do we do this to ourselves? I have learned that confidence is the only slayer of procrastination. The only reason we never want to face the assignment is because we're afraid to do poorly on it. Each day wasted makes each word and phrase weaker than it could have been and once you realize it, you don't ever want to make that mistake again. But it creeps back every time only because you let yourself do it. This last year, with a few exceptions, I've managed to not burden myself with last minute assignments. Counting down the hours, power naps, and using that library for the next nine hours straight, is one hell of an experience, and certainly gives you a great rush once you've completed. In the long run it will itch you when you knew a better paper or exam could've been accomplished, only because you were passionate about it to begin with.

Not an Ordinary Concert

2011-04-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

r Canepa
Blog 6

Two weeks ago, I was unsure whether or not I should attend Coachella. After reading Sean’s celebratory blog on the same event, recognizing some of the great artists performing, I knew I couldn’t miss it. I have grown into a very avid listener, always picking up the new synths from electronic artists and unique notes and strokes from the bands. My eclectic ear has an insufferable desire to listen to music at any time.
As you know from my previous statements, I am a newcomer to this event, but after experiencing two consecutive years, I feel that it’s going to become a ritual. I actually prepared for this event far in advance when it was still 2010. To be honest, the fact that you need more time to plan Coachella than you would a Christmas vacation is absolutely preposterous. I had no idea there were so many nut heads out there that cared about this event as deeply, or more so, as I did. I remember my friend calling me in November of 2010, asking me if I booked my rooms for Coachella. I remained silent on the phone, and thought to myself, “is she serious?” I immediately thought she was a crazy fool for taking it so seriously. It’s as if it’s some religious gathering of hipsters and wanna be hippies. Needless to say, she convinced me to look into reservations. Her frantic voice made it seem like I had to reserve right away or else I’d be sorry. All was set, and the only thing left was to purchase the ticket, which was yet to be released. Also, I didn’t even know who was going to perform! I was certain it was going to be good after listening to all the rumors from my boss at Capitol Records. Only five days after the tickets were released, the show was already sold out and the sad thing is, even after all the reservations, I did not get that ticket in time. I knew that someone somewhere, would decide not to go, and worst case, I’d pay a few dollars more for the pass. I wasn’t really worried. However, Honestly though companies who decide to buy thousands of tickets, and sell them at a much higher price, are total bastards. Another great win for free market society. Months passed and day after day I lost my desire to even go to Coachella. About two weeks prior to the weekend of epic proportions, I completely lost my desire and will to go, not to mention, find a ticket still.
On Friday, April 15, 2011 at 4:30PM, oh and by the way, I still went to class on Friday because I’m a boss like that, I was en route 10 heading to Indio Valley. Long story short, I went just to see a girl. But who am I kidding? I wanted to see the bands! I arrived in Palm Springs, showered, changed, made sure to not forget my deodorant, very crucial not to forget that deodorant, and headed to bliss. I felt like a child who had just discovered Disneyland. Watching the glowing Ferris wheel from afar in Coachella was like witnessing an amusement park as a toddler. As soon as I entered, the vivacious sounds jittered through my veins like a pack of red bulls before a final exam. Before I knew it, it was already Sunday. What happened between Friday and Sunday, I still can’t quite fully comprehend.

By Mortimer Canepa

2011-04-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I was unsure whether or not I should attend Coachella. After reading Sean’s celebratory blog on the same event, recognizing some of the great artists performing, I knew I couldn’t miss it. I have grown into a very avid listener, always picking up the new synths from electronic artists and unique notes and strokes from the bands. My eclectic ear has an insufferable desire to listen to music at any time.
As you know from my previous statements, I am a newcomer to this event, but after experiencing two consecutive years, I feel that it’s going to become a ritual. I actually prepared for this event far in advance when it was still 2010. To be honest, the fact that you need more time to plan Coachella than you would a Christmas vacation is absolutely preposterous. I had no idea there were so many nut heads out there that cared about this event as deeply, or more so, as I did. I remember my friend calling me in November of 2010, asking me if I booked my rooms for Coachella. I remained silent on the phone, and thought to myself, “is she serious?” I immediately thought she was a crazy fool for taking it so seriously. It’s as if it’s some religious gathering of hipsters and wanna be hippies. Needless to say, she convinced me to look into reservations. Her frantic voice made it seem like I had to reserve right away or else I’d be sorry. All was set, and the only thing left was to purchase the ticket, which was yet to be released. Also, I didn’t even know who was going to perform! I was certain it was going to be good after listening to all the rumors from my boss at Capitol Records. Only five days after the tickets were released, the show was already sold out and the sad thing is, even after all the reservations, I did not get that ticket in time. I knew that someone somewhere, would decide not to go, and worst case, I’d pay a few dollars more for the pass. I wasn’t really worried. However, Honestly though companies who decide to buy thousands of tickets, and sell them at a much higher price, are total bastards. Another great win for free market society. Months passed and day after day I lost my desire to even go to Coachella. About two weeks prior to the weekend of epic proportions, I completely lost my desire and will to go, not to mention, find a ticket still.
On Friday, April 15, 2011 at 4:30PM, oh and by the way, I still went to class on Friday because I’m a boss like that, I was en route 10 heading to Indio Valley. Long story short, I went just to see a girl. But who am I kidding? I wanted to see the bands! I arrived in Palm Springs, showered, changed, made sure to not forget my deodorant, very crucial not to forget that deodorant, and headed to bliss. I felt like a child who had just discovered Disneyland. Watching the glowing Ferris wheel from afar in Coachella was like witnessing an amusement park as a toddler. As soon as I entered, the vivacious sounds jittered through my veins like a pack of red bulls before a final exam. Before I knew it, it was already Sunday. What happened between Friday and Sunday, I still can’t quite fully comprehend.

-Mortimer Canepa

Strange Encounters of the Good Kind

2011-04-29T05:01:00.000-07:00

By Jordan Bunger

A journal I wrote about a day trip I took to Amsterdam during the fall of 2010 while studying abroad in Germany:

I’ve been returning to a strange area of my mind, thought left behind in recent months of growth. I met this girl named Sofya at a head shop, just wandering round the city of Amsterdam, nothing to do, missed the last train to take me home, waiting in limbo until the 7 AM. I told her I was looking at prices of certain products in the shop, not intending to purchase, but she sensed the Westerner in me and bluntly asked, “Canada or US?”. That was all I needed. Took it from there, she ended up sharing her journey with me, a 20 year old girl from Berkeley, CA, only an hour’s drive north of my hometown. Came to Amsterdam with her family, Dutch folks, and now living on her own in the city, working, partying, then repeating. She’s living how any 20-30 year old would in the US, she decided to post up in Amsterdam though. An adventurous girl, obviously, but a little nervous at first, shy in a way I’m familiar with. She was easy to talk to, sharing her journey with a total stranger only 20 minutes after meeting. Her shyness lay in her speech and the way she would uncontrollably fidget with irrelevant items in the shop, following a laugh or a smile from me.
She was edgy, 20 years old, working in a head shop in the pot capital of the world, fun loving, enjoying her youth the way I feel I’m beginning to let slip. Meeting the Sofya’s of the world is tough for me sometimes. I’ve always fought this crippling envy of others, jealous of the way people live their lives, comparing theirs to mine, feelings of personal inadequacy, of hopelessness, and the compounding ugliness crippling my thoughts and actions. I’m rendered into a state of immobility, furthering the illusory gap between myself and my peers. This understanding [of how I measure my own success by comparing it with my personal interpretation of the success of another] has helped me see the negativity of such thinking. While these deliberations were more relevant, this envious nature has been a part of me for so long, and it’s tough to kick the habit. I see it every day, I watch myself while I commit the sin, then condemn my thoughts; it’s an odd cycle.
I must’ve done something right, for Sofya invited me out after she closed up shop. In my situation, I jumped [maybe too eagerly, but it’s not too eager if I really wanted it right?] at the chance to go out with the locals and shorten what would be a cold and lonely night at the train station. Walking to The Winston, her favorite bar, the usual hangout, side by side with Sofya, my nerves were sending weird singles up top. I guess I got nervous, the transfer from one friend to a group is tough for me. Sofya and I got along so well at the shop, but as we walked, I began to play my introverted role, a different character that comes out in such times, and very peculiar to the untrained eyes; and hers were far untrained. The guy she’d met only an hour before was slowly dawning a mask that would leave his face nearly unrecognizable by the end of the night.
It was a fear that I was capable of spending the night with this girl that got me. She sent me signals. Her friends, Nicole and Tamara, giggled as Sofya spoke and cast suggestive glances in my direction. Love was in the air as they say. In such a community, as Sofya led me to believe, “if you make out with anyone tonight, you’ll probably have shared saliva with everyone in this room”. Unknown to me before my encounter with this girl, Amsterdam was not just a day trip destination on a youthful excursion through Europe, but a mini community of travelers had sought refuge in this city. They were all under the age of 25, an obnoxious Aussie accent heard from across two tables away originated in a little island near Fiji, Nicole was a cross breed of Thai and European, Tamara, a lovely personality from Orange County, CA, and Sofya a Dutch girl from Berkeley, CA, returning to her homeland. Their stories were so interesting on their own, made grand by the bizarre similarities to the crew in Torremolinos.

Find your balance

2011-04-29T04:49:00.000-07:00

By Jordan Bunger

When you have no one to turn to, you look within. And for me, I’ve always been an independently minded person, never becoming too dependent on any one person aside from myself. Especially at LMU, my time here has been anything but easy with regards to socializing with others. And so, independence arose out of having not one but myself to rely on. As Michener narrates the story of Joe after the incident at the peace rally in his book The Drifters, he says, “Joe stayed alone in the dormitory grappling with a slowly developing conviction. Customarily such painful assessment comes to a man in his late forties...but for Joe's generation the time of reappraisal came early, and he faced his alone” (18). When you become your only contact, spending the hours alone becomes the only reality you know, while painful, you must embrace for survival. You look within for answers to why. It comes from a disillusionment with everything you once accepted as true in your life. Cynicism takes hold, where at one time, blissfully ignorant optimism stood. You’re forced to resort to any and all measures of dealing with this bitter situation, drugs, alcohol, music, philosophy, literature, religion. From this, I came to an illusory conclusion, that my literal survival as a human being was desperately dependent on independence.
At the time, I had no clue just how wrong I was about this. Had I seen it earlier, I could have saved myself a lot of pain. But in time, I began embracing the idea of openly expressing and asking questions from those I looked up to. When only a year before, I took it upon myself to solve any and all problems that came up in my life, now, within the last few months, I’ve begun to share my life with others instead of keeping it all introverted. It's exciting, yet, as new experiences often are, frightful. While in Spain, Britta undergoes emotional ups and downs much like those I've come accustomed to feeling, her high of dreaming to one day be in Spain and actually living out that dream, to the lows of hopelessness when everything seems bleak, “The remainder of that Sunday...was one Britta would never forget, a compound of hope and anxiety” (85). While my past is full of introspective evaluation, I’ve slowly been breaking through the bubble I used to occupy and letting others into my world. It's an exciting time in my life right now, exploring new possibilities for myself every single day, but those images of the past never cease to leave me alone. During that phase of independence, I constantly battled with a negative self-image and felt I was the only person in the world who felt this way about himself. My level of introversion was so extreme; I couldn’t relate to others and so thought, how could anyone relate to me? But the biggest breakthrough came when I began to open up and found that people I envied, for their openness, free expression, positive self-image, had battled with the same thoughts that had plagued me for so long. And as my comfort level grew and now continues to grow, I find myself more and more dependent on others, all the while never forgetting the survival skill of independence. And I hope I always cling on to remnants of what used to be, keeping mind how far I’ve come.

You and me...we're not so different

2011-04-29T04:33:00.000-07:00

By Jordan Bunger

In a return to a forgotten issue that still has yet to be resolved, I bring you an investigative report into the two clashing sides of the same-sex marriage conflict in California. For this report, I was lucky enough to be able to receive interviews with the lovely Father Thomas, of the True Church of Christ, and activist, Janet Garrison, both providing solid perspectives from their own points of view.
Always remember, two perspectives are better than one:

Vote Yes!
Father Thomas
Self proclaimed messenger of the Good Word

I will not stand by and let these…these ruthless sinners be given the opportunity to partake in the sacred act of marriage. The Bible tells me that marriage is reserved for a man and a woman and God knows I am a faithful believer. He gave us the gift of life so that we may reproduce and spread the Good Word unto others. We at the True Church of Christ recently donated $2 Million to the campaign in support of Prop 8. The collection was originally meant to be given to the children’s hospital down the road, but in spite of recent liberal support for same sex marriage, we felt the money should go to a more important cause. I mean seriously people, think about our children and how this will affect their everyday lives. If they are taught in schools that gay marriage is to be accepted, then who knows what will come next. They may start questioning why minorities are treated as inferior or why Father Thomas wanted to play Twister with no clothes on. Do you want to be the one to have to answer these potential questions? I sure as hell don’t. Vote Yes! on Proposition 8 to keep our children safe and further segregate ourselves from the disgusting immorality of the homosexual culture.

Vote No!
Janet Garrison
Hates men and recently swore them off for the foreseeable future

The supporters of Prop 8, if I can put it simply, are Republicans. All they do is tell lies to the American people. Every television, newspaper, and internet advertisement supporting Prop 8 is totally untrue and should be disregarded as Fascist propaganda. I have come to this conclusion because I am positive the vast right wing conspiracy is behind this prospective law. They want to strip us of our basic human rights, excluding us from a sacred ritual that has long been reserved for those with body parts that harmoniously connect with one another. Sure, we homosexual couples may lack a certain reproductive organ that enables childbirth and, yes, we enjoy rear entry and scissoring, but these are merely side notes in the grand scheme of things. We are unsatisfied with just being labeled as ‘domestic partners’ and wish to enter into the loathsome abyss that has come to define marriage in the twenty-first century. Hundreds of thousands of Californian’s are unhappy with their current marital situation and we feel left out of this oh so joyous experience. Voting No! on Prop 8 will give us the false conception that we are no different than heterosexual spouses and enable us to suffer alongside you in a seemingly blissful state of matrimony.

Safety First

2011-04-29T04:18:00.000-07:00

An investigative report conducted by Jordan Bunger

“We must cut down the expansive fields of anarchy that appear to run rampant in this institution!” were the first words to leave the mouth of police chief, Officer Cantrell, in his pregame pep talk to the Public Safety crew last Friday night. Many hot topic issues were discussed such as underage drinking, robberies at knifepoint, scare tactics, and most importantly the ever expanding marijuana dilemma. The meeting was set up as an open forum with officers chiming in left and right with what they believed would be the most effective solution to counteract these troubles. Many of the suggestions were very well thought out with one officer proposing his brother, a well known meth dealer on the east side of Lawndale, be given permission to set up shop three times a week on the field above Drollinger Parking Plaza in order to fight the consumption of marijuana on campus. While this seemed a fairly reasonable plan, it received mixed reviews from the rest of the force. A couple more ideas were heard and simultaneously shot down before Cantrell revealed his ingenious anti-cannabis resolution: “When approaching a room spewing the foul odor of cannabis, prepare yourselves for the worst. These potheads, dopers, hippies, and fiends are vicious human beings- known to tear limbs from perfectly innocent virgins, commandeer motorized scooters from the elderly and handicapped, steal change from the vagrant, and even give the finger to school children. Use full force when desired, they will not back down when confronted so why should you? An especially rebellious individual may require a spritz of mace, and if the unwarranted solemn behavior continues, a taze or two to the abdomen should knock him/her into submission for a long enough time to go about your righteous duties. These are extremely useful techniques, but we must always prepare for the dreaded worst case scenario: a stoner who is uncannily apathetic to the previous two methods of enforcing justice. If the individual has a high tolerance for mace in addition to showing merely a slight reaction to the minimum of two tazer shots all the while trying desperately not to miss a waking moment of Space Ghost, then if you feel so inclined, you may unload that .38 Magnum stuffed secretly in the depths of your uniform to his/her outer thigh. 99.9% of the time, this will ensure your safety and the safety of those nearby from the sickeningly apathetic maniac calmly sitting across from you.”

A letter to Pleiku, Vietnam:

2011-04-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

The truth is you will never read this. You will never read this for two simple reasons: (1) I don’t speak or write in Vietnamese and (2) you haven’t learned to read much English yet, aside from the two or three words and phrases you, for some reason, remember most from our classes (hello; ball; and ‘it is a book’).

So no, today you can’t read this but you might be able to someday, given that you keep up your English schooling and practice as often as you can. I want you to learn, I really do, but you will never know how difficult this experience has been for me on a moral level. As I walk into your classroom everyday, all 20 of you wide-eyed and mischievous, only ten years old but ready to take on the world, my heart does something weird and almost inexplicable. I lose my breath. Not only because 20 of the most beautiful and challenging little humans I have ever encountered surround me in wobbly desks but also because I am holding something profound in my hands: an English book. This book, keeper of the world’s most dominant language, is “gold,” as the Vietnamese nuns we are staying with tell me. They say it is the key to your future; I see that it’s also the knife that is slowly cutting the threads that bind you to your mother tongue: J’rai. Every time we celebrate your ability to memorize a new word and use it in a sentence, I feel a hurricane of happiness because I am so proud of you… but it never comes without the eye: the sadness and guilt. At only ten years old you are so far from your native culture and family, away in a world where you feel condemnation for your culture and skin color. Your brain is plastic, stretching and expanding with everything you learn, but at the same time expelling your neglected mother tongue with your culture inherently wrapped up in it.

I want to tell you not to neglect this but to nurture it instead. The thing is this: you don’t have control. But I do; I have a little control. So in class we drew pictures of our families and wrote “mother” and “father” below their colorful, stick figure bodies. What the nuns don’t know is that we also wrote “amĭ” and “ama” below the stick figures: “mother” and “father” in Jarai.

You wanted Western culture: break dancing and beat-boxing lessons and the lyrics to Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance.” I was more than happy to share that with you. So we danced during breaks and I beatboxed while you windmilled, freezeframed, and spun on your heads. But after classes you would teach me traditional Jarai dances. You sang and whistled the tune and brought me down to my knees so that you could stand above me and guide my arms around in the wake of yours.

I try to embrace yours but it just keeps coming back to mine. My Western culture.

Another truth for you is that I don’t know how to finish this letter. There is so much to say to you… yet you will not read this. Should I finish it even though you cannot read it? Does it matter?

All I can say is that when you ask me in your broken English if I’ll be back someday and I tell you yes, that I desperately want come back to see you and that I will try my hardest, I really do mean it. I mean it from the very depths of me.

But as we say goodbye and I get in the van and watch you grow smaller and smaller, dust in your faces as you wave your little hands, my breath again leaves me. And a hot tear drips down my face and onto the calla lily you gave me that now sits in my lap.

Just know this: I really did mean it.

Mallory Massie

The Shops at Fashion District

2011-04-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

Although I may hate to admit it, I am a stereotypical girl when it comes to shopping. So when my parents were coming to visit and they told me they wanted to take me shopping, I couldn’t say no. I imagined spending the day with the family at the nearby mall, or even stores like TJMaxx or Khol’s. But when they told me they wanted to go to an area they’ve heard about called, “the Fashion District,” I was a little less than excited.

My mind was now filled with dirty streets and people who followed suit. We’d get pick pocketed or robbed or kidnapped. No one would know where to find us. I tried to persuade them this wasn’t the place to go, but they weren’t budging. They were going to go, with or without me. My closet was begging for new residents and there was no real reason that was holding me back from going. We hopped into the rented SUV and the Griswolds headed downtown.

Our first adventure was finding parking. The streets were packed with cars and our last resort was to pay for a parking lot. As our car climbed up the steep hill to the top of a building, we came to a lot crowded with so many cars they were double parked. Then I got nervous. That means we have to leave the keys to our car, what if they steal it? The sign read “Not responsible for any lost or stolen items,” did that include the vehicle itself? My mind calmed when I looked around to see a Bentley and a few Mercedes parked on the other side of the lot. If they trusted their precious cars at a parking lot like this, then maybe I didn’t have anything to worry about.

We left the keys with the attendant and began our four hours of shopping. Contrary to my belief, the streets weren’t as dirty as I’d once imagined. Neither were the people, who we stood out from. There we were, five of us, white, the majority blonde haired, hazel eyed, walking down the sidewalks trying to look like we belonged. It was quite obvious we didn’t, but none of us cared. The first store we went into was loaded with purses, just what I needed. And to my surprise, and to my parents’ pleasure, I was the first one of us to buy something. “See, we told you that you’d like it here.”

They weren’t shy about showing off their amusement as the day went on, and as I continued to purchase two pairs of jeans, a pair of boots and a shirt. Then, my bladder kicked in. I’ve been known to ruin a trip because I am in need of a restroom. My little brother heard me exclaim that I needed to go, which triggered his bladder. A frustrated father walked us into a store where we asked the directions to the closest bathroom. “Upstairs on the roof,” was what we were told. Little did we know that meant climbing five flights of stairs to an unkempt bathroom in which you have to pay fifty cents in order to use. Well, at least I can say I’ve had to pay to pee?

Needless to say, we had an entertaining day. No one stole from us, we bartered our way to better prices, and we left in our rented SUV with our new goodies in hand. And much to my dismay, I have even gone back a time or two, or five, with my friends. If you haven’t been, I suggest you go. It’s a journey you’ll never forget, or regret.

--Jackie DiBiase

haze

2011-04-28T17:21:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles’ head is a bit fuzzy. It affects us all. From the lungs spew the smoke. And the addiction has passed to me, secondhand. I drink the sulfur and breathe the filter. Because it revitalizes me. I question why I do it. Every drag in makes the out that much harder. But it’s the questioning that moves me.

As I watch the sky shade from blue, to orange—the atomic descent—to pink, to purple, and the wonderful in-betweens that linger longer than the primary impression, night falls upon California’s chameleon city. First noticeable is the expanse of midrange building—cookie cutters from Hells Kitchen—that trick the eye into the monotonous maze of Sin’s suburb. This sprawl goes on for as long as the eye can see—correction, for as long as the eye is allowed to see. The margins become lost in the mist. This mist—or fog, smoke, haze—is untouchable, yet a part of us. It has permeated the city’s conscious, instilling the reality of a surface life. Looks to the horizon find a limited perspective, a 10 mile radius at best to asses the depth of this land. We fear what we can’t see. We fear the world outside our bubble. So we restrict depth perception. We view people for whether they model clothes or simply wear them; whether they get from point A to B or arrive in style; if their cash rolls or bounces; if their skin screams appeal, or just the first peel. The surface is a beautiful thing, for awhile. Then we become acclimated. From there, one can settle, or one digs deeper. I see you, shrouded, outlined, and willing to be defined. Your Otherness I shall conquer.

The initial ascent provides the means for uncovering what was always available yet constantly obscured. Hike the nearest mountain—you see the clouded seismograph stretching the margin—and observe the wishing well perspective that suspension grants. Look, the ants at my feet are you. Miles above sea-level these ants mimic your city life, and I really see no difference. What happens in the space between? Is that where the excess lies? Our pollutants crowd the air we cannot occupy, warping what was there with what we wish and wait for. Not east of Eden, or south or north, but above and below. The personal Eden is where we shall dwell. I would feel trapped by these barrenous mountains if I didn’t know how to climb them. But in actuality, it is us who have done the trapping. A civil detonation, pushing Nature’s limits back into nothing. The devolution of the natural evolves the artificial. It’s a yin-yang. Nothing is infinite until you realize it is everything. Back to the ants, which are no smaller than we, as we are dust on this planet, that is a rock in orbit, of which neighbors everything, trapped in nothing.

--Weston Finfer

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2011-04-28T16:41:00.000-07:00

That picture still burns in my mind. That beautiful day before heading to the beach, a quick check of my Facebook made me second guess everything I had been feeling. Only three days before, he had called to tell me he still loved me, he wanted to get back together. I thought it was a lapse in judgment, a normal breakdown that came a few months after our break up. It wouldn’t be until that following summer that I would find out my answer pained him in a way I never thought I could. “No” was all I had the courage to tell him, for if I let my heard truly speak, I was afraid of what it’d say.

It was only a few short days later that he had his arm hung around a pretty girl’s neck, smiles upon their two faces that I not so secretly wished I could wipe away. I was in a state of shock the moment I saw those pictures on Facebook, and when I returned to them hours later, it finally hit me. He was moving on from a relationship he had wanted back merely three days before. It was unbelievable to me, because for three years, I had him wrapped around my finger – longing for me – and one word had changed his mind.

A month went by, we didn’t speak. His birthday came and went, I wished him my best. But then came my worst. A friend who attended his birthday celebration thought she’d make me feel better by slyly snapping a picture of his new girl on her phone and send it to me with a caption that read, “She’s so trashy, she wears a bump-it.”
Sitting at the Loft, at a table with friends, surrounded by strangers, my tears uncontrollably began to fall. I didn’t want to believe he was happy spending his day with her – thoughts raced through my head about their relationship, their intimacy, their secrets. I had never been more jealous. I had never been more vulnerable.

Hours later, as my friends tried to drown my emotions in Pinot Grigio, I wondered why I was still in so much pain while he was happy. The only answer I could come up with – he was able to move on while I was stuck there wanting something that was no longer mine. My attempts to find someone new were few and far between, and I made a discovery that day that each individual’s ability to move on had its own pace, and I hadn’t truly begun my journey. I was still at the starting line because I was holding onto something that I couldn’t get the nerve to let go of, maybe because I knew he was exactly what I wanted. Nevertheless, it took me accepting the fact that he was someone else’s to be able to finally begin my healing process.

--Jackie DiBiase

Uninhibited (A Poem)

2011-04-28T16:37:00.000-07:00

I am the daughter of my mother.
I react with a smile.
I draw attention with a laugh.
I glow with an uninhibited positive attitude.

I am a strong woman.
I work with a diligence.
I own it with great confidence.
I talk with an uninhibited sharp tongue.

I am an independent.
I walk with my head held high.
I learn with an endless mind.
I love with an uninhibited open heart.

--Jackie DiBiase

A Letter to All the Father's Out There

2011-04-28T16:34:00.001-07:00

Dad,

I was born a daddy’s girl. I can imagine myself as a baby wanting only to be held by you. As I grew up, you surrounded me with a protection that inevitably bonds us. I noticed as a little girl that you weren’t always around, and I missed your presences in the house. Nonetheless, you’ve supported me through my best times and my worst, and for that I will always be grateful.

You have this way about you, the confidence to say what is on your mind, the bluntness of your spoken thoughts. Growing up, I was embarrassed, yelling at you to stop. Sometimes you would laugh at my clear sense of shame that brought a red hue to my cheeks, but at other times, you would continue despite my begging and pleading.
The thought never crossed my mind, as a young girl sitting in the middle of a restaurant covering my eyes as you spoke, that I would become you. Your characteristics, both internal and external have been passed down to me whether I like it or not.

And this is the part where you get to gloat. You always do when you are right. But I can’t do anything about it except sit here and thank you. Growing up around someone as outspoken as you has made me a confident young woman. I have turned into someone who doesn’t care if the person next to me looks at me through judgmental eyes. I don’t sugar coat my thoughts, they come to my tongue uninhibited by self-consciousness.

Because of you, I will never be afraid to raise my hand. Because of you, I will walk with a stride that tells people “I won’t take your crap.” Because of you, I have become an independent woman who doesn’t need to look to someone else to do my dirty work. I believe that being raised by a man who isn’t afraid of being rejected has made me the strong, powerful woman I am today.

I thank you for being the way you are, for allowing me to become the way I am.

Forever yours,

Your daughter

--Jackie DiBiase

Not a Resident

2011-04-28T16:29:00.000-07:00

“Have you seen any celebrities?” “How often do you eat here?” “Do you think it’s funny when you see tour buses touring your city?” As he sloppily eats his double double, occasionally taking a break to pick at his messy animal style fries, my little brother sits wide-eyed waiting for me to tell him an amazing story about living in L.A. Come August, he will too be yet another DiBiase to join the LMU community, and as you can tell, he could not be more excited to start his life here. I answer the questions, much to his dismay, anti-climatically.

In the four years that I have lived here, I have found that my life might not have turned out the way I envisioned it my senior year of high school. I remember being like my brother Tim, waiting to start my college career in an entertainment-based city, reading my People magazines at work to stay up on my celebrity gossip so when I saw them walking around, I wouldn’t be as star-struck. Lo and behold, after four years, I can’t say that I’ve had one celebrity spotting. And honestly, I’m not too disappointed by it. My mindset has changed in the time I’ve been here, I’ve become less intrigued by the lives of strangers and more so with my own.

Only visited when I have out of state visitors, In N Out has not become a staple for me. Because of its limited audience, many Coloradoans feel they must eat In N Out at least once when they are in California. I understand why; people think the food is fresh, the restaurants are classic, and it is a specialty to three Western states. But to me, I don’t eat fast food, I think their fries are too fresh (imagine that), and well, forgive me for saying this, but it’s just a burger and fries.

His last question is the one that I struggled with the most. While I do think it’s comical how when I drive down Lincoln, I pass by L.A. Tour buses, I can’t say that it’s my city, or my state. I drive a car with Colorado plates, my Colorado license gets double checked every time I go to a bar, and as I have recently just filed, I pay taxes in Colorado. It wasn’t that I struggled to answer the question, but internally, I found myself wondering why after four years, I never became a true California resident. I always blamed it on the fact that for so long I didn’t have a car, and when I did buy one, it was in Colorado. Since I had registered it there, it would have cost too much to buy all new plates, and well I was broke. Not only that, but I’ve heard California makes it hard for out-of-staters to become residents. Even after all of these excuses, I still question if those were the reasons. In my mind, and in my heart, I believe I didn’t become a California resident because I knew that it was not where I wanted to end up. I didn’t want to put myself through the process of changing everything to only then change it back.

It’s not that I will be going back to Colorado for good, but I know now that I won’t be staying in California either. A part of me wishes that at some point, I will long to be back in southern California, for the winter days that I could enjoy an outdoor run in my shorts, for the beach, for the culture. But I will only know this if I leave, if I give myself a chance to miss what I might lose. As we walked to my car, he looked at me and sincerely asked me, “You do enjoy living here though right?” The way he asked made me feel like he was begging for the right answer, the one that reassured him he was making a good choice to come to school here. “Yeah, I just can’t believe it’s almost over.”

--Jackie DiBiase

The Drivers Get to Me Here

2011-04-28T16:23:00.001-07:00

Having lived in Colorado for the majority of my life, I was taught at a young age that there is no such thing as a stranger. Although a big city, my mom has repeatedly told me stories that end in, “what a small world.” Something as simple as talking to the check-out lady at a grocery store could end in an outlandish connection she has with one of your good friends. And week after week, you see this same lady and your relationship blossoms. The way people interact in Colorado was one of the hardest things to leave behind, because the minute you say hello to a stranger in Los Angeles, they give you that look of confusion that has a way of saying “why are you talking to me?,” that makes me homesick for friendliness.

Moving to Los Angeles, I knew it had its perks, but one of the major drawbacks and annoyances is its traffic. Unless I’m in a rush to get somewhere, I don’t mind sitting in my car looking like a crazy person as I sing aloud to myself. Having someone in the passenger seat makes the ride even more entertaining. It is a time for conversations that people may otherwise be too busy to have. The concept of being an “L.A. driver” is something my roommate and I have discussed at large, and have come to the conclusion that after four years of living here, we too have developed the tendency to drive with a lead foot and a selfish approach.

The use of horns and middle fingers are not uncommon among the cars that crowd the highways and main streets. When someone makes a mistake, it won’t go unnoticed. They are made ashamed of their traffic faux pas and either learn to never do it again or be humiliated once more the next time it happens. When it’s time for me to exit off the 405, I put on my blinker a mile beforehand, hoping that someone will see it and let me slowly make my way over to the far right lane. Every time someone decides to keep their foot on the brake instead of accelerating six feet ahead, I do something most Californian’s don’t seem to know exists. I put up a hand, but not in a gesture that exudes rage. Rather, I give off a simple wave as a way to say “thank you for driving like a normal person should.”

Friends from Colorado recently came to visit me and one in particular noticed that I had fallen into some of the aloof habits that most Los Angelinos are known for. While downtown, I simply ignored a man’s plea for money, instead of explaining to him “I don’t have any right now.” Being that he stayed in Colorado for college, my friend was perturbed by the fact that four years ago, I would have once provided that man at least some words of justification. It had never occurred to me before that I had picked up on the cold patterns I hated so much when I first moved here. Looking back on it, I found that when I make my weekly visits to the neighborhood grocery store, I still have the same tendency to smile and ask how their day is going. But when a stranger talks to me, instead of getting a feeling of ease, I am more reserved, and well, creeped out. I don’t know whether to associate this with the fact that it is a bigger, stranger city than I am used to, or that I have lost that friendliness I was once homesick for.

When driving back from downtown, I made my way through traffic and waved at a particular person who helped me exit on time. That wave did not go unnoticed. My friend looked at me and said, “Well, at least some things haven’t changed.” I am always happy to see when strangers gesture a “thank you” wave to me as I let them in my lane. If I were to keep track of the few that have, I would say the majority of them were cars with out of state license plates. Apparently, the signal of friendliness was not taught to those who grew up in Los Angeles. Hopefully, I can help change their ways, one wave at a time.

--Jackie DiBiase

A Teen Epidemic

2011-04-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

Trends come and go. Some fads can be based around fashion. Introduced in the 90s were the grunge look, the baggy clothes, and the platform shoes. With the 2000s came the popped collars, the UGG boots, and trucker hats. If you are at all like me, you are shaking your head in disbelief of how these styles were once considered “cool.” Diving deeper into trends, you can find layers that involve media consumption, music, books, video games, things that were “all the rage” for a short period of time. I myself have been the follower of some unfortunate fads, as has just about everyone else who is reading this. There is one specific fad that I did not follow, a trend I hope dies out faster than parachute pants.

When walking through malls or going to the movies in high school, if I were to ever catch a glimpse of a pregnant teen, my first thought would be uncertainty. How could this young girl be pregnant? On this rare occasion, I would turn my thoughts to sympathy, knowing that whether or not she is keeping this baby, her life will never be the same. Whatever normality that high school was supposed to bring was now turned upside down for her. In the end, I couldn’t help but think, thank God this poor girl wasn’t me or my friends. Cut to senior year, prom night. Just as it happens in the movies, where the guy gets the girl to sleep with him for the first time after an innocent night of dancing, my friend had a night that changed her life forever. It wouldn’t be until months later that we realized why she was absent so many times right before graduation, why she had removed herself from all of us. She gave her baby up for adoption and went on to attend college a year after we started, but I know that isn’t how most women want to experience giving birth for the first time.

With my senior year also brought rumors of younger girls becoming pregnant. As the years have passed and the media has glorified teen pregnancy, there is no doubt in my mind that more teenagers are having babies. The student body of a high school in Tennessee consists of 90 teenage mothers. The superintendent clarified this statistic by stating that teenagers who are pregnant seek out this certain school, and that 35 of these 90 women transferred in after becoming pregnant. Either way, I can’t help but wonder if these girls were influenced at all by the media glamorization of teen pregnancy. Here’s how that works: be a teenager, get pregnant, have MTV follow you around, get paid big money, and become famous. This sequence has been the result of the popular and successful shows like 16 & Pregnant and Teen Mom.

Although I have fallen victim to the trashy television that MTV feeds American teens, I still find it hard to believe that teen pregnancy has become an outright trend. No longer is it something looked down upon in society. Forever 21, the famous teenage to young adult clothing store has so openly acknowledged the need for cute maternity clothes. Their target audience, females from the ages of 14 to 24, has made it possible for this company to expand their lines to include clothes for young pregnant women. It astounded me when I first heard, and while I would like to look fashionable whenever I am pregnant, I will not be turning to Forever 21 for my maternity clothing needs.

As much as I can say these shows are a negative influence to this teen pregnancy trend, others will disagree. Dr. Drew Pinksy, the doctor who interviews the girls after each season finale, has done his own research on the effects of 16 & Pregnant and Teen Mom. To my surprise, he has found that many teenagers see this show as a reason to avoid teen pregnancy, seeing what their lives would be like if they were to become pregnant. Others use it as an opportunity to begin the ever-so-avoided conversation about sex with their parents. This in turn is making teenagers more aware and knowledgeable about the subject.

Whether or not you think the media attention brings a certain appeal to teen pregnancy or helps discourage the statistics from rising, I think you might agree with the fact that these “stars” should not be getting paid half of what they do. Because of the abuse she caused her boyfriend, Amber Portwood of Teen Mom had to report her earnings to a judge. This revealed that these women get paid a good $280,000 a year from the show. That is more money than most make in 5 years. Teen pregnancy isn’t just any fad or trend, it has become an epidemic.

(http://www.dosomething.org/news/teen-mom-bad-influence)

--Jackie DiBiase

Tomorrow Never Comes

2011-04-28T12:39:00.000-07:00

This is the last post I will be making for Truth About The Fact, so I’m going to make it all about me. Most of my articles have been about social issues or idiosyncrasies I see in our world today, but what I want to challenge myself with is a more personal approach to writing, so here I am.

I am afraid, because I don’t know what’s supposed to happen next. On May 7th 2011 I will fulfill the last task my parents expect of me. It’s the last thing on the list, but there are still plenty of lines left. This is both liberating and debilitating. I feel the former because I have the entire world to explore and my own success to define, and the latter because I don’t know what the hell to do.

I hope you, reading this, share of have shared this feeling. It would make me feel better.

The only reason I came to LMU was to avoid doing homework. I began in the film school as a Recording Arts major, and since then many things have changed.

Camera Technician. Sound Board Operator. Long Distance Boyfriend. Band Member. Improv Comedian. Actor. Orientation Leader. Silent Retreater. Research Assistant. Writing Tutor. Dance Marathoner. Alternative Breaks Leader. Blogger.

I have not become who I thought I would be.

I mean this in a good and bad way. I’m sure you can relate to the feeling that you haven’t made the most of your time; that you walked through too much of life with dead eyes and static heart. This is a train of thought I am attempting to derail. For this, I have found that the best medicine is the presence of others.

I am humbled and impressed by my peers. They do countless things that I could never dream of, and they think about the world in a different but no less beautiful way than myself. I’ve been able to watch my friends perform their lives artistically through music, theater, film, dance, art, and writing. Early in college I would upset myself watching my friends succeed, that their talents made me seem unimpressive, but now I am beginning to understand the selfishness of such a perspective.

This is about me giving up on perfection. A healthy breakup, I must say.

So what do I plan to do after college? I am going to serve others, live simply, reflect thoroughly, laugh with soul, stretch my legs, be grateful, and not be so hard on myself. This is the first step building a career as a community organizer, musician, lawyer, doctor, author, social worker, philosopher, or wandering ascetic. I might do none, some, or all of these things, but my hope is to first learn how to live, because I have fooled myself for long enough.

Here’s to tomorrow, may it never come for me.

Sean McEvoy

NKOTB

2011-04-28T04:57:00.000-07:00

The Tea Party has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Staunchly opposing every possible advancement in the name of tradition is the kind of romantic ideal that leads to war. Or entrenches us further in war.
Maybe it’s my decade or my disposition, but Republicans might as well have been publishing “Voldemort for President” bumper stickers in mass quantity because that is all I perceive. Or it might have been “Palin/Voldemort”. I’ve been thinking Palin/Bieber 2012 would be a popular candidate, maybe drawing some younger votes this time! We could even lower voting age to, let’s say...9. All in the name of fairness and keeping intelligence levels equal.
The aging, overstuffed white men that seemingly bought their way into their political chairs have ruined what could’ve been a good thing, pushing selfish motives ahead of common well being. Vested interests in wars and its driving forces have left the majority of citizens to fend for themselves while attempting to fight for our country, yet the only benefit is found among the richest. Emphasis on ridding the country of illegals--people, drugs--has furthered the inequalities it so naively attacks.
No party is exempt or solely responsible for the mess we’re in; both Democrats and Republicans ascribe to ideals harmful and shortsighted. Therefore I can never pledge allegiance to a party. I look for the person.
Preceding the talk, I had no idea who this man was, until he introduced himself to me and began questioning a number of my stances, from politics to the hands in my pocket (he prefers hands-on-hip, until the talk begins then a roulette of gestures are orhestrated for the audience -- notice the blur in photo). I hear him espouse liberal dirtytalk--pro choice; supports gay marriage; believes in loosening immigration laws; anti-drug war; anti-war. This man believes in me! Or has been listening, or is a real human being prior to legislative jading. I hate to call him naïve, but his devil-may-care attitude might just trip him from the starting gate, or open the floodgates to the majority of liberal and caring citizens unhappy with the current state of affairs.
This man is a Libertarian. And a Republican. Yet my heart didn’t turn to stone in his presence. Maybe something new? A time/man for change?
I like his social policies and his economics add up. As governor of New Mexico he vetoed 750 bills in order to never raise taxes. His path as President would be similar, simplifying tax codes and cutting spending where funding is not absolutely necessary or beneficial. He would “leave the Middle East yesterday”. All positives in a reality where money is not growing on trees, and burning trees hurts the pocketbook but helps the soul.
Buckle up, it's time for Indecision 2012

--Weston Finfer

H2O: A study of degrees

2011-04-28T04:48:00.000-07:00

This is a new day. Sand and snow, slopes and saltwater. I love California and I really like Red Bull, especially on days that the Switchboard goes down. A detailed explanation would go: Awakened with a start, the 5:45AM alarm vibrates and squeals more passionately than the bedmate taking off three hours earlier. “Fuck the crack… (pondering the innuendo)…of dawn.” But a looking at the foot of my bed, seeing the snowboard boots stuffed inside my surfboard bag, I laugh. “Wow, life sux (x for xactly my point, sarcasm).” It’s gonna be a good day, so I get out of bed, get into my car and shuttle to UCLA for Aline, Pershing for Sam, and LMU for Stoney. The sun has now risen but my brain is still quite dark. The haze remains all the way to Huntington Beach, where I skate ice-rink sand into polar plunge ocean, the tip of each iceberg coming in 3-5 minute intervals. I don’t care though; I haven’t surfed in over a month. My body is now numb from sheer joy or cold water, pretty positive it’s the water because other joys give me a tingle. Not happening, nothing felt. I greet the dawn patrol with gruff grunts and strokes of beard (the under-40 crowd is looked at with a perverse reversal of curfews as old guys rule the early morning). Some swell in the water today. I take the first set, paddling into position but slightly behind the peak as I fall onto my face roughly 2 seconds after takeoff. Shit, I couldn’t even feel the board. I had stumps for feet while stepping onto an abyss. I wiggle the toes, rotate the ankles. I catch another, pumping the face until closeout. One more and I snap a few turns. This goes on until I ask the time -- 9AM (old-timers…not just an age, a utility). If I had been born without feet and imagined running, the frozen lack of feeling as I sprinted up the beach back to Red Bull HQ solved that fantasy. Wonderful breakfast burritos were being served by wonderful beach bunnies. I’m high already and still at sea-level.
Boarding buses to Big Bear proved problematic. If I’m cold now, what will happen in 8,000 feet? I took that trip though, and didn’t sleep once. Largely due to the infinite supply of Red Bull at hand. OK, solely. But Red Bull knows how to throw a party. Nonstop jams all the way to the hill kept the stoke up, while team bonds were solidified in strange lap-sitting ways. Oh yeah! This was all due to the LMU Ski & Snowboard team, my family. With the shared experience of LMU Surf and a handful of other local rippers. But the shared experience I felt was cold. This is spring season and I went from 57-degree water to a damn blizzard in Bear. Horrible time to complain, when I’m being shuttled and paid for to ski and surf, the main reason why I didn’t complain and had possibly the greatest day of my year thus far. But I was cold. And the hill called Bear hardly held a slope capable of propelling a dropped ball (jaded from Mammoth!). I spent much of my slope time in the lodge, shifting the game plan to sloshed time. While Red Bull was more than generous in covering transportation and lift tickets, there is no such thing as a free lunch (as my $19.61 cafeteria charge agrees). I proceeded to make friends as teammates trickled to and from the lodge, each wave winding down in energy level. Yet back on the bus, the party raged. From Bear to Huntington to LA and still going well into the night. What a So Cal celebration.

--Weston Finfer

Family Matters

2011-04-27T21:27:00.000-07:00

As of January, my brother and father haven't spoken to one another. I'm not sure if it was my dad's drunken behavior during me and my brother's trip home to Atlanta for Thanksgiving, or the fact that my family has been broken up since 2003 is just now manifesting. Either way, I am now automatically responsible for the family drama my brother and father are inciting with each other.

Okay, I'll be honest, brutally honest. My dad is an alcoholic and God knows I wish I could insert the word "recovering" before stating that fact. But he's not. In actuality, it seems as though his condition has gotten worst over the past two years. For breakfast, he doesn't drink coffee while reading the newspaper. Instead, he nonchalantly pours himself a glass of wine in a coffee mug. Mind you, his usual waking time is about 8:00am.

My father's condition is hard to accept, but even harder to aid. He doesn't want help because like anyone suffering from a illness, they don't believe they are actually sick. He goes to work every day, pays my tuition and rent on time, and supports his family the best way he knows how. To my father, he is meeting all of the requirements in the "How to be a Dad" handbook.

I will admit that my dad has laid out a wonderful life for my brother and me, he has also caused a lot of tension between our family. The first problem is his alcoholism, but that is the least of the problems.

My brother went to Howard University in Washington D.C. and graduated in 2008. Since then, he has busted his ass to start a career in an economy where jobs aren't exactly in abundance. In doing so, he was successful. However, my dad doesn't approve of the career choice my brother has made. He feels as though my brother could be doing more. My dad thinks my brother would be most successful in Atlanta; which is where my dad moved and opened his own restaurant.

Their feud over the meaning of success and my battle with my dad's alcohol problem has left me drained and empty. I wish I could run away from these family matters. That's just it though, my family matters. Although I want to scream and shout or pull my hair out, I love my family. In essence they are apart of me. Whether it be my dad suffering from chronic alcoholism, or my brother and father causing havoc at the dinner table upon every family get together, I will still love them both.

It's most important for me to recognize that I can't solve problems that aren't ultimately left in my hands. If it is out of my hands their is nothing I can do but seek the best for both my brother and my dad. I will continue to support my dad until he's ready to admit to his illness. I don't doubt the power of time. Time heals all.

-Brittnee Wadlington

Live Well

2011-04-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

The older I get the more life starts to make sense to me. Recently, I have made a discovery about life and the purpose it serves. I sat down and questioned myself. Am I a naturally good being? Am I fulfilling my duty here on earth? After having a lengthy mental discussion I came to a final conclusion.

In order to know whether you are fulfilling your time on earth it is key to enjoy your life. I see so many people wrapped up in the small things that really are irrelevant. For instance, one can become absorbed with social problems; including who’s dating who or whether Sally is sleeping with Joe. In my opinion, individual’s involvement in issues like these does not constitute a life well lived. A life well lived should be as drama free as possible. In addition to living well I feel it is also important to embrace your own life. Instead of soaking in one’s own misery, it is essential to always be your own motivator. People rely too heavily on others to join in to their “pity party”, but realistically, that person doesn’t care as much as you do. As humans, we will always be more concerned with our own well being before someone else’s.

I felt the urge to come up with some guidelines to help people feel like they are living their lives well, and staying focused on what they love. It’s a lot harder than one would imagine living a clean, worry-free lifestyle. The first thing to always remember is to take care of you first. Always make sure YOU are at the top of your own priority list. In addition, stay away from unnecessary drama and problems. If the problem can be avoided, just turn the other direction and ignore the potential issue. In the end, you will feel lighter, as though weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

Honestly, I feel like people dwell on the less important things in life. At the end of the day, people want to know why they don’t feel satisfied with their own life. Well, it’s a simple fix. Just take time and focus on yourself. Don’t worry about things that don’t legitimately concern you and don’t stress over the things that do. We are only human, and we are temporary. We won’t last forever, so I feel like we should make life worth living now--today!

-Brittnee Wadlington

IVF, Is it Inherently Good?

2011-04-26T23:00:00.000-07:00

Recently there has been a growing debate on the efficacy and validity of in vitro fertilization processes. I was thought to believe that IVF was a safe, sound, and a viable option for spouses who are unable to conceive a child naturally, however after learning about this relatively new procedure more intently in my theology class, I have found many disconcerting pieces of information regarding IVF. Even when women are in their prime years and with the ever-enhancing technology, studies show that the average successful fertility rate is still at a low 30 to 35%. With this long procedure you also have to factor in possible health concerns for not only your baby but also the mother. One of the commonest serious side effects from using fertility drugs is a condition known as hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS). This disease becomes a risk in women who develop more than 20 follicles in response to the fertility drug. Of course symptoms vary from patient to patient, but some of the most common and more serious ones include: kidney failure, ARDS, which is a severe lung disease caused by a variety of direct and indirect issues, and hyperhomocysteinemia, which is having an abnormally large level of homocysteine in the blood. This induces heart disease and can lead to a series of strokes. Mothers who undergo this procedure are relatively unlikely to have such serious effects but the fact that they can occur makes me question the efficacy and morale of the procedure.
Moving on to the actual fetus, studies have also shown some very disheartening causes for the life of the baby who is born under IVF. In 2008, an analysis of the data of the National Birth Defects Study in the US found that certain birth defects were significantly more common in infants conceived through IVF. Some of these defects are septal heart defects, cleft lip, esophageal atresia and anorectal atresia. Aside from the cleft lip, all of these defects are very detrimental to the baby's health and may result to death. Another major concern with IVF is the risk of multiple births. Because in vitro fertilization allows the transferring of multiple embryos and a high dosage of sperm, multiple births are very common. Not only may the spouse not want multiple births but it can also lead to a number of pregnancy complications and pregnancy loss.
After a brief tutorial on the malformations and illnesses that may happen during this relatively new procedure, it’s obvious that this should not be continued. I generally feel that whenever scientists try to manipulate nature, something always goes astray. Even when they try to tamper with our produce and livestock, we eventually begin to see that you cannot control what you make or know if it is actually good for you because complications or fallacies always arise. The human being must be respected as a person from the very instant of existence, but IVF is condemned because it removes the natural way of birth. Using embryos or fetuses for experimentation commits a crime against their dignity as human beings. There are far too many negative consequences in regards to IVF to be explained in full depth but at least I've shown you some of more important factors, both morally and biologically, on this method. Families should withdraw from this expensive and unstable procedure and consider adopting a child instead.

-Mortimer Canepa

Violence...

2011-04-26T16:36:00.000-07:00

Violence…

Why do people love violence? I never understood how people could become infatuated with watching pain. For instance, we watch sport fights, fights on YouTube, and we tune into fights shown on reality television. Is this a human craving that we have not yet controlled or is it something we have established from the beginning of time? Today people are too found of violence and this blog is intended for the reader to expand their thought on this too.
Historically violence was a proportion of the known world, through tales of heroic deeds during wars to gladiatorial battles in coliseums. Violence was also used to keep people occupied from worrying about who was running a country or how things were run. Punishment of those that broke laws usually met with violent too, so as to try keep order. With that being said, why is it still among our era today. There are more people who are educated today but we still lack the idea that violence is still among us. As it was in the past, people would watch violence for entertainment, because people would die or almost die. Also, they would watch people who were punished and executed gruesomely. This still goes on today because we tune into to death and fights on television. We also, love to see people do tricks at shows that could kill them. Could it be that we are simply fascinated with death? If this is true then why do we fear it so much? This blog is simply for you, the reader to expand on this idea, and think about how you view violence. Is this human nature or just something we have created through history?
Whatever the case maybe, I believe this is something that has been created through history and not a part of human nature. I think it is more of a power element that our human nature of dominance has. Like animals, we crave dominance and this makes us feel powerful because we escaped death and/or can watch people get hurt and feel fine because it is not happening to us. We use death to scare people and to thrill us because we’re beating death by only watching it and being apart of it. Also, those who toy with death and violence only do it for the thrill too and love it because they escape death making them powerful. Nevertheless, humans’ still fear death and so, if it was a human nature of wanting violence then why would we fear it so much. Power does not make us love violence it only makes us feel invincible when we escape it. Nonetheless, this blog is intended to expand your ideas about his. How do you feel about violence?

-Yenitza Munoz

From Helpless to Lethal... Eventually

2011-04-26T15:44:00.000-07:00

I spent part of last summer in school in Germany, as well as traveling around other parts of Europe and North Africa. As a lone woman traveler, I was always aware of my surroundings and always concerned about falling into a dangerous situation. However, one night in the beginning of my stay in Germany, I was caught completely off-guard.

I spent the night having a few drinks at a pub with other LMU study-abroad students. By the time we all left, the metro was closed and I had heard awful stories about the night buses. When a taxi pulled up and asked me if I wanted a ride, and I agreed and got in the front seat. As he drove, we made small talk.

I did not speak a word of German. When the driver asked why I was visiting, I explained that I was an American student, studying abroad, etc. I started feeling uncomfortable when he asked if I had a boyfriend. Without thinking, I said no. I also told him there was no husband when he asked. Things continued downhill when he asked me if anyone knew I was out and was expecting me home. I lied and said I was late coming home and my host family was up waiting for me.

I began calling the number of a close friend of mine repeatedly, desperate to let someone know where I was. He didn’t answer. The cab driver pulled over and asked a man for directions, and then turned down a different street than the man had indicated. I told him he was going the wrong way and he turned around. I made sure I appeared calm, but I was close to becoming hysterical. I heard and felt my heart pound as my body temperature rose, my muscles tensed up, adrenaline flowed and time seemed to slow down. I tried to stay composed and consider my options. As I continued with the conversation, I dug into my purse and started lacing keys in between my fingers. All I could think was, I refuse to be a victim. But my German language skills consisted of being able to count to 20, I was in a car with a stranger with no idea of where we were, no one was around and it was past 2:00 a.m. I was screwed.

Finally, I recognized where we were and told him to stop the car. As I thanked him, he unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over to kiss me. I turned my head and felt pressure all over my body as our cheeks brushed against each other. He tried and failed again. He then pulled back and asked, “No sex?” to which I replied, “No… But I can give you 10 Euros.” Frustrated, he complained, “I gave you ride. You give me sex.” When I refused again and offered him money, he said, “No. Just get out.” I got out of the car and walked behind a wall in an area only open to pedestrians where he could not see me. The car did not move for about 20 seconds. Then he drove off. I sprinted the half mile to get home and burst into tears as soon as I got into my room.

I consider myself to be a strong and independent person. As a result, one of the most repulsive, uncomfortable feelings for me is feeling helplessness. There are few clearer reminders of how thin and young our deceptively pleasant appearance of civilization is than being assaulted. In an instant our comfort and confidence are gone and we retreat to our fight or flight instincts where might and muscle mass reign. Being in a situation where my safety is completely out of my control infuriates me.

Almost all women have encountered an experience, if not several, in which they felt in danger of an assault. They are familiar with the feeling of sheer terror when your mind says, I am about to be attacked and no matter how hard I fight, I will be lucky to survive. It is for this reason that I consider the importance of knowing a degree of self-defense. We are in constant peril and should be equipped with an idea of how to handle such a situation, as it is entirely too likely that it will present itself.

When I heard one of my professors gives free Judo martial arts lessons, I jumped at the opportunity. I began the lessons about 6 weeks ago and absolutely love it. Our teacher, or “Sensei,” as we call him at the lessons, has told us stories of small women trained in Judo defending themselves against male attackers. Some say there comes a point in the training in which women laugh at the idea of someone attempting to assault them. I cannot wait for this point. I know it will not come anytime soon, but the hope of attaining that security helps to compensate for my anger and occasional feeling of helplessness.

-Colleen Bouey

STEP...

2011-04-26T14:59:00.000-07:00

Step

Take that step
Look up at the sky, 
Then look back down at the ground.
You cannot go those ways yet
Until your soul is found
And you are content

Walk

One foot in front of another
Make decisions now
Right or wrong, make them renowned
Allow yourself to go forward not backward
Pace your steps so you know how far you can go
And challenge yourself to go beyond them

Jog

Embrace this new rhythm of motion of steps
Take in the feeling of burning in your chest
Remember, you don’t have to stay awake for nights to succeed this pace
Just be awake so you can create your own fate
Now prepared from your past steps, you can go beyond them
You now know the biggest risk is not taking one
Not moving beyond your present pace

Run

Your heart is pumping fast,
Beating hard against your chest. 
Breath, and allow yourself to pant furiously, 
Allow your mind to wonder and think about these fatigue feelings
Love is around every corner,
And you now realize you have been running in circles
Feel life and the air that keeps you alive; find these inner corners
Not looking back, proceed this routine
Inhale the crispy cool air that is peacefully running through you lungs

Rest

Congratulations,
Now fatigue, you have experienced life
You can rest and think about where you are and how far you went.
Where did this act of cardio take you?
Did you create the fate you wanted?
Now look at the sky
Or down at the ground
Did you take the steps you wanted before it was time to rest?

-Yenitza Munoz

The cost of a burning monk

2011-04-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

Yes, ma’am, you’ve got it right:
he is in fact burning.
No it’s not a stunt. There’s no flame
absorption on his skin.
His body is on fire, shedding
a fresh layer every second.
The flames have swallowed half of him
at this point. He’s turning into ash.
Yes, ma’am
he is, in fact, burning.

Well, yes, by the look on his
face I could see why you might question it.
But it’s actually not a stunt.
Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.
He is calm because, well,
at this point he is gone.
No, not dead. Not yet.
But he’s far away; the flames don’t
exist where he is. He’s…
just far away.

Okay, that’s natural ma’am,
I can’t ask you to understand a monk in flames.
What’s a monk, you ask?
Well ma’am I…
Oh, well they’re not helping him because
they can’t and he doesn’t want them to.
They’re all in the same flames, you see.
Okay, sure, I won’t bother.

Oh wow, your husband is a stunt man?
Oh, for Father’s Day?
Well okay… No I don’t think we have
any larger frames for it
but I can check in the back.
No problem, ma’am.

Mallory Massie

Tim Hetherington--Spreading enlightenment through exposure

2011-04-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

To play with fire, one accepts the inevitability of being burned. Tim Hetherington was a pyromaniac of sorts, and gave his life to enlightening the masses about the humanity behind the line of fire that brought him down. There was no mission too dangerous or exotic to withhold his curious lens. In his initial hiring as a photojournalist, he worked for The Big Issue--a London newspaper sold by the homeless--from there securing an opportunity to cover the Second Civil War in Liberia. His stationing with TV reporter James Brabazon behind rebel lines was responsible for bringing an execution order from Liberian President Charles Taylor. Two documentaries were produced as a result of their work, his photographs being used for Liberia: An Uncivil War and the Darfur documentary The Devil Came on Horseback.
Critical acclaim was earned after his time in Afghanistan, spent in the Korengal Valley alongside Truth Award recipient Sebastian Junger as they produced their masterpiece Restrepo. The documentary leaves all opinions to the viewer as we are thrown in the frontline of the “Afghanistan of Afghanistan”, letting the soldiers of Second Platoon show and tell their stories without any embellishments. The film is named for field medic Juan Restrepo, one of the many casualties experienced in this campaign more akin to Vietnam than any US engagement since. Traipsing through a landscape hardly distinguishable from California canyon’s, the inevitabilities of drawing heavy fire through civilian territories calls a number of ethics into question as civilian, insurgent, and soldier are laid to waste all the same. Hetherington won the World Press Photo for 2007 with a shot of an exhausted soldier simultaneously clasping his forehead and helmet with his hands, summing up the sentiment of a nation at war for reasons not quite known.
In Libya this Wednesday, April 20th, 2011, an RPG round hit and killed Hetherington and fellow photographer Chris Hondros, injuring two other journalists simultaneously. They were travelling with rebel troops at the time, Hetherington’s final Tweet on Tuesday reading: “In besieged Libyan city of Misrata. Indiscriminate shelling by Qaddafi forces. No sign of NATO.”
His passion for relaying the hardships of the world through his photos are a massive addition to the popular media. “Tim was open to a whole part of reality that I and everyone I know was completely ignorant of,” Sebastian Junger says of his friend, in response to Hetherington taking a frenzy of photos while soldiers were asleep. All aspects of war and violence were sought after in his reporting to allow the population back home an unfiltered vantage into the reality of the brutality. His quest for the truth will not be forgotten and inspires me to continually question the reporting I am exposed to and to make critical judgments for myself, taking firsthand experience to be the only source worth trusting.

--Weston Finfer

opened closings

2011-04-21T13:29:00.001-07:00

There used to be a park here. Now the park is no more. Even with this new concrete lot, no park. Too many cars, not enough people. When the open space went, I guess the minds closed in response. These are the thoughts I have when driving the streets of LA.
Maybe it’s the fact that all that is “real” has been pushed to the margins. The green of their lawns is not real; neither are the dirt brown dog parks or glass-floored beaches. The drop of water that expands to cover all surface is the race we undertake to control all that we cannot define, the comfort we maintain in our own creations. The hills are scarred by peace seeking money, but this is now a private place for have’s to lament what they have not--a touch with reality.
I broached these observations with my aunt, Karen, who has lived in LA the better part of four decades. She started with her neighbors in Brentwood, who, when she was a child would frequently interact and stop by to chat, believing their children of similar ages to be worthy of contact. They had local hangout spots at Kenter Canyon Elementary and backyard pools to swim or skate, watched over by older neighbors who would laugh advice on how to butterfly properly and invite the family over for an afternoon drink.
I live in this same house currently, but I can’t find the neighborhood anymore. As far as I have seen, my neighborhood consists solely of white babies and Mexican ladies. And going door-to-door with a greeting these days literally provides more harm than good, what with the gates, guard dogs, and trespassing eyes-in-sky. When’d you become better than us? I’ll bet you want privacy after trapping the minds and bodies of the public, running the media to make those fat paychecks seem like a good idea, like you’ll use that revenue for the greater good. Maybe if you lock those gates permanently to stew in your own ivory tower can we call it even. Maybe.
I wasn’t sure if the drivers in LA had always attempted to kill perceived competitors with their eye and finger strength, so I posited this view to Karen as well. She related the times she would ride horses down San Vicente Boulevard, receiving waves and cheers, not honks and glares. Traffic would stop for those crossing the street, parking spaces were not obtained by knifepoint, turning signals opened space. But somehow, everything closed. “Make way for me, I am much too busy to appreciate this scene”--the motto I’ve made up for the stressed and angry ones.
I recognize the annoyance of seeing cars line the street, cars surround cars on top of cars, but I also recognize there is a space for me somewhere in this wild city. Even if its 10 blocks from my original destination, because days like those get me outside and suddenly, my original intent has been surpassed by something wonderful and unexpected. I keep my eyes open to see through the interior limits, the rules and restrictions that keep bodies locked in their concrete jungle.
The experienced world traveler is the one who navigates Los Angeles neighborhoods with ease. It’s easy enough to become trapped in a Brentwood or Silverlake or Venice and forget there is a global medley sprinkled throughout your county. But the traffic keeps us from leaving, or the thought of spending time and money on parking deters exploration, or those damn hipsters and homeless keep dirtying everything. Many excuses for no good reason, but why ruin your “cool” by dancing at the show?
So Karen tells me she’s moving to Colorado. She’s been telling me this for 20 years. “There’s some open land there that sends you right back to your maker”, I’m told. But I know the solitude on a ranch with 20 open acres surrounding is no different than 20,000 square feet of city isolation. Well, except for the peace of mind. But I like the options here in LA, they may seem daft, but I figure the more I explore, the more I push these limits out, the larger my bubble grows until it surpasses this world. There’s no time for locked intellects that demand respect from climate-controlled cockpits, transporting inflated insecurities from one asylum to the next.

Someday these bubbles will burst.

--Weston Finfer

A Writer's Block to Saving Pelican 895

2011-04-20T17:52:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had those moments where you can't think of anything to write. You have instructions in front of you, guidelines of what it should be about and yet you still sit there staring at a blank page with no clue as to what you want to write. No ideas pop in your head, nothing sounds good. You're stuck in a rut and can't get out of it. You are having a writer's block.

That is happening to me right now. I have no idea what I want to blog about. What inspires me at the moment, a good story I want to tell or a story you would want to read. A monotone buzz is going on in my head and...

In the middle of my writer's block, a documentary film cam onto HBO. The film was titled Saving Pelican 895. The documentary son captivated me and I became completely mesmerized by the story. The film was about pelicans that were taken to a rescue center in Louisiana. They were rescued because they were covered from head to toe in oil from a recent oil spill. this oil spill had left many pelicans dead and many seriously harmed. Pelican 895 was a recent pelican that they rescued. It was only ten weeks old and couldn't fly. It should have been with it's parents who would have been taking care of him and teaching him life lessons. However, it's parents were no where to be found. If this pelican was never found it would have died for sure.

It is sad to think that we are killing these animals, risking their lives every day, by having oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Oil rigs can be found every mile down the Gulf and as far as 70miles out from it. The world relies on this oil and Louisiana relies on the money selling this oil makes them. It is the basis of their economy. I could go into a review of the movie, or a commentary on the issue but I will spare you the specifics. After reading this if you leave with a thirst to watch the documentary and help out then I believe my job is done. Saving Pelican 895 was an inspiring story and I suggest you watch it and take away some great lessons from it.

--Alyssa Bermudes

American Airlines You Are Being A Pain In My A**

2011-04-20T17:25:00.000-07:00

5:45am. My alarm blares and I jump at the sound. My boyfriend and I both rush out of bed to get to it quickly to stop the harsh, painful sound. Silence. We suddenly fall back into a half-sleep, half-awake daze and we crawl back into bed. Thirty minutes later and we both lazily glance at the clock. Shit! I was supposed to be at the airport five mins ago. I leap out of bed and run to the bathroom to brush my teeth and grab the last minute things I need to back. I turn on my straightener and scurry back to my room to change and put the things in my bag. Once dressed and packing complete I return to bathroom and begin straightening my bangs. My boyfriend yells at me that I don't have time to do that and we need to leave now! I yell back at him to shut up and let me do what I want. I am NOT a morning person and it is around 6:35 in the morning. We rush off to his car and head straight to the airport. We both don't know where exactly American Airlines in so we look very carefully at each and every sign.

Finally we find it and we get out of the car. My boyfriend grabs my bag for me and we exchange 'I love you"s and kisses before we part and I walk into the airport. I walk up to the self check in and are puzzled by the machine. I try to figure it out for myself for about five minutes till I realize I will miss my flight if I don't do something soon. So I press the help button on the machine and wait five more minutes for someone to come help me. When he comes by he shows me how to do it and I start putting in all my info. Suddenly the machine flashes and says that I must reschedule my flight because I can no longer check in for my current flight. Apparently American Airlines has a rule that you can check in when there is thirty minutes left until your flight. Annoyed and upset, (because I was heading to Dallas Texas to meet up with my mom and little brother to watch my brother in his soccer tournament) I payed the extra $50 and re booked my flight for that night at 6:00.

After calling my very disappointed mother to give her the news, I called my boyfriend and asked him if he could come back and pick me up. At 4:00pm my boyfriend picked me up once more from my house and drove me to the airport. When I was going through security I ran into some more bad luck. The metal detector for my line was malfunctioning and we had to wait for ten minutes for them to figure out what was wrong and for them to fix it. Once through security check i had an hour to kill before my flight began to board. I went straight to the bookstore and looked for a very long time. Sadly nothing caught my eye and i left the store disappointed. When the long wait was over we boarded the plane. The plane was completely full and there were too many carry-ons than there was room for so we had to take an extra 15 minutes before take off for people to get those bags that did not fit to and have them checked in. The takeoff was bumpy and the flight seemed so long.

The woman and child next to me were very annoying and no matter how far away I leaned the woman somehow managed to hit my arm. When we finally landed it took us forever to get to our gate. Just as we were about to pull up to one we were informed that we just had a gate change. When we arrived at our new gate we were told that the other plane had not yet left it and it would be an extra 15 minutes for them to leave and us to pull up and unload. After what seemed like forever we got off the plane and I went down to baggage claim where I found my mom waiting for me. We walked out to our car and once in I decided to have a clean slate. I was going to have fun on this trip no matter how terrible my airport experience had been. Time to enjoy Dallas.

--Alyssa Bermudes

Things Can Change In A Semester!

2011-04-19T11:07:00.000-07:00

This semester has been a great opportunity to grow as a person and truly I never expected the changes that occurred to happen. Upon entering this semester I thought it was going to be like the past five, knowledge filled and straightforward. What I was not expecting was that I would enter into a service based learning course and come out of it a changed person. I must be honest, though I have changed I still believe that I have work to do on myself. I can say that all the changes would not have been possible without the women, volunteers, and also employees of the Downtown Women’s Center.
At the center I have experienced both ups and downs and learned about homelessness and also about myself. I have made connections with women that I would have never thought I could have at the beginning of the semester. A couple women in particular are named Rose and Addy. Their genuine intuitiveness about my roommate and my week is wonderful. They truly seem to care about what has gone on in the week that we have not seen each other and they are open and willing to share about their week, good and bad. The great thing about these ladies is that they never push the boundary or try to cut corners to get anything from you. All they seem interested in is our company and friendly conversation. I must say that this is a breath of fresh air especially because of one of my experiences with a woman the last time I was at the center. I can honestly say that I have not ever felt more manipulated than I did in that moment. A woman that I have grown fond of over my time at the women’s center took advantage of a situation and broke the rules, all while using me to get what she wanted, a new backpack, clothing, more shoes, a hat, and a new purse. I was not hurt by her want for these basic items, however, the worst part was that she knew she was breaking the rules and all she used me for were the keys to get to the places that she wanted to go. My supervisor told me that I didn’t do anything wrong, however, I know that I did. Looking back my gut feeling was right all along. I knew there was something wrong with the situation but I continued to help her because of the good faith that I had placed in her. One of the worst feelings about the situation that I was put in was that my roommate and I constantly have talked about how you cannot put you full-hearted trust in these women because they do need to hustle to survive on Skid Row. Though this was a minor situation that occurred I can say that what I have taken away from these women is more than a conversation or a story that they have shared.
These women have shown me what it means to be strong and also what it means to be a survivor. They have also taught me how to interact with people even if at times you are a bit out of your comfort zone. One of my own personal beliefs was also strengthened during my experience at the center was that every person deserves to be treated with the same respect and dignity regardless of their circumstance. Homelessness may seem far-fetched for many people, however, the reality is that many of the people on the streets as we speak have fallen from lives similar to yours and mine.

By: Alyssa Silva

Bears Beware

2011-04-18T19:03:00.000-07:00

My last blog was dedicated to my favorite place on Earth: the family camp where I have worked for five years. I described all of its majesty and its importance to me. Blissful as it may be, my summer escape is accompanied by some of the drawbacks that come from living in a natural setting. Fast-moving wildfires threatening evacuation cause us to pray the winds will change and take with them the ash that spills from the sky, while wild animals run rampant, often coming a little too close for comfort. The black bears of Stanislaus County, many of which are actually brown, have been known to make appearances in the home we’ve created from their habitat. Luckily, brown bears aren’t the most ferocious of their species, and if you make yourself appear bigger than your furry friend while surrounding him with a cacophony of harsh noises, chances are the bear will run away. My first encounter with the bear (there was one who was especially fond of our accommodations) involved banging sticks on empty five gallon buckets while screaming and chasing in mob formation after the bear. Successfully running the bear back into a brambly thicket of darkness with nothing more than a hulking presence and five gallons of empty sound was nothing short of electrifying. But the fix was temporary; the bear kept coming back. One day, or night rather, I was out smoking a cigarette with a friend (smoking is a filthy habit that gives you cancer, emphysema, and a slew of other health problems while simultaneously being very un cool—don’t make my mistake of getting suckered into nicotine addiction) when we noticed that bold little bear plodding his way toward the grease trap, which was not all too far from where we were sitting. Easy as it may be to chase a wild animal behind a barricade of charging human bodies, the situation shifts its shape when you are a whole half of a bear-fighting duo. We knew we were better off mobbing the bear, so we put our cigarettes out (as not to attract any extra attention), and slowly snuck away behind parked cars. Confidently outside of the bear’s line of vision, we charged to find some of the strong men who lived to chase the bear. Our quickly assembled throng of young adults charged toward the bear with full force. He didn’t move. For the first time, I really experienced trepidation about the potential dangers involved in chasing a wild animal from its natural habitat. Luckily for me, our fearless leader remained absolutely equanimous in the face of danger, and forced him out with a fire hose. Victorious again we were, but one close call was one too many, and it was more than enough of a thrill for me; who knows if next time I’ll be so lucky. Words really cannot do justice to the thrill of the chase, and the only way to understand the adrenaline is to feel it course through your veins, but the cost in this case just may outweigh the benefit of the experience.

-Kelsey Laubscher

Ashwin

2011-04-17T14:44:00.000-07:00

His name is Ashwin,
He’s Cherokee, 19, and
wears a long side braid.
I don’t know much more about him
other than this one thing:
That I think he could be my brother.

I look at him
focus on his face,
his terracotta skin that gently runs along
his high cheek bones and slides down over the
slight bump in his nose.
I run my finger along mine to feel the resemblance
and he could be my brother.

I study his hands there
resting on both bare knees that are bent into a
cross-legged bow. They are so at peace
that they melt and fuse into his knee caps.
He takes note of my interest and says,
My hands aren’t too big but my fingers…
I think my fingers get longer everyday.
We laugh. I look down at my own
disproportionate hands
and he could be my brother.

I listen as he speaks about life on the reservation:
the healing the hurt the spirit the land.
His grandfather is the medicine man
and he could be my brother.

I think about the blood that runs through us both
and it’s the same
and I think and I think
and I try to define it,
want to put it under a microscope
and run the tests
but I don’t have a needle to prick
and I don’t have the papers to give me the answers
and nobody told me that
he could be my brother
but
I just know.

And as I sit and listen to him speak, laugh,
inhale the smoke from the pipe into his lungs,
I see that he is bathed in a familiar spirit that
sings and moves and asks me to dance.
I know the steps.
Well, I think I know the steps
so I close my eyes and
without moving a muscle I dance.
In this moment I know the reality:
Ashwin is not my brother,
though I desperately want him to be.
I will go home and he, too, will turn his back and walk,
taking the dance with him.
I tell him this. He tells me that I am wrong.
That somewhere embedded in the land
lives my family history.
Engrained in rocks, sprinkling down in the rain,
taking flight in dust and wrapping us in air.

He smiles
and I see in the way that his nose drops down
slightly toward his mouth
that he could be,
that he is my brother.

Mallory Massie

There's No Place...

2011-04-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent every summer since age fifteen working at a family camp outside of Yosemite, California. Noting the good chance that my reader is unfamiliar with the concept of a family camp, perhaps some information about the operation of mine would prove beneficial. Families with children of all ages come up with bedding, bugspray, and beer for a vacation in an A-frame cabin on beautiful grounds that lend themselves exquisitely to swimming, hiking, and relaxing, free from the stresses of the world that keep them in a chokehold those other 360 days of the year. The nature of this magical place allows parents to leave their children to play without their supervision all throughout the day, while the parents socialize, hike, or engage in major familial competition on the badminton court. The fifty-some odd staff members work to keep the camp operational and enjoyable for these families, who spend all year anticipating their visit to camp, with jobs ranging from cooking/serving meals to maintaining bathrooms, to running activities for children (like painting pictures by the river). Since the children come up with their parents, we as staff members are left to our own devices at night. We laugh about the day’s events in our cabins which we cleverly turn into little homes via crafty utilization of milk crates and scraps of fabric, we make delectable snacks in the commercial-grade kitchen, sometimes we even head into the nearest town to see a movie or to eat at our favorite restaurant: Be Wok and Sushi (where, in the mountains, you find fish for sushi I couldn’t tell you, but it’s part of the intrigue). It’s often all too easy to forget that we are living in the middle of the woods without cell phones or deadlines, a window into simpler times.
I grew up in this place. Since age two, I lived for the anticipation of that one morning where I’d be woken up at an ungodly hour to be carried to the car when it was time to make the journey to camp. As I grew older, I went from being carried to the car, to walking myself, to waking up my little sister and carrying her dead weight from her bedroom to the driveway. The ardent sense of excitement that took hold of me upon first sight of a cabin along the river, a signal that we were finally back to the place we were happiest, never changed, much like camp itself—stagnant in a changing world. So many of my most treasured memories come from times in this place: age five, age twelve, age eighteen. I have been so incredibly lucky to spend seventeen summers of my life in the place that makes me the happiest, and even luckier that the magic of it all has endured as I’ve aged. Here I learned how to tie my shoes, the importance of a strong work ethic, and how incredibly important great friendships are, and I’ve been able to see how much they endure. It’s tremendously devastating that for the first time in almost twenty years I will have to be away from the people and place I love the most, but I’m thinking that maybe the final lesson it holds for me is how to know when to walk away. I have the most amazing job opportunity waiting for me in New York and I hope that each summer here has had a hand in preparing me for what lies ahead.
-Kelsey Laubscher

This Is My Fairytale

2011-04-13T13:21:00.000-07:00

Every girl deserves a fairytale love. One where she and the guy connect in one glance, then live happily ever after. Or one where she swore she couldn’t stand him then fell madly in love with him. Although it seems so cliché to me, my story is exactly that.

The problem is I don’t do the fairytales and mushy stuff. I do love The Notebook, but I understand that movies are movies. I feel like if it happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t then it doesn’t. Things are what they are. No need to look for hidden massages.

But why write this blog? Because I look for it, no matter how much I try to deny it, I do. I analyze everything because I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want to lose him. This is my shot at my fairytale. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.

In an earlier blog, A Golden Connection, I wrote about a guy who showed up 4 and a half months ago. That guy is still around; more now, than before. My mom used to take care of him when she first started her day care. He and I grew up together. We had crushes on each other, but at that age, it was so silly. Then, his mother moved and he stopped coming. I lost him, for 12 plus years. And one day, while I was on Facebook, he shows up.

It couldn’t get more movie-like than that. For a while, I fought to keep myself from getting too wrapped up in all the stories, but I can’t help it anymore. It’s not like I am overanalyzing anything. It’s sitting there right in front of me.

He said he had looked for me before, on MySpace, but I didn’t have one so he found nothing. He had to check Facebook. We exchanged numbers within that first night, he offering his first. Even in that first talk, he was the one that said we should get together soon. We did. Two days later. All of this was his idea and everything went fine. You would think we had never spent a day away from each other.

One night, he brought up plans, but said that’s months from now. I take this as a sign. He must be thinking of staying around. Why else would he have said it?

And it doesn’t stop there. We have been talking a lot lately and I’m starting to pick up on more things. Like when he started talking about his friends and said something about me hanging out with him and them. I hate to be this way, but that’s a good sign right?

Later, in that same conversation, we talked about his friends again. In talking about all of us hanging out together, he explained to me that he wants them to meet his girl. His girl! That’s what he called me! I don’t remember exactly how that conversation went, but he definitely said “my girl.” I poked fun at him for calling me that, especially since we haven’t established what we are, and he said I have always been his girl, ever since we were little. How cute is that?

When it comes to him and me, cute is my favorite word because it really is cute. Here is the guy I liked as a kid. My first kiss and now he’s back and giving me signs that he won’t be leaving anytime soon. You could say I am just being a girl and looking at things too specifically, but I don’t feel like it. I know that the movies and stories are just that, movies and stories, but sometimes they can be real life too. I think at least this time, for me, it is.

~Michelle Mitchell

Going Through the Fire, Coming Out As Pure Gold

2011-04-12T06:58:00.000-07:00

Being the eldest child and facing various obstacles and challenges during my adolescent years, has caused me to have a much more mature mindset and attitude towards life. I was always a step ahead of my peers. These factors of maturity and challenges also caused me to erect a very thick wall that prevented me from allowing myself to build substantial and genuine relationships with people. I guarded my emotions like a soldier guarding her country. Outside of my family, I permitted very few people to penetrate that barrier. Because of this, I was very individualistic. I did things on my own because I chose to do things on my own. I was self-motivated and self-sufficient; I didn’t rely on others to help, console, or energize me. So when I met my husband he had to fight through my wall and he didn’t get through without a fight back. Luckily he was very persistent; with each chisel, he inched closer and closer until he broke in and revealed his target – my heart.

I had faced several challenges during the early stages, particularly the first year and a half, of my marriage. Breaking barriers, trust, pride, and one of which I figured out just recently: learning to be both a woman and a wife at the same time. Beginning with the latter, I feel that this was a challenge because usually these very important stages in life come one at a time: womanhood being a foundation to have going into a marriage. As a result of this, I became frustrated and confused at times because I didn’t know how to handle or approach certain situations and I felt that I lacked the level of strength and confidence that older women possess. These feelings of frustration and lack of confidence were portrayed in some of my actions – actions that didn’t sit well with my husband, nor were they healthy for my marriage. Another challenging obstacle for me was letting go of my pride. I lusted after the last word in an argument, which always escalated the issue, and it was very difficult for me to admit my wrongdoing. Pride even hindered me from apologizing at times and that was unfair to him, because, even though he too had a pride issue, he made sure to make amends and apologize for doing wrong. The other obstacle was trust, which goes hand in hand with breaking barriers, because the reason for the barrier was lack of trust.

By overcoming these obstacles and now being an outsider looking in, I packed a few things under my belt. I learned the importance of seeking guidance. We sought after a couple who has been married for over 10 years to be our mentors, which I would recommend doing from the get go. It eases a lot of worries because you now have a connection that will guide and mentor you through unfamiliar territories. I also learned to be vulnerable, which sounds scary and unappealing to many. But really, in order to have peace and be able to grow as a couple it is imperative that each individual in the relationship breaks down any wall or barrier that would usually be erected for emotional defense. A marriage is built upon trust and for as long as you disallow yourself to trust that your spouse loves and would never desire to work against you but for you the marriage will be stunted and would ultimately fail. Because of the barrier I upheld between my husband and me, our growth was stunted. Communication was almost non-existent on my part because I didn’t let him into my thoughts and failed to express my emotions. I would shut down and not say a word after an argument; I would never initiate a conversation to talk about what the trigger was and how we could avoid the situation either. He would have to probe for that information and he shouldn’t have had to. Assuming is also a negative practice. We both learned not to assume; just ask, clarify and talk about it. The last important tool that I’ll mention is to break down pride. It is difficult to be egotistical and prideful when striving to have a meaningful and successful relationship.

As a result of overcoming these obstacles as a couple I am definitely more confident in myself as an individual, a woman, and a wife. I am better equipped to handle and solve problems. I am more trusting and have no more barriers! I have a greater love and understanding towards my husband and overall, I’m a better me.

The Girl in The Corner Crying

2011-04-12T00:54:00.000-07:00

I wrote you a month ago; guess you never replied.
I wrote you a week ago; guess you never got it.
I wrote you yesterday; guess you didn’t care.
I’m writing you today; guess you’ll let me know.

You told me when you left this had nothing to do with me.
You told me when you left this was only about you and momma.
You told me when you left you’d keep in touch with me, your little angel.
You’re telling me as you’re leaving you’re never coming back.

I cried for you at breakfast; the chocolate pancakes don’t taste the same.
I cried for you at my soccer game; no one cheers for me the way you do.
I cried for you as momma tucked me in; she doesn’t wrap me in my blankets like you.
I’m crying for you now; the moments you’re not here don’t feel the same.

I wanted to tell you when my turtle Speedy ran away and how I searched for him for days.
I wanted to tell you when I cut my golden locks and momma cried and I was a big girl.
I wanted to tell you when stupid Freddy Porskie stole my Princess Bell pen; wish you were there to make him give it back.
I want to tell you everything daddy; but you’re not here.

Will you be here tomorrow daddy; to wake me up for school?
Will you be here tomorrow daddy; to rub my tummy when I’m too full after dinner?
Will you be here tomorrow daddy; to play save the princess from the mean-old dragon?
Will you be here tomorrow daddy; to kiss me on the forehead goodnight?
Will you be? Cause,
You weren’t here daddy; daddy you weren’t here.

--Alyssa Bermudes

The Cheat

2011-04-12T00:15:00.000-07:00

I tell you I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was angry, I was drunk, I was the old me for the night. I never went there with the intention to hurt him, I didn’t want that. He was off with his friends having a good time and I was off with mine angry and not fully myself. I didn’t see the harm in dancing with him. I thought “it’s not like dancing is doing anything wrong.” As I danced my past flooded into me and mischief and vengeance pulsed my veins. I knew what could happen, I should have walked away, but I didn’t. I kept where I was and kept dancing knowing what he was thinking, knowing what he would do.

He grabbed my face, tilted my head ad came closer as eyes closed and the pas over rode the present. A few seconds and I pulled away with a jerk. What had I don? But there was no need for questioning the act was finished. I left shortly after with my friends had them drop me off at the now betrayed one’s house. He was happy to see me. He embraced me and asked me about my night. I had every intention of telling him, knew I had to but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want the way he looked at me to change. Two nights later I found the courage.

I blurted it out, he turned away. Instantly I felt the distance, the chill that now hovered between us. He looked at me and asked why. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know why I did it. I was happy with him, safe. With him I laughed and smiled and felt more myself than with anyone else. Maybe that’s why I did it. Maybe he was getting too close, I was caring too much. I didn’t want to do it I tell you. It just happened. He tried to live with what I had done but his eyes no longer held the sparkle of love I once saw nor did his caresses send the same sparks. Our relationships became hollow. Our emotions became guarded and blocked. I don’t blame him for turning away. I am sure I would have done the same. We don’t speak anymore, it’s too painful. We tried once but one slip of the tongue would always bring us back to that night.

We stopped trying to be friends. It was hard seeing him go when all I wanted was for him to stay even if only for a moment. Just for him to once again look at me the way he used to. But he wouldn’t and he won’t. I still think about that night. Wonder why it had to happen. Why I had to resort to my old ways when I was a new me. I guess the past is something that never leaves you, haunts you even when you thought you saw the light. But I did once see it. I heard he is happy now. With someone who doesn’t have a tragic past. Who doesn’t have a past self they cant escape from. Like I said I don’t blame him for leaving. I swear I don’t blame him. I blame me.

--Alyssa Bermudes

The Roommate

2011-04-12T00:02:00.000-07:00

Everyone at some point in his or her life has a roommate. When you are a freshman in college you are put in a small, cramped space with another person that you usually have never met before and you are forced to live together for a year. One of the hardest things is getting know this person while they are getting to know you. This is difficult because you are kind of forced to get along. In most cases you can’t really substitute your roommate for another. So while you get to know this person you also get to know the parts of them that most other people do not see. A bedroom tells a lot about a person. Whether they are messy or orderly, whether they like to decorate and are creative or if they like the emptiness of white walls. You get to see their personalities at their fullest. You get to know one another sleeping patterns and what annoys each other the most. You can come out of this experience best friends or worst enemies.

I was lucky my freshman year. I was put with an amazing roommate. We got a long from the moment we met. We found out that we both have loud, crazy personalities and that we are both closeted nerds. She loved fashion, I loved clothes. I loved music, she loved to ‘get low.’ She was somewhat the yin to my yang or I the yin to her yang. We balanced each other out. We became so close that we would go on midnight runs together then scarf down food at Iggys right after. We enjoyed each other’s company and never had one argument. We found we could talk about anything with each other. Even though we hung out with different groups during the day, when we were together it was definitely the Paige and Alyssa show.

We grew so close that one of the saddest things was when the year was up and we would no longer be roommates. She was moving into an apartment with her boyfriend and I was moving into a house with three of my fellow Lion’s Den co-workers. When we said our goodbyes we promised each other we would hang out all the time. It would be like we were still roommates. That summer, we did. We hung out a lot and had many adventures. Sadly though once school started we began to hang out less and less. We grew to busy and it was hard making time with our completely opposite but equally busy schedules.

Currently we are still trying to figure out how to get together. We have decided that we are going to take an upper division core together next year so that we will be able to see each other at least two to three times a week. This summer we want to start up our runs to the beach again. We want to make an effort to get our friendship back and be as close as we were when we lived together.

My experience with my roommate taught me a lot about myself and how to live with another person. It made me more open to accepting people's routines even when they didn't completely match up with mine. Also, it taught me to be open to letting new people into my life because we will never know if those people will become one of our best friends.

--Alyssa Bermudes

Can we stop pledging allegiance to a party and work for the people?

2011-04-10T23:33:00.000-07:00

Our country is in a dire situation. The U.S. Government has averted a shut down for now, but disputes between political ideologies continues to rage. What is problematic is not the gravity of our economic crisis--which will take an immense amount of cooperation and know-how to begin returning the slightest stability--but the unwillingness of Democrats and Republicans to level on any sort of ground. Personal ideologies have been blown out of proportion and placed on a pedestal. This is a country based on freedom and equality, yet those in power will do whatever it takes to enforce their interpretation of the right path, disregarding the 300+ million remaining citizens and what may be best for all. Getting in a pissing match over peanuts right now is not what a supposed world leading country should be engaging at a time like this, what with wars raging across the globe and natural disasters ravaging countrysides and provoking manmade meltdowns. Considering that the points of contention largely related to social rights issues focused on educating the masses, such as Planned Parenthood and National Public Radio, made up $38 billion or so of the proposed budget brings matters of relevancy into question. If any money should be cut, start with our overextending limbs in foreign subsidiaries. The well-fare of our own citizens should be prioritized. Putting that robust number of $38 billion into perspective, for the government to balance the budget they would need to cut 43 cents out of every dollar spent. The debate is over 1 cent.

I know avoiding taxes are en vogue, but take some responsibility for yourself in the country you love, or at least live in, and contribute your fair share. I don’t fully understand why the rich become exempt from the realities of life in a community, but that must come with experience, right after the jaded sentiment settles. Bush-era tax cuts reducing some percentage points for the extravagantly wealthy does not stimulate the economy, no trickle down is felt, except maybe from the boisterous billionaire’s champagne and cocaine binge the rest of us must now clean up. Instead, it is the middle class that makes the difference in the spending equation, those essentially living by the check and putting that money back into the public sector.

How are our soldiers supposed to feel, fighting thousands of miles away from and for a home that cannot even sustain itself in peace? The fact that paychecks to military families and federal workers were the first to cease if the budget had not been pushed along is wrong. Given that checks would never cease to find Congressmen’s pockets highlights yet another inequality-- the men sent to fix the crisis failed and are still rewarded. But so the system goes.

--Weston Finfer

On Obama's Speech On Libya 3.28.11

2011-04-09T16:33:00.000-07:00

By: Jordan Bunger

This speech came in response to responses to Obama’s actions in sending air strikes down onto Libya. The United States’ people were not consulted and were unable to give any feedback before the event took place. So, naturally, there have been dissenting views and widespread questioning over the issue.

The speech focused on liberating the people of Libya from Gaddafi, giving them the freedom to rule their own country. The idea is that we believe the world should operate democratically with a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. And we believe countries like Libya should be given these rights that we take for granted and classify as God-given. In our minds, they are inalienable. But the irony in this pitch is that these actions taken by the Obama administration in conjunction with Congress left absent the inclusion of a general public consensus over whether or not we should use force. The decision was made swiftly and abruptly behind closed doors.

We do not live in a country governed of the people, by the people, and for the people. It’s one of the best in the world as far as personal freedom goes, but this idealistic mentality has never evolved as laws and restrictions have. Societies will always have rules and as the system multiplies in complexity, as the US has in the last 300 years, more of them are required to keep it all together. The freedom idealized back when men justifiably wore wigs and white face make-up is not the same as it is now, yet we consistently see it in this light. We are consistently told how we as the people [out of power] are in control of the destiny of our country. But our country is run by those in power – politically, economically, and religiously. They are the few who make decisions for the many.

“For generations, the US has played a unique role as an anchor for security and an advocate of global security” (Obama). The main question I always have is do we have the right to? Are we entitled to assert our influence beyond these boundaries? I don’t think so, but I wonder about the killings in Libya, ordered by Gaddafi on his own people, and about what might have happened had we ignored the genocide in Germany during the 40s. I hate to side with using force to solve a problem in the way we see fit, in the name of promoting democracy, and I don’t know if there is justification in feeling a self entitled “responsibility to act when our interests and values are at stake” (Obama).

How Far is Too Far?

2011-04-08T21:30:00.000-07:00

Meet Bryan Stow, a paramedic and father of two from Santa Cruz, California. A die-hard fan of the San Francisco Giants, he took a road trip down to Los Angeles to see his beloved team open the season against their long-time rivals as world champions. A clutch home run in the ninth from Pat Burrell wasn’t enough grant the Giants a win, and after waiting all winter for opening day, fans everywhere were crushed by a one-run loss. As if that didn’t cast enough of a rain cloud over opening weekend, upon leaving the game Bryan Stow was jumped from behind by two fans in rival garb, knocked face-first into concrete, and fell unconscious. He is now in a medically induced coma struggling to retain grasp on his last inch of life. The Los Angeles Police Department said that the rival fans were taunting Stow and other Giants fans, and that the suspects’ attack on Stow was unprovoked. Did I mention that the attackers’ team WON the game?
Rivalry is healthy; in fact, it’s a critically important part of any good franchise. There is nothing more exciting than watching your team beat those guys you love to hate, and nothing more devastating than losing those bragging rights. With rivalry, however, comes a fine line, crossed all too often, between competition and barbarism. It’s definitely easy to get caught up and carried away in the moment, but being obnoxious and rude doesn’t make you a better fan; discretion is imperative.
I held tickets to the game played the day after Bryan Stow was brutally beaten in the parking lot at Chavez Ravine. As a season ticket holder at AT&T Park, I always see the game from the first-base line, so I thought it might be cool to catch a game from a different perspective: left field. Bleacher seats are usually some of the cheapest seats in the park, therefore, they attract a lot of people whose primary intentions are to get wasted off of overpriced beer and cheer boisterously for the home team. Baseball stadiums, or any stadiums for that matter, are not bars built around patches of grass, they are family environments, and they should be safe places to be. A lot of people in bleacher seats don’t care as much about watching the game as they do about harassing visiting fans. Suffice it to say, we were some type of fan favorites at game two of opening weekend. Fitted in head-to-toe orange and black, we were booed by entire sections of people in blue. “Giants Suck!” and “F--- San Francisco” were coming from all sides, but that’s the nature of the beast when you’re on the road. The line was definitely crossed, though, out there in left field pavilion when things started to get violent. Some people were pouring beers, no, throwing beers, (literally the entire cup) at visiting fans. Big guys in blue and white were getting up in the faces of girls supporting their team, aggressively hulking over them. When a base runner for the Giants was called safe, a guy behind me yelled “No Giants fan is safe at this stadium”. Poor taste. Especially in light of the previous nights’ events.
Now, this isn’t to say that all of this team’s fans are crude, obnoxious, or inappropriate. This sample of people is definitely not an accurate representation of the whole. This isn’t about singling out the fans of any one team; it’s about the difference between being a fan and using the game as an avenue for brutish behavior. Baseball is America’s pastime, for God’s sake. As citizens, we all have the right to give our hearts to a club and join a fan base that is blind to race, socioeconomic status, or religious affiliation.
In the true spirit of the game, both organizations came together and condemned the attack of Bryan Stow, while asserting that such contemptuous behavior will not be tolerated in either stadium. The clubs came together to put up a sizable reward for information leading to the conviction of the attackers, and fans are chipping in to help the family with the medical bills. Why does a paramedic have to suffer potential brain damage for showing pride in his World Series winning team, after waiting a lifetime for the title? There is no place for abuse, vulgarity, or cruelty in a ballpark. The best way we can demonstrate love for and loyalty to our teams is to rally when we’re down, cheer loud into the ninth inning, and stand by them through years of losing seasons. Die-hard fans would live and die for their teams, but they shouldn’t have to.

-Kelsey Laubscher

Is Your Answer Really the Right One?

2011-04-08T20:18:00.000-07:00

Often people say that if they were to help a homeless person they would help them find a place where they could stay for the night and that provided them a meal. They also say that it is better to teach someone to fish than it is to just give them the fish. Though these are novel ideas I think that people too often give these cookie cutter answers to issues that cannot be addressed as such. Not all of these people are the same rather they are individuals just like you and me. There are many different circumstances that play into homelessness and these types of responses simply will not work to resolve the problem. People also need to understand that homeless shelters are often not the ideal places to stay at night because it is not always as safe as people believe they are.
Working at the Downtown Women's Center I have learned many interesting things about homelessness and I have learned that often the outlets that are most prized do not always solve the issues at hand and they also can add fuel to the fire. Homeless shelters downtown are truly great in that they are not obligated to open their doors to people who are in need, however, I do believe that once they do decide to open their doors they have a duty to ensure that their participants are safe and are not in harms way. I have spoken with many different individuals the past few months that have had horrific experiences at the shelters. It is a common topic that the women are forced in a way to go to the shelters because the have really no other option than to sleep out on the street. Unfortunately, the shelters are really just as dangerous as sleeping on Skid Row. Women that I have spoken to have been beaten, stolen from, and or they are afraid to sleep while they are in the shelter for fear of what may happen to them. Upon speaking to my supervisor this past Monday and speaking about how there really is not an ideal place for these women to stay when they cannot or have not yet been placed in permanent residency.
My roommate and I spoke with a woman on Monday and she described to us how she was brutally beaten by woman because a group of gangsters had intimidated her to do so. Another woman that I spoke to was on dialysis three days a week and when she woke up at one of the shelters the next morning her prescriptions and all of her things were gone. I cannot imagine what it would be like waking up to having literally nothing. There is nothing that you can do or say to a woman that placed her trust in an organization and they did nothing to protect her.
It is interesting to think that these women have to brave Skid Row because it is in fact more safe than the shelters. Many can argue that it is their choice and if they don’t like it then they do not have to go there and I respect that, however, I am not sure how an organization can remain running when issues like this are happening so often. I know it is difficult to deal with but we must remember that each person must be treated with the same respect and dignity as you and I. It is also important to keep in mind that just because one may have little to nothing that they deserve to have someone to stand next to them in this battle against violence, especially on Skid Row.
By:Alyssa Silva

2011-04-07T23:00:00.001-07:00

There was a time when I was oblivious to this word. Those magical days of naivete, inevitably remaining focused on your future days and maintaining prosperous throughout. Those days when you were excited to come back to your room and crack up some tunes and maybe plan on going shopping for something you didn't really need but just had to get.
Then we became aware of it. I remember, back in High School at the dorms, someone across the hall mentioned “yeah, they're playing at Coachella this year.” The man from the other side equipped solely in boxers and ankle high socks roared with a violent “SICK,” followed by a pointless fist punch on his door. At first I was thinking it could be any ordinary band on any ordinary event. But I prevailed, and used Google to get to the bottom of this. Proceeded to click the first link, and immediately I noticed it was already sold out. Though that sign always manages to sting your hopes and leave a permanent mark, truthfully, I didn't care much at the time. I was all the way deep in the petite forests of Connecticut, and even more problematic, in a school with zilch free time. Not to mention my one day weekends because of sports. However, that ever so slight moment of distraught upon reading that it was “sold out” immediately encapsulated my corpse as I glanced at the lineup. The major performances in big bold white letters quickly invaded my brain and caused a frenzy of emotional discharges. As I looked closer and made out the smaller text my jaw edged out further and further until, eventually, I buried my grueling face on the keyboard in despair.
After that moment, the word Coachella has continuously lingered in my head until today. Every time I buy tickets for another concert or sometimes when I just listen a song, it just reappears in my head, reminding me that it's there and, seemingly, always coming soon. It's becoming a parasite of musical lust. Finally, in 2010 I attended my first Coachella event and, needless to say, I was blown away. Now having only eight days left, I desperately need to figure out if I should go or hold off the temptation. Time is ticking quickly and my window is narrowing each day but unlike last year, which was planned and secured, I'll be making a spontaneous and bold decision. The question is, is it worth it? I'll find out soon enough.

By Mortimer Canepa

IF THE WORLD WERE PAPER?

2011-04-05T23:54:00.001-07:00

If the world were paper?
All the sea were ink,
And if all the trees were pens,
What would you write to free your head?

If the entire world were sand,
Then it would be simply bland.
Unless, you add the ink from the sea.
Making clay and sculpting a new way.

Relying in your inner human being,
Thinking of what artistic thoughts you want to free.
Remembering that all is blank so you can generate a new theme.

If the world were a blank sheet of paper,
What would you create?
Would you write laws of peace or history?
Ideas of faith or science?
Fame or wealth?

Would you paint a new world of time?
A path that you now have the ability to create and pave.
What would you do if you had your way?
Freeing your ideas on this paper and changing all past days.

If the world were paper,
All the sea were ink,
And If all the trees were pens,
What would you write to free your head?

-Yenitza Munoz

What To Do?

2011-04-04T22:16:00.000-07:00

We all have that aunt, uncle, cousin, or someone (maybe even some individuals) in our families that just get on our last nerves and no one loves to have in their presence for long; or at all for that matter. But what if this person didn’t start off as someone whom you didn’t really want to share the same space with? What if this person is a bit older than an uncle or an aunt and you can’t just avoid this particular person because you live with this person? What to do?

Because this entire situation is so embarrassing to me as well as the family member I would like to keep the details of this story under wraps. Prior to these past several months my relationship with this family member was just how it should be. I lived far enough away from her that, when I saw her, it was exciting for both of us. She would be so happy to see me and I felt the same. She would greet me with a kiss on my cheek and fix me rice and eggs or cut up a raw tomato and sprinkle some garlic salt on the pieces. I often searched for time to take her with me on shopping trips, beach trips, dinner, etc. She would ask me about school and I would tell her things are going great. She would also express how happy and proud she was of me and would also tell me stories of my childhood. I loved those times. I miss feeling carefree and relaxed when around this family member, but now much has changed.

My husband and I have just recently moved in with this person from being on our own and, not only was I uneasy about loosing my private space, I was also anticipating what this particular situation between my family member and a friend would escalate to. Unfortunately, circumstances intensified and became so ridiculous that it was too uncomfortable for this friend to come over and spend time with my husband and I. In addition to that constraint, I feel obligated to stay within the four walls of my room for the sake of my sanity.

I hate that I have to keep my distance from someone that I truly do love but how can I not? I feel as though if I make myself vulnerable to her trap it will be impossible to reestablish our relationship to how it was pre-drama. I know it is very difficult for you to really judge and analyze my predicament because you do not have all the details but just trust that I would never choose to distant myself from a loved one. I don’t take pleasure in feeling like this towards her at all.

We were presented with this opportunity to possible move out, paying the same for rent and being able to save just as much. I would love to just get out of this confinement but I just don’t want to leave on bad terms. What to do?

- Cairesse Grimes

What Are YOU Going To Do Now?

2011-04-01T22:24:00.000-07:00

Going in to a semester you usually just think there will be exams, paper, classes, and grades. You never truly expect that there is going to be a class expectation that changes your life. This is exactly how I treat every semester, however, this semester I have gained more than knowledge out of the classroom. I have come away with an understanding that all people deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Though this is not easy for everyone to live out in their day-to-day lives, it is something that I believe all people should try to grasp.
For those of you that have been keeping track of my blog you have seen that I have steadily written about homelessness each week. You may understand why because of the stories that I have shared, however, what I haven’t really shared were the relationships that I have been forming with the women at the center. These women are mothers, sisters, and most importantly friends. They have a respect and need to help others and they also do the same for my roommate and I. There is a bond among women on Skid Row that is incredible. For those of you who do not know Skid Row is a mans world. The Downtown Women’s Center was the first center that solely provided for women, however, there were individualized outlets for men prior. What is so interesting is that the rate of homelessness in women in growing at a faster rate than with men. With that being said, this is part of the reason that these women feel that they must defend their own and also stand up when they feel that injustice is being done. I have seen many times in the center where specific woman will tell the other women in the center to straighten up their act because they are not following the rules or they will call them out because they feel it is unfair for anyone to get away with breaking the rules. What I did not ever expect was one of the women to defend me when I needed someone to have my back. To give you a little insight to the daily workings of the center you must understand that many of these women are hustlers. They often have to hustle to get food, shelter, and even money and this translates into the center. This is why you have to begin to understand the women and form a relationship with them to see who they are. At times I have to tell a women that I can only give her two Advil because that is the proper dose or that she is not allowed to take whatever she wants out of the emergency clothes bin just because she wants to shop. Those these seem trivial they happen often and it is nice to receive support from women when you struggle with a particular individual. For example this week I was talking to a woman and she began asking first for feminine products, then she asked for Advil, then she asked for vitamins, and then she tried to get more Advil out of me. It wasn’t until another participant told her basically you get what you get and that is all that she finally gave up. Also, this week a woman asked my roommate if she could get a pair of pants out of the emergency bucket because she was in desperate need. She let her and my roommate and another participant were helping her and when she became rude and nasty the participant backed her up one hundred percent and began to protect her in a way. This reminded me of how important relationships are in times when you need a little extra support. Though I have only known these women for three months there are many of them that I know would be there to provide me with that support when I need it.
The women from the Downtown Women’s Center are so important to me because they have impacted me both my thoughts and in my actions. I try to no longer judge or try to determine what the person begging for money is going to do with it. I try to think about the way it will help them whether than how it will harm them. The reality is what is one dollar when they have nothing and have resorted to having to ask for help? It is important that we remember that they are asking for help. My question to you is are you giving the help they are asking for and deserve or will you keep on walking or driving by?
BY: Alyssa Silva

Beachhead in the Fourth Dimension

2011-03-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

You are looking at a computer screen, right now.

Look at your hands. Feel the tips of your fingers. Think about all the things you have used your hands for today.

Close your eyes and breath one slow, deep breath.

Take another breath and try to fill your lungs as slowly, silently, and fully as you are able to. Stretch your lungs.

You should feel presence in your mind, maybe a little light-headedness. This is fine.

Relax your feet. They have probably been gripping the inside of your shoes. Let them go.

Slowly, and with mercy, let your body align so that your habitual way of sitting leaves you. Pay attention to the way you are sitting, right now.

Let your legs straighten, your feet point forward, your arms rest on your thighs. Do all of this with compassion and care, don’t force it.

See how your neck is holding your head. Let your head be held up by the muscles in your lower back. The whole back should help the head stay lifted.

Now, lift your arms slowly over your head, and reach upwards as high as you can go as
gently as possible. Let your rib cage rise with your arms. Hold your arms there for a few seconds.

Slowly bring them back and let them rest on your things.

See how you are breathing. Experiment with fuller breaths. Let your body tell you what it needs.

With a straight back, open chest, relaxed arms, and loose legs, go through the actions of the day. The choices you made and the people you experienced.

Don’t judge, just remember.

Let your thoughts wander and remember you can always come back here, to reality.

-Sean McEvoy

Girlfriend vs. Girl Friend

2011-03-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

Lines from “Girlfriend” by Alicia Keys read, “I think I'm jealous of your girlfriend although she's just a girl that is your friend...she shares a special part of you.” I know exactly how it feels to be that girl this song is about.

We are the best of friends. We tell one another everything. Our friendship started after we graduated high school and is going on four years now. It continues to grow stronger. He is a member of my family now. He spent Christmas with us. When he couldn’t make it to the house for a small birthday dinner for me, my mom sent a plate for him since he and I were going out afterwards.

He and his girlfriend have been together two years now. She owns his heart. They have their ups and downs as almost any relationship would, but they get through it. Sometimes they fight so much that they break up, but it never lasts more than five minutes. They care a lot about each other and he’s happy with her. What more could I ask for?

I guess I could ask that she not feel the way Alicia Keys does in that song. His girlfriend has never explicitly come out to say that, but I can feel it. Maybe I see too much of this in the media. Movies and songs talk about this type of love triangles. That could be where I’m getting all my ideas from. But when so many people tell me that if they were in her position, they would not like me, I know my feelings aren’t crazy.

Plus, we’re a complicated pair. He liked me in the beginning, two years before they met. He asked me out and I said no. Somehow, we became friends. A year after high school and into our friendship, his mother passed. That was hard. All of his mom’s family was in Chicago. He had no one here except for his two brothers and a few friends. He turned to some of them and me.

In a lot of ways, I felt like we all needed to step up. We did and still do. About six months after she passed, he was having a bad night so there I was on the phone, consoling him. On that night, he expressed that he still had feelings for me. I told him we were better off as friends. He said fine, but that he just needed me to know.

Three months later, he and his girlfriend got together. They had been dating for some months before I met her. And even when I did, it wasn’t a proper “this is my best friend” type of setting. They just happened to be at Disneyland the same day I was.

He and I go out a lot, just the two of us. It means absolutely nothing to me except that I am spending time with my best friend. Yes, we laugh at things that only he and I ever could, but it’s nothing. I don’t feel for him like that, but I do love him. There is nothing we could do to change that. We do share a lot of things that they do not, especially the passing of his mom, but that’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just how everything timed out.

I would never want her to feel like he and I need to stop being friends, but at the same time, I’m not going to back down. He and I are friends, nothing more. There is a space between the two words in my title. I’m his girl friend and she is his girlfriend, and it will always be that way. I hope she understands.

~Michelle Mitchell

A Letter to Media

2011-03-30T10:06:00.000-07:00

The other day I was watching TV and the clock turned to 11pm. Scrolling down the guide I see four consecutive channels with titles like: Perfect Abs, Loose That Belly Fat, and other, more provocative titles. This visual caused me to think about some things. I am a 21 year old, 5’2”, 132 lb young woman and, according to my BMI calculation, I am borderline obese for my weight and height. According to your standards, what do you suggest that I do about this? I must say though, when I look at myself I feel fine, but compared to the incomparable pictures that you are showing via the media feeds – magazines, infomercials, regular commercials, billboards, internet ads, etc. – I should be putting a finger down my throat. But what if I don’t want to? Have you ever considered that healthy and sexy doesn’t mean skinny and starving? Of course a person should regulate their daily diet and be sure to stray away from eating greasy, high calorie, high in sugar foods consistently, but speaking for myself, I like those foods from time to time. I am just tired of seeing such young girls go on these outrageous diets attempting to mirror these images that you portray on these media platforms. They don’t even know what a diet really means and you’re not telling them either. It’s not a “go starve yourself” type of thing where you eat only an apple for breakfast, granola bar for lunch, and a protein bar for dinner. A diet is just your regular intake of food. Aside from regular exercise, to loose some weight and regain health, a person should “modify” their diet, not “go on” any specific diet. A healthy body needs a balance of a variety of foods for the various nutrients they each provide. So, instead of focusing on the outward appearance you should try shinning some light on inward health. You will be surprised how much of a difference you will make in this world.

One other thing bothers me Media. As a result of your operations, you are the reason young girls and adult women are developing or have developed these deep insecurities about themselves. Insecurities that could and have lead to diseases like anorexia and bulimia. You are the reason that I have developed insecurities about myself. Thankfully, I have enough confidence within myself to triumph over you.

Why do you continue to do this to us women and young girls! It’s not only weight you taunt us with: it’s flawless skin, beautiful, shinny hair, long lashes, and full lips. I wish that you could just wake up and smell the coffee and see that the average woman does not have these perfect qualities – you’re models don’t even have these qualities. I know your secrets: the girls on the mascara commercials – fake lashes; the models and actresses – weaves, hairpieces, and lots of make-up. Why do you continue to display such an image that is virtually unattainable and creates such a hostile mental and physical environment for the average female? You also make it so expensive to be normal for us women, always feeling obligated to spend so much on hair and make-up; it’s ridiculous.

Look, all I’m asking is for you to please take your approach, trash it, and create a new, more positive approach to influencing and entertaining people. The manner in which you are currently conducting yourself is hurtful and stressful, and making life so worrisome for women. We are strong, phenomenal, confident, and beautiful beings of this earth just the way we are. Once we, as a whole, realize that, you will be at the mercy of us all and I can’t wait until that day. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Sincerely,

Cairesse Grimes

I Am Thankful for American Overindulgence

2011-03-29T21:46:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving is a holiday that I think particularly appeals to a lot of college students for several reasons. We get to go home to see family and old friends. We also get a short but sweet break from school. While going through LAX near a holiday can be a nightmare, the vacation is still usually a much needed relaxation period. And of course, there really is nothing like a home cooked meal, of which Thanksgiving is the king. I love to cook, but have difficulty finding the time to do so while trying to balance school and work. This holiday is a time that we are more or less obligated to take some time out of our busy schedules and focus on something we love: food.

My family somewhat recently heard about and started our own very tasty tradition of the turducken. It is a chicken, inside of a duck, inside of a turkey. There is a layer of stuffing in between each bird and it takes the whole day to cook. You can purchase these creations already prepared, but I think that takes out half the fun. Some people find it beautiful and some find it nauseating. But mixed emotions aside, you cannot deny the creativity it brings to what would otherwise be a typical Thanksgiving.

We have toyed with different ideas for this part of the meal. Two years ago we made a turgooduckenhen: a Cornish game hen inside of a chicken inside of a duck inside of a goose inside of a turkey (see photo). It weighed almost 40 lbs. This seemed a little excessive, even for us. So we cut back down to the turducken this past Thanksgiving, but added some strips of bacon with the stuffing in between birds, an appreciated suggestion from my little brother.

With only three children being home for most Thanksgivings now (the fourth is also a vegetarian…), it has worked out so that each year we each debone a bird. My first deboning was only two years ago, and I was assigned the turkey, while this year I was given the duck. For each bird, the deboning consists of cutting out the spine, ribs and leg bones of the bird, trying to avoid complete mutilation of the birds and ourselves. Both processes have been a challenge that lasted a couple of hours and left my arms too sore to make decent mashed potatoes.

Every family has traditions. While not typical, this tradition provides a subtle delight. We enjoy the experience not because we especially like ripping apart fowl carcasses, although that can be pretty fun. But more importantly, it is another thing that makes the Boueys unusual – a sort of bonding experience. People’s reactions, whether of disgust or in admiration, only amplify our amusement.

-Colleen Bouey

How Can We See?

2011-03-29T16:45:00.000-07:00

How can we see?
See what we want to be.
When we are blinded by the ways of other human beings.
Led to feel and to believe in a reality that we cant be.
Told on how we must live in order to succeed.
Told to do what we dont want to do.
This is the world we synchronize ourselves into.
Our pupils within the sockets of our eyes learn just as our ears do.
We use these senses of learning to understand the world and our fears.
To understand what we want and don’t want.
However, we at times ignore our feelings and follow other human beings.
Ignoring our identity and not doing what we please.
This is the world we synchronize ourselves into.
We have fallen into a trend of giving into them.
Ambiguously, meaning those who attempt to rearrange our path.
By not believing in ourselves.
Becoming followers and not leaders.
We are blinded by the way of others tails.
Vaguely, accepting the vivid vibe of today fast culture.
Teaching us we cannot be what we want to be.
Seeing what we cannot see because they have blinded us.
Told to do what we cannot do.
This is the world we synchronize ourselves into.

-Yenitza Munoz

Just One More Cookie...

2011-03-29T14:21:00.000-07:00

After being sick for two and half weeks (and eating nothing but soup, bland soup at that) I was starving. I wanted real food, solid food, junk food, or more specifically, sweets. I began eating soy ice cream and girl scout cookies religiously. When I exhausted those desserts, the cookies at the den became my life. After every real meal came a cookie. Sometimes that cookie even became my meal.

As the cookies piled in, so did the guilt. Why was I eating so many cookies? Why couldn't I stop? It felt like no matter how hard I tried to not eat that cookie, to not have that dirty Oreo freeze, the more I struggled and gave in. This resulted in eating even more cookies. I became a cookie machine. I ate them so much that my boyfriend began calling me his cookie monster. While a joke, it started to sound like an insult instead of a funny term of endearment.

A small complex started building inside of me and every time I ate a cookie I felt guilty. I would make myself swear I would not eat another meal if I had a cookie. My cookie had to be my meal. My body started to feel disgusting, I became sluggish and lazy. I didn't feel healthy in the slightest. I tried and tried not to eat those cookies, those bad foods, but I could not seem to stop. I had opened the door and it was not ready to be shut just yet. I looked up online ways to stop eating so much, ways to give up junk food for good. Yet again the more I tried not to eat the cookie, the more I wanted it. It has been three weeks since and you know what? I still want that cookie!

--Alyssa Bermudes

The Ultimate Fail

2011-03-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

am the daughter of Carlette Wadlington and Richard Wadlington, but both of my parents have tremendously failed me at one point or another in my life thus far. When my parents divorced in 2003, I was torn. My parents thought it would be best for me to have shared custody, while my older brother had the option to choose which parent he wanted to live with. Ultimately, I stayed with my mother for two week periods and then I would stay with my father for the next two weeks.
I hated the fact that they were unable to reconcile their marital issues, yet I dealt with it as best as possible. One day, my mother thought for whatever reason that it would be best for her to pack up all of her (and my own) belongings and move to the state of Texas. In Texas, she remarried a man that I had never met, not to mention she left town giving me no heads up, good-bye or farewell.
As a fourteen year old pre-adult, I struggled with this. She returned two years later to my sixteenth birthday party where she stole money and possessions from myself, my dad and my older brother. I would not see her again for another three years. Still, to this day I reflect on how badly she hurt me. Although, I have forgiven, I will never forget.
This story continues. As my mother and I have recently grown closer, I have developed new feelings of hatred for my father. I found out why she left so abruptly many years ago. She finally found it in her heart and realized I am now at the age where I can handle this sort of detailed information. My mother left me and went to Texas because she was depressed. My father told her he wanted to see her suffer alone and fought in court to ensure her unhappiness. He refused to pay her the court ordered alimony and she was forced to live in her car. She didn’t leave, but she stayed in her car and worked at 24 Hour Fitness gym where she would shower daily. After living in her car for four months, she met a man and moved to Texas where they married so she could secure proper health insurance.
After hearing how low of a point she was broken down to, I wasn’t sure who to believe. Did she leave me intentionally? Was she lying? Did she steal from our home because she needed money to eat? Why wouldn’t she tell me or my brother? My mother failed me. Well, what about my dad? Did he really gain pleasure from knowing he won this bitter nasty battle? No practical human could do this. Is he practical or is he a liar too? My father has failed me. Regardless, I was not notified of any of this until it was too late.
Both of my parents have failed me.

-Brittnee Wadlington

If you don't have an iPhone... By Aaron Frias

2011-03-28T01:58:00.000-07:00

Before you say anything, this is NOT a blog about how PCs are better than MACs and vice-versa. In fact, I’ve been a PC person my entire life, and though I’m not a fan of Apple computers, I must admit that the company does make cool gadgets and products. But what irritates the hell out of me is their advertising and the way Apple markets their products. Their strategy does work and earns them sales, but it’s quite annoying to the average consumer. To me, it just seems that Apple gets way too cocky with their inventions and feels like no other company will ever come close.
Their latest advertisement, which focuses on the iPhone 4, obviously targets those who don’t have an iPhone, as most products are usually advertised. It should be that simple. However, Apple takes it to a whole new level. Their new advertising strategy basically suggests that if you don’t have an iPhone, you’re pretty much left out in the crowd. We all know that this particular phone is insanely popular and everywhere you go, someone has this phone. But Apple makes it seem like this is the ONLY phone that’s in existence, like if you don’t have this one phone, then you might as well not even have a phone at all. Now granted, it does explain the cool features that the phone has, but at this point, I think everyone and their mom knows that the iPhone has apps, can play music like an iPod, and you can read an entire novel. This isn’t something new, as Apple made sure everyone knew about this before the first iPhone was even released.
I’m all for the idea of advertising as much as possible and to win over the consumer, but at some point, you have to get over yourselves as a company. There needs to be some kind of understanding that you aren’t the only computer company in the world and not EVERY single consumer needs your products. It’s literally gone from, you want our product, to, you need our product and that’s why I’m irritated by Apple. I’m also convinced that many Apple users are 100% positive that their computers are better than PCs, thanks to their past commercials like, “Hi, I’m a PC and I’m a shitty computer”. I’ve literally had a friend make fun of the fact that I use a PC and he uses a MAC, and this is when these commercials were brand new.
Again, I’m not complaining about Apple products and not biased towards PCs and Microsoft. I just feel like Apple has created a huge empire of in-your-face advertising that belittles non-Apple users.

Lovely Lovelies

2011-03-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

Love crept into my life. It was such a delight, oh such a delight.

I am loved and I love back. I give what I get and give and give back.

I have to be honest, it’s not always this way, many times I’m down, and don’t know what to say.

So hold me tight my dearest child, give me your hand, and your time for a while. I will give you back what you’ve given me, a hug and a kiss, we’ll etch our names on a tree.

I love her. Letting go was the greatest thing we ever did for each other. It’s times like these when you realize how much you love someone. Your mind is freed from any restrictions or limitations. The end will come. There is a sure moment where the relationship that’s been built over the last four months will cease to exist. It sucks and like all else, it’s terrible when you’re going through it.

During that conversation, my heart was pounding out of my chest. It hit me without warning. I love this girl and right there, we were lying next to each other, deciding we wouldn’t continue to stay together when the summer comes, her moving back home to Seattle and me staying here in LA. From my side, I’d wanted this. Three months apart from her would be too hard to handle. I don’t think I could do this. But this was always left in thought. I thought if I admitted that, she would feel betrayed, but she surprised me that night by being the one to initiate it. She was the one who took the step, the big, long one, and in speaking for herself, spoke for us both. She’s the realist in thought and action. I’m the realist in thought, and bitter optimist in action. I do it because I like thinking it’s all going to work out, that it’s all going to be daisies and sunshine all the time. It makes me feel good for the temporary. She’s teaching me to be upfront and honest especially in times like these where so much is on the line.

This girl has taught me so much about myself. I’ve never been in a relationship where the stakes were so high. I care so much about her that I feel pressured all the time to hold onto anything we have. When something is lost, I scramble to go out and find it many times to no success.

The last three weeks have been awkward between us. I’ve felt distant from her. Our school and work schedules keep us both busy enough to only get 2 nights a week with each other and maybe a quick lunch here and there. And I’ve been constantly questioning her love for me in the face of this distance. I haven’t been able to allow myself to trust her in her words, I love you. But instead of letting this eat away at me, I’ve asked those around me for help, my parents, counselor, roommates, classmates, really anyone who’s had any experience in this area. And the results have been amazing. I’ve made huge strides in how I look at our relationship and it came just in time for our talk on Thursday night. I did my homework. Love without expecting any love in return. I have a whole life to live outside of this relationship. I cannot depend on another person for my happiness because when they are gone, I’m left all alone. I have to find happiness in me. Let go of the mind for a little while. Release yourself. It will be all right.

I took it so well because I built myself up before we decided to end it. I listened to the advice from those I trust and I worked on myself before all else. I unwittingly prepared myself mentally for taking such a hard blow to the biggest part of my life. This girl means the so much to me and not having her by my side is scary to think about. But I will ramble on. We’ll live our own lives for a while, get snug there, and see what happens. Nothing is certain and I think I can finally feel comfortable with that.

I’m lucky I was able to spend the time with her that I did and to have been able to receive her love and love her back. No matter what happens, I will always have that to hold onto.

Meet Virginia

2011-03-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

“You don’t need to speak Spanish. You must know English.” I was seven years old when my grandma first told me that. I didn’t understand. If she could speak it then why couldn’t I? Little did I know that it was a question that I would ask for a long time until it eventually pushed us further away from each other than I had ever imagined.

She’d come to visit us in Oakland every winter and every winter we would wonder what sorts of “things” she had up her sleeve this time around. The truth is that my grandma, named Virginia but better known as grandma “Virgie,” is what some might call a “kook.” She’s an eccentric woman: crazy hair, lipstick usually on her teeth, big jewelry, and a frequent dancer and even singer-songwriter at the dinner table when we were lucky. She always stormed into town with life insights, personal truths to declare, and an actual bag full of things. The “things” bag was always one of my most anticipated events of the year. She would come into the house, greet everyone, put her luggage away, and then out would come the bag, bursting full of things. Since it was always December when she came, I always secretly imagined her as the Mexican, female version of Santa Claus. The “things,” you see, were random gifts that she had picked up throughout the year, each one intended especially for each one of us: me, my two brothers, mom, and dad. The best part about them was that they were the most random treasures you could probably ever receive: silk pouches, rock collections, various trophies, hats of all sorts, tins, crocheted flowers, ornate frames with random photos in them, silverware, the list goes on and on. They were incredibly simple things but she saw so much beauty in every single gift she gave and there would always be a passionate explanation that went with each one. As a child, I was inspired by her creativity and the uniqueness that ran from the pink curlers she left in her hair to the sparkly gold pants she wore one Christmas.

Another truth I’ll tell you is that I was basically a mirror image of my grandma when I was little, which is why we got along so well. I was quite the eccentric child. I dressed myself, did my own hair, and ran my own ‘entertainment’ business by the time I was 5. What I mean to say is that along with my messy side-ponytail and mismatched, “making-a-statement” outfits, I created my own shows in which I would “perform” original acts for my parents and friends. About what, I’m not sure, I guess just whatever my 5-year-old mind was conjuring up as creativity at the time. The point is that my grandma and I were inseparable when she was in town. I was her mini-me and she my idol. This was the case until I got a bit older and wanted to know about our family history and specifically the Spanish language, at which point things became a little less magical between us.

I am half Mexican from my mom’s side of the family, which includes my grandma. It is something that I have always been aware of, not only because my skin is a different color than my mother and grandmother’s, but also because I felt especially connected with the culture somehow. I would catch my grandma singing songs in Spanish and on occasion she would keep singing them to me if I begged. But when I asked what the words meant and if she would teach me, she would become distant and tell me that I don’t need to know because only English matters. “You’re American,” she would say to me, “you don’t need to know Spanish.” She had no idea how much those words meant to me at such a young age. It was a concept I couldn’t seem to grasp. I remember asking my mom about Spanish and why she didn’t sing like grandma does. Turns out, she and her siblings were only allowed to speak English as children so she never learned it. How could my own Mexican mother not know Spanish?! It seemed outrageous to me and I was only 7 or 8 at this point. My mother was sympathetic to my concerns and responsive to what I wanted to do: learn Spanish. So in second grade I was enrolled in my first Spanish class.

My passion for the language and Latin American culture only rose from that point on. Fast forward 10 years and I was a natural at speaking Spanish, passionate about everything from the political revolutions in Latin America to Día de los Muertos. However, as I grew closer to my roots I grew away from my grandmother. She didn’t want to hear anything about Spanish or especially about the fact that I was flying to Georgia to protest the School of the Americas, a corrupt US military training camp for Latin American soldiers. My “liberal leanings” upset her, a conservative Catholic. I called her abuela; she told me to never say it again. I asked her if she could tell me about our Mexican family history; she told me it didn’t matter to me to since I was American. I shouldn’t care. I couldn’t even tell her that I was studying abroad in Argentina until I had already been living there for three months. She, of course, overreacted, reminding me of the “kinds of people who are down there.” “Okay, grandma,” is all I said.

As a Spanish and English double major, it’s always fun to respond to her comments that I need to speak English perfectly and not worry about studying Spanish. “I study English too, grandma, I think I’ll be able to get by.” As a senior about to leave Undergrad life and pursue a Graduate education in language, specifically indigenous Latin American linguistics and bilingual education, I can’t help but hold my grandma largely responsible for the person I am today. I love what I love in large part because she told me that I shouldn’t speak Spanish or consider myself Mexican. In a weird way it was a gift, I guess. Just another “thing” that came out of her bag one Christmas.

Mallory Massie

Hidden Gems

2011-03-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

What are the first things you think about when someone says homelessness? I used to think about solitude, unfortunate circumstances, and starvation. This past Monday I was reminded that there is more to homelessness than meets the eyes. I work at the Downtown Women’s Center and with that being said I feel as though my take on homelessness has drastically changed. I have began to view homelessness through the lens of the women that I meet weekly. Each week I go to the center with an open mind to learn something new from the women. It was this Monday that I realized that we all too often forget to look past these individuals’ circumstances and learn about who they are as people and where they came from.
These women have made a substantial impact on my life. They remind of how precious life is and also how things can change in an instant. In conversation, a woman name Rose told me that she was the black sheep of her family. Her father worked in the White House with President Regan and all of her siblings were well off. She described to me events that she used to attend and unfortunately that all changed because of decisions that she made that landed her on the street. She also told me that many of her good friends are still extremely influential in the Los Angeles area. I was left baffled because I began to think how could a person come from so much and be left with so little. I grappled with this but I remembered what she said to me. I remembered she identified that it was her decisions that led her to this point. It seems that Rose has fallen so far from where she used to be and with that you would think that she would be unhappy, however, she isn’t. She is one of the most thoughtful and happy woman I have ever met. Little things that my roommate and I tell her she remembers and makes a point to ask about them the next week we see her. It is with this thoughtfulness and happiness that I think that people miss out on many great things that these individuals have to offer.
Another woman that sparked my interest is named Sophia. It turns out that before she was homeless she had written two novels, a book of poetry, and also a book on Islam. Sophia is extremely interesting because she is an older woman of small stature who is a bit rough around the edges to say the least. She is a bit anti social and at times rude. The Center has a newsletter that they put out monthly and in it Sophia had written seven pieces. Her writing was incredible and I never would have realized how accomplished that she was if it was not for this newsletter. When I read her name in the paper I began to ask her about the writing to see if this would possibly spark a connection. Unfortunately, it did not.
Both of these women are prime examples of the gems hidden throughout this group of individuals that are thought to have nothing to offer. Until people get past this idea, they will continue to miss out on all things that these individuals have to offer.
By: Alyssa Silva

The Home of the Brave

2011-03-25T16:43:00.000-07:00

America is often recognized as a land of promise, as a place where every man is entitled to the pursuit of happiness. How is it, then, that people are supposed to reap the benefits of this fine nation, if we as citizens are so consumed with the classification of our fellow Americans?
Though the evolution of race relations is something that we pride ourselves on, discrimination exists everywhere around us. Race relations have always been shaky in this country, from Japanese internment and segregation (not to mention slavery), to the present-day treatment of Middle-Easterns in America. We are afflicted by the habit of taking one person as representative of the whole. All men are supposed equals in America, and yet, there is always a second class of citizens. Forget history, even looking at modern day America, one can find an array of second-class citizens, breathing our same air. It can definitely be argued that felons deserve to be treated as second-class citizens, as they have violated the code that accompanies citizenship, but what crimes have the homeless committed against society?
The homeless men, women, and children of America are marginalized and kept out of the minds of most of their fellow citizens. Though we see them every day, there is a certain stigma attached to them and their condition, which perpetuates their status as second-class citizens. We feel like homelessness could never happen to us, but the reality is that most are merely one addiction or one misstep away from a similar fate. It’s important to remember that homeless people (or the majority of them, at least) were not born that way. Many are veterans who came home only to be shut out and left out in the cold, literally. Some were professionals, some have college degrees; they are people just like us. There is nothing innate within them that distinguishes them from billionaires, pro athletes, and college professors. So why are they treated like lepers?
People are so quick to classify others in relation to their own social standing. Why does it help us to note that we are better off than someone else? It’s beyond “keeping up with the Jones’”; Americans are often looking to one-up each other. And to what avail? So many crimes committed against fellow humans mar our claim as a free country with liberty and justice for all. We dehumanize those who threaten our sense of security; we take away their rights to fortify our own. In some cases, as in the instance of criminals, incarcerating them protects innocents and reinforces our rights as citizens, but that’s a different discussion. What threat to our happiness and security does homelessness impose? Those who have fallen into hard luck do not deserve to be outcast and ostracized from a society to which they once belonged. I challenge you, now, to look a homeless man in the eye when you pass him on the street. Say hello, ask how his day is going. I challenge you to sit down and converse with a homeless man, and tell me why you are better than him.

-Kelsey Laubscher

The Beauty in Fear

2011-03-24T23:58:00.000-07:00

The surface of the ocean is daunting and seemingly endless, and needless to say, I'm not the biggest fan of it. Sadly, I don't particularly like to surf, and always feel some slight anxiety when I jump in the middle of an ocean from a boat. I'm not sure if Steven Spielberg's Jaws plays a major factor in this fear of not being able to see what's under you but I know one thing for sure, the ocean always remains very mysterious. Every time I plunged in the sea I was primarily worried about jellyfish, sea snakes, sharks, some other ghastly deadly animal, and occasionally sea monsters . With the exception of the arctic seas, I've seen and felt all the different oceans in the world and each hold unique wonders beneath the surface.
Just before my teen years, I decided to face some of my fears by learning how to scuba dive. I thought to myself, if I had the ability to understand and explore what was beneath the surface, maybe I would lose this lurking fear I had whenever I swam in it. I started my training for Open Water Diver in Los Roques, Venezuela during Christmas vacation but because it was such a remote place, the scuba instructor only spoke in Spanish. Also, the book I studied from and final written test itself was Spanish as well. Now I don't speak Spanish, nor understand it well enough to read a thick set of instructions but I caught on fairly quickly. Scuba Diving rules and techniques isn't really all that difficult to grasp but there are many necessary steps to keep yourself from potentially freaking out underwater, like running out of air, or encountering an animal you're not particularly keen of. Better yet, you could accidentally touch something poisonous and go into immediate shock and the first thing you want to do is rush up to the surface. If you succumb to these acts of nervousness while you're more than 40 feet beneath the surface, far greater complications arise when you rise up too quickly. The air tank is filled with Nitrogen gas and though it's dissolved in the bloodstream, it converts back to gas if you come up too quickly (caused by the rapid change in pressure) The nitrogen bubbles rapidly travel along the blood vessels to the heart and cause a heart attack.
There are many rules to obey that prevent you from suffering severe injury or death but if you follow those simple rules and stay calm, there's a whole underwater utopia that keeps you breathless and bedazzled. Once you step in that water and descend into this forest of life you can't help yourself but remain in awe. When I dove in Bora Bora, I was graced with thousands of different species and coral. Hundreds of different fish in all colors, shapes, and sizes swam left and right, schools of Eagle Rays and barracuda that could block your vision, and giant Lemon sharks that lurked beneath and above you silently. But the most remarkable and most beautiful sight were the coral reefs. Their immense variety of colors, glistening against the fragmented shears of light in the water, were simply beautiful. Because of these unique and wonderful experiences I've encountered deep beneath the surface, I have continued to upgrade my divers license gaining the ability to dive through wrecks, dive deeper, dive in caves, and dive at night. I just hope that we don't kill our oceans before I grow old because I can't get enough of it.

- Mortimer Canepa

Coachella 2011 Preview

2011-03-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

After much uncertainty, I have just secured tickets to Coachella 2011. This will be my first time there, let alone any music festival, so I am very excited. I think the lineup is great and with art, food, and music all together, I’m sure it will be a weekend to remember. Here is my list of a few bands to look out for at the festival.

Animal Collective: If you’ve heard Animal Collective and you still don’t like them, stop reading now. This band has a sound all their own that has been mutating and polishing for a decade. A mix of tribal rhythm, electronic dream beats, roundabout singing, and some of the coolest arrangements of songs I have heard, Animal Collective has a special place in my heart. Bottom line, you love them or you hate them, but I dare you to watch the video for “Peacebone” and say they aren’t at least creative.

Arcade Fire: After winning the Grammy for best Album of the Year, Arcade Fire is off to celebrate headlining Saturday night at Coachella. A mix of rock, pop, and arena anthems, they put on one awesome live show. This is the kind of band you want to see surrounded by thousands of people screaming their lyrics. They use unique instrumentation, such as strings, alternate percussion, and even a megaphone to create a sound all their own. Being a kid from the suburbs, their album hits home for me.

Bright Eyes: Ahhh high school. Like Animal Collective, I think Bright Eyes is hit or miss. If you can ease into Connor Oberst’s vocal style and relate to his, dare I say, emo lyrics, Bright Eyes might hit a sweet spot for you. They are also incredibly dynamic, putting out harder electronic driven music as well as sweet folk songs. Their new album drops this month and needless to say will be the focus of the show. Of course, all their fans will want them to go back to “I’m Wide Awake” and “Lifted.”

Fun: Let me start this off saying this: If you can’t stand watching musicals, stay away from Fun. The new brain child of The Format lead singer Nate Ruess, Fun is exactly what the name suggests. With a high pitched, whimsical voice, Nate screams catchy jingles about falling in love, moving on with life, and being lonely in a new city. His songs are infectious to the right pair of ears and sometimes I find myself involuntarily recalling melodies from songs of his I haven’t heard in months.

Kanye West: Forget that he’s a gay fish, Kanye has put out a really great 21st century album. His Dark Twisted Fantasy includes collaborations with music legends, as well as some great lyrics. Just remember, Jon Brion makes his beats (Eternal Sunshine, I Heart Huckabees…).

The Aquabats!: Can you awkwardly move your arms and legs, almost skipping around in a circle? Do you love suits and checkers? Well, then I have the band for you. The Aquabats are a ska-scene legend. One of the most high energy shows you are likely to see anywhere. If you want to see some people having a good time dancing, check this one out, even if you’re not into the whole ‘ska’ thing.

Sean McEvoy

They Call Me Tia

2011-03-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

With brothers and a sister who are a lot older than me, I became an aunt at a very young age. I was actually born one. Only two of the four born before me actually call me aunty. The other two call me by my name, but that’s because we were raised like brothers and sister due to some unfortunate events in our lives. Their mom is the sister I talk about in one of my earlier blogs (My Sister’s Killer).

Although I have a lot of nieces and nephews, I have never really been an aunt when I compare myself to what my aunts were like. When I was six, my niece and nephew, Omani and Stephan, were born, three months apart. They were the children of my mom’s two sons, each one had their own. Omani and Stephan were like little siblings for me. I was the youngest, but with them around, it never really felt like that. Even as we grew older, the six year age difference never allowed me to really be an aunt. They call me Tia, because my mom wanted them too, but again, it has been a name.

Whenever we all go on vacations—my parents, me, my brothers, and their families—my mom is always left with the kids when the adults go out. I always stayed with my mom too because I, myself, was still a kid. I shared my mom with them and helped her whenever she needed me to. During these vacations, my brothers pretty much forgot they had children. My mom was, and still is for that matter, in charge of the kids. She always carried food, clothes, and games for them. She took care of everything.

I could tell when she would become overwhelmed with them too. I would look at my brothers to see if they were going to step in and they never did. So I had to. Every time. And even though I say I feel like the older sister to Omani and Stephan, I often times feel like the mom too. I can tell when my mom is frustrated so I grab the kids and tell them to get ready. I help them with whatever I can and it relieves my mom of some of her stress. There were times where I would drop them off and pick them up from school. I took Stephan to a couple doctor’s appointments because my brother was at work. He thought my mom would do it, but she works too so I had to do it. In some respects I am doing what a Tia does, but it doesn’t always feel like it.

Two years ago, Stephan got a little sister, my niece Simaerah, and I finally get to be a Tia. I can babysit her whenever my brother and his wife go out and I can take her places to show her a good time. She loves to dance and always asks for me to put on music so we can play around the room. Being that I am older, I get to watch her grow and develop and can’t believe how quickly it’s happening. She is a mess and never fails to make me laugh when we spend time together. Sometimes I am left watching her, Stephan, and Omani when all of our parents go out together. With the age difference between my brothers and I, going out with them is not always my kind of fun so I choose to babysit. Our nights are filled with laughs and each of the kids enjoy each other. The older ones help me with diapers and bottles and once Simaerah falls asleep we fight back laughs so that we don’t wake her. It is really hard though. In those moments, I really do feel like the Tia I am.

Without my nieces and nephews, my life would be boring. And whether they feel like older brothers or younger siblings, or whether or not the word just feels like a title, I am what I am and that is Tia.

~Michelle Mitchell

Apartments, Houses and Lofts oh My!

2011-03-22T23:33:00.000-07:00

We all know it is one of the most frustrating things to have no where to live. This unfortunate occurance happened to me and my friend Katie and unfortunately it is still going on today. I mean I am not complaining, I have been very fortunate in my life to always have a roof over my head and a warm meal on the table. However, when it comes to finding living in Westchester, finding a home is proving to be quite difficult. At the moment I live off campus in a four bedroom home two blocks from the back gate of the college I attend. I am able to walk to class when I choose to do so or drive (which I normally choose to do because I am cursed with being late and never am ready on time to walk). The house is very nice and decently priced. I made it my home this year and was looking forward to once again living in it next year. My best friend Katie was always planned to move in when one of my roommates, a senior, was supposed to move out.

However, disaster struck when a roommate scandal took place and one acted like they were king of the castle and banished my best friend to another castle. I was disgusted, angry and cried fowl but a second roommate, one who was new to the castle (and should have been passed over) spoke up and stood by the disolusioned king's verdict. So I chose to leave with my friend and here we began our quest to find excaliber. We found a group three that wanted to become a group of five. We gladly accepted the additions and went on our way. We found countless houses but none were close enough for one of the three. Due to this we ended up having to split up. Now it is just Katie and I on our quest to find the perfect two bedroom.

The problem? Everything in this area is so ridiculously expensive! We have looked at houses, apartments, lofts, condos...anything you can think of and we have yet to land on anything worth while. While this has been a most trying quest, we both have found that all we want is to live with each other in a nice place that we can make our home, where we can be the queens of the castle! So we quest on and hope that soon we find our excaliber.

--Alyssa Bermudes

I Love Math

2011-03-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

http://xkcd.com/587/

I entered LMU as a major in Undecided Liberal Arts. During my first year and a half I toyed with studying psychology, English, sociology, economics, business… among others. However, none of them managed to ignite a passion in me. Half way through my sophomore year, I chose to study mathematics.

Since early high school, I have always enjoyed math. I occasionally found myself zoning out, thinking about patterns in numbers. For example, a few days ago, my professor helped me figure out that when you add up the digits of multiples of 11, alternating negative and positive signs, the sum is zero (e.g. 11 is 1-1, 11x13=143 is 1-4+3, etc.). There are infinite patterns to be found in math and that is a huge part of what I love about it. And then you find a way to show that that formula can never be proven wrong. It is a form of purity.

I realized that thinking about math in my free time was unusual, decided it had to mean something and started taking math classes again. This was not easy, I hadn’t studied math in almost two years and I was enrolled in three high-level math classes. Fortunately, most of it came back pretty quickly. When it got difficult, my professors were great with open office hours.

At LMU, I have been very lucky. While at some universities, the priorities of professors is research, the LMU math department is very much education oriented. I have yet to learn from someone whose first priority wasn’t his or her students. This being said, research opportunities also abound.

When I first decided to study math, I spoke with Dr. Herbert Medina about what classes to take. I explained that I really enjoyed finding patterns in numbers and was wondering if he could help guide me into a field that was a good fit. He provided some advice and a year later offered me a research opportunity in analysis with another student. We are now studying families of rational functions that yield polynomial approximations to the arctangent function, which help us find efficient formulas for computing pi. We examine different sequences of polynomials and try to find functions that are more efficient as well as try to find proficient ways for computing pi. While this likely sounds like gibberish to many, I really enjoy the work. It is challenging, as we don’t know if we are going to obtain the desired outcome. Thus, when breakthroughs have been made, I have been overwhelmed with excitement.

My professor, research partner and I are in the midst of making plans to continue our research for the next academic year and I will be able to write my thesis on it. I know that I most likely would not have been given a similar opportunity if I had attended a larger school, or even many other smaller schools. I cannot give the LMU math department enough praise; it has provided me with excellent education and experience. I still enjoy learning about other fields of education, but mathematics is the best fit for me and I am thrilled to have found that.

-Colleen Bouey

Myths on Saving Gas

2011-03-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

With today’s high gas prices, everyone wants to save money, but not everything people believe is actually true. According to fuel economy.gov and CNN Money, here are some common myths on how to save fuel.

For many years people have believed that warming up your car before driving will help it run smoother, and use less gas. If your driving a 1950 Chevy, then this applies to you, but most modern cars can be driven within seconds of turning your key- and will run just fine.

The belief that premium fuel will last longer is false! With high prices, premium is expensive- but many people use it because their driving manual recommends it, implying that they’ll get better gas millage. Remember it is recommended, not required, so your car won’t suffer like your wallet will. Modern vehicles automatically adjust spark plug timing when they detect different fuel intake. The only difference is in the horsepower, but no harm to your engine.

Manual transmissions save more fuel; unfortunately, this common myth does not apply today. Now automatic transmissions get the same or better millage as manuals. This is great news for people like me, who want to save but not work too hard driving.
Lastly, driving a small car does not guarantee you great gas millage! Surprising, yes, believable, yes of course! Hybrid technology, diesel injections, turbo-charging engines, low rolling resistant tires, and aerodynamic designs are found in many mid-sized cars and will use less gas then some small coupes. They're many fuel-saving urban legends out there, so be aware of the facts when trying to save gas.

-Yenitza Munoz

Daddy's Little Girl

2011-03-21T23:14:00.000-07:00

I grew up like the average minority family, broken. I spent the majority of my life under the nurturing care of my mother. My dad was on and off throughout my life. But I was lucky – if you want to call it lucky – because, “unfortunately”, my younger siblings saw even less of him during their childhood. You see, for about half of my life my dad would stick around for about three years, leave three years, come back for another, and, finally, he just started another family of his own and I really didn’t see him often after that last segment. Personally, if feel that I had the unfortunate short end of the stick because I became vulnerable twice, and twice was my heart torn apart – the last time into even more pieces than the time before. But who can blame me? I was so young and I yearned for the protection, love, and father-daughter moments that a dad is suppose to provide for his little girl.

While he was around, I must say, we had a lot of those moments together. He was the one who lead me to develop this passion I once had for basketball. He was my coach for a season and I remember the before-hour and after-hour practices: dribbling drills, suicides, shooting drills, you name it. He also taught me how to physically defend myself; he would use his arm (which was pretty huge and solid) as a punching bag and just let me go at it. He would shout, “harder, harder!” He would make sure that my feet were positioned right and I was forming my fist correctly so that I wouldn’t end up hurting myself. But what I loved most was at the end of the day, after all of the drilling and practicing, he would always put him arm around me and call me his little girl. That was so reassuring to me. By that statement I knew that he loved me and would always be there for me. But, I guess things aren’t always what they seem to be at the moment. That’s what they are to me now, just moments of a life I always wished for, memories of a life that barely existed.

It was difficult for me to adjust to the fact that dad was gone when he left the initial time (the first time that I remember). But I got use to it. However, it was so easy to receive him when he returned. Although, the last time he departed was a completely different story. I rejected all phone calls from him for an entire year! I felt as if he didn’t care about my siblings and I. I felt like he was playing with our emotions and that he was so selfish. I hated him for doing this to our family and for causing my mom to suffer. I was so furious, frustrated and disgusted by the very thought of him…so I did what made sense, I disowned him. Our relationship was so severed from that incident that I didn’t even tell him I got married - he was informed by a third party about a month or so after the fact.

I feel that I was kind of robbed of a portion of my childhood because I was forced to mentally grow up faster than the normal adolescent. My dad was a hot head and my mom wasn’t (and still isn’t) one to take his mess – or anybody’s for that matter. So, being the eldest child, my obligation was to console my younger brothers and sisters. I had to be strong for them so that when they looked at me they too could find strength and be reassured that everything will be all right.

As I became older, I realized that holding such a heavy grudge in my heart was unhealthy for me; hatred is so unhealthy. It hurts you more than the person you feel hate towards. Therefore I came to the conclusion that I need to forgive him for what he’s done because all those things have passed. It took a while, but I finally did. We are in the process of rebuilding our relationship now and he is making a huge effort to be in my brother’s life, which makes me even happier. I respect my father, I always have. What can I say; I’m his little girl.

- Cairesse Grimes

St. Patrick's Day 2011

2011-03-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

This past St. Patrick’s Day was exciting for two reasons. For one, this was the first St. Patrick’s Day I celebrated as a “legal alcohol consumer”; and two, I had the most eventful Irish holiday. To start off my morning, I woke up to my phone ringing at 4:00am. My old roommate was on the other end of the phone begging me to join her and three others at the local bar, Brennan’s around 6:00am. The problem: their plan was to beat the rush and be in line by 4:30am. I declined such insanity and went back to sleep.
Later that afternoon, I took my normal 12:00pm-1:00pm lunch break. Every Thursday I go to lunch with a good friend of mine, Eric. This Thursday was a bit different. Apparently when I went on break, there was some sort of weapon threat or warning going around campus. There were authorities everywhere and text messages were sent to students from Public Safety suggesting that each student barricade themselves. This message was sent in error, but Eric and I took advantage of the situation and went to get a drink at El Torito. This is where my day gets interesting.
After having a cocktail with Eric, we received a call that said campus was completely safe and we were okay to return. Buzzed from my Cadillac, I came back to work and carried out the rest of my day. At 5:02pm sharp, Eric and I met up again, only this time we were joined by two others. We went back to El Torito for happy hour and enjoyed approximately four margaritas each. Hey! They were only $3.00 and extremely strong. We departed El Torito around 7:30pm and continued our evening by going to Eric’s house. We invited more individuals over and began playing a drinking game called “Chandelier”.
This game involved red cups—the death of me.
That’s exactly what the night became. We continued to play, and I continued to lose. By this point it was about 9:00pm and the night had just begun. We all decided to stop at my brother’s house because he wanted us to participate in taking green shots of Svedka with him. We indulged in the free alcohol and chilled at his apartment for a while.
In order to keep everyone’s blood alcohol content levels high, we agreed to go to a bar in Culver City called Rush Lounge. Rush was the perfect place to be on St. Patrick’s Day. There was only a five minute wait to get into the actual bar and the drinks started flowing immediately. We danced and mingled at Rush until 2:00am. At that point, we were all heavily intoxicated and starving. Jack in the Box is so great after a long night of drinks and shots.
Silence filled the air of our car as soon as we pulled away from the drive through window practically swallowed our food. After arriving back to our friends house, I thought this was finally the end of my first official St. Patrick’s Day. Boy, was I wrong. The night continued until 5:00am with three rounds of beer pong. Had it not been for my body collapsing on me at 4:50am, I probably would have kept going.
I had a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day. You are probably wondering why I just told you about my drunken holiday, but there is a reason. Surprisingly enough, I learned something through my drunken night. I learned that upon embarking my 21st year of life, I have to enter with a mature mind and have consciousness of my surroundings. Yes, it’s fun to party and be belligerent from time to time, but I chose to write about my St. Patrick’s Day because I REMEMBER it. I was responsible; I had a designated driver throughout the night and even ensured that I only went to familiar places. Have fun, celebrate well, but stay safe!

-Brittnee Wadlington

2011-03-20T23:36:00.001-07:00

The Power of the Internet
by Aaron Frias

Music is a great thing, isn’t it? It allows the listener to just forget about the stresses of life and can unite a wide range of people. Go to any concert and the venue is filled with people with different religions, political views and personalities, but one thing they all have in common is the music. Humans have now entered into the digital age of communication and word spreads a lot faster than it did 100 years ago, hell 10 years ago. With that comes along YouTube, a website dedicated to making the average Joe a viral celebrity. Aspiring musicians have taken advantage of said website and a handful found success. One of the recent discoveries from the site goes by the name of Rebecca Black.
Miss Black is also an aspiring musician and her one music video currently has about 20 million views. Sounds pretty good, right? It should sound great, except for the fact that she has become a national joke that words can’t even begin to describe. It’s not because she’s 13 years old or for the genre of music. No, it’s the awful music video and atrocious lyrics. You haven’t heard BAD lyrics until you’ve listened to this song. The song involves an overly excited girl who’s happy that it’s finally Friday. The viewer gets a look of her daily routine, waking up in the morning (and for some reason she wears her makeup when she goes to sleep) has her bowl of cereal, goes to the bus stop waiting for a bus and then her underage friends show up in a convertible to pick her up. Seriously, the driver can’t even see over the steering wheel. But, she has her first dilemma of the day? Which seat can she take? Hmm, well considering that the car is a 5-seater and 4 of the seats are taken up, I think the choice is made for you already.
One of the big problems with this video is the fact that it literally follows the lyrics. Every word that she sings correlates with the video, and that gets annoying. Here’s a sample of her musical genius: “7am, waking up in the morning, Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs, Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal, Seein’ everything, the time is goin’, Tickin’ on and on, everybody’s rushin’, Gotta get down to the bus stop, Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends” Wow.
Despite how bad the video and song are, it’s become a viral hit. Hate it or love it, this young girl is getting paid handsomely for a dumb song. But that goes back to my point about word spreading quickly. The song has inspired Facebook groups, covers, remakes, and even a website dedicated to this one song. Websites like these are what made Justin Bieber and Soulja Boy famous. The more people that spread the video and talk about the musician, it gains the attention of record companies. Regardless, even though technology has made entertainment easier to obtain, the money is all where it boils down to. Business and music is such an unfortunate marriage that can never get divorced, but it’s the way our world works. It’s proven that bad music can still make money, despite if millions poke fun of it. The musician gets the last laugh on their way to the bank. Luckily, there are many artists and bands that aren’t motivated by the greenbacks and play for the sake of music. These hidden gems in our industry are the ones worth listening to.

(un)certain futures

2011-03-20T20:07:00.000-07:00

I have a secret. It might even apply to you, depending on what your in to. I for one love life. This is not the secret. The fact my life may not end for a few hundred, thousand, or potentially infinite number of years may come as a surprise though. The quest for immortality has long been yearned for in the human conscious, portrayed through the arts and researched in the sciences. So far, what has remained on this Earth have been our bones and additions to culture, but as Woody Allen remarked, “ I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it by not dying.”
Futurist, inventor, and absolute genius Ray Kurzweil is at the forefront of the Singularity movement. The Singularity is essentially the point in time where computers (artificial intelligence) surpass human intelligence. Kurzweil estimates this date around 2045. It is a massive idea to try and comprehend, especially given that our personal computers, though shiny and fast, couldn’t write a term paper or blog post if their battery life depended on it. But, as Moore’s Law has accurately stated thus far, “the number of transistors on a chip will double about every two years”. Basically, technology grows at an exponential rate, a figure that continues to increase in speed as speed increases.
Aubrey de Grey is the Chief Science Officer for SENS (Strategies for Engineered Negligible Senescence Foundation), a group determined to reverse the effects of aging. The focus is on regenerative medicine, attacking the negative side effects from metabolism that deteriorate our bodies. De Grey estimates that within 15 years, every year of his research will effectively add one year to the lifespan. One of his estimations that shocked me most was that he believes the first 150 year old human will be born just 15 years earlier than the first 1000 year old human. There will come a time when our bloodstreams will be patrolled by nanobots, miniscule machines capable of destroying harmful bacterias while regulating bodily processes. Of course, all of these estimations are subject to time, technology, and ultimately, funding for research. The emergence of superintelligence in the form of advanced computers and the blending of human and machine may be the catalyst to immortal life, or our potential downfall.
There are many people strongly opposed to the idea of an immortal life. What if I get bored? What if I miss out on an afterlife? A deal with the devil mentality also is posited when considering whether an immortal life would be worthwhile in the servitude of a superior class of machinated overseers. Would they be friendly? Or would they break us down purely for resource? The design for friendly AI is most assuredly in the programming, but who’s to say how the computers will feel about that. Regardless, the idea for superintelligence is there and will be acted upon in due time, with possibilities for an immortal and theoretically perfect life outweighing the risks of human annihilation.

Weston Finfer

Preserving the sanctity of marriage? Think again.

2011-03-19T18:59:00.000-07:00

Jesse James destroyed it; Charlie Sheen made a mockery of it; Britney Spears shot-gunned it; and Larry King has pulled his trigger on it seven times. You can probably guess that what I’m talking about, in all its profound beauty, is your modern American wedding. People marry for all kinds of reasons, whether for convenience, out of logic or common lifestyle, or because there’s suddenly a beautiful little bundle of baby on the way. Whatever the reason may be, it seems that all too often what is missing is real, undying love and the true commitment to everything that marriage is.

However, I’m not going to continue this as a cynical rant about the outrageous divorce rate in the US or the reasons why marriages don’t last. As someone who has watched my parents, married for 27 years, fall more and more in love with each other all the time, I fully believe in the beauty and importance of marriage. What I do not believe in, however, are the legal restrictions that make such a profound bond inaccessible to certain members of society.

The other day I was talking to a student who is not only active in community service but also passionate about social issues ranging from homelessness in LA to protecting child soldiers in Uganda. While in conversation, he said something in passing that really bothered me. What he happened to mention was his devotion to Christianity and thus his support of Proposition 8. If you aren’t aware of what Prop 8 was, which I’m sure you are, it was a provision to the Constitution in 2008 that declared only marriages between a man and woman legally recognized in California. So here was this student, going on and on about his passion for making the world a better place but all I could think about was the fact that he was in staunch support of such a blatantly oppressive measure. Naturally, I asked him about it. I asked him how it made sense for him to be so passionate about the liberation of certain individuals while at the same time supporting the oppression of others. His answer? After a pause and a furrow of the brow, which I am assuming was out of shock, he said this: “Well… um… I mean the sanctity of some things just has to be preserved and one of those things is marriage.”

Okay, seriously? What I have the most trouble understanding is why that always has to be the answer. “The sanctity of marriage must be preserved.” Does anybody actually think about what that means or do they just spit it out because it’s the textbook answer? Here’s the truth: the sanctity of marriage is not going to be destroyed by a man and a man or a woman and a woman marrying each other. Men and women who cheat on each other, who resort to dishonesty to avoid their real problems, and who disregard the vow that they made when they had faith in love on their wedding day: these are the vices that “destroy” the “sanctity” of marriage every day. The point isn’t to shake a finger at failed marriages but to rather highlight the fact that we are all human. We love, we fail, we get hurt, we make mistakes, and regardless of what type of person we love there is the hope of forever but the possibility of an end. I’m not being cynical, just real. It’s a reality that we must face and a reality that deserves to be fought for. Marriage is rooted in a deep bond of love and should be, without a doubt, celebrated. However, the exclusivity of such a union is not only unjust but also counterintuitive to what love is. Marriage is an absolute celebration of love that must be accessible to everyone, regardless of who they are or who they love. To those who claim that marriage between two men or women would be the absolute end to the “sanctity” of marriage, I urge them to take an open-eyed look at the state of marriage in our country today and to think again. Forget what religion tells you for a second and pay attention to what your humanity tells you. To those who boast doing good for humanity in pursuit of “peace” while still supporting the oppression of certain groups, I wish they would realize that we can only attempt to reach such “peace” through working for justice—which means justice and liberation for every person in this country. If you really and truly think about these things, analyze the concepts, and try to see different viewpoints—if you do this and you still emerge with the same beliefs— then I commend you for using your own intellect rather than blindly following in someone’s footsteps.

So yes, clearly I do think that restricting marriage to certain groups is oppressive and is a fight worth taking on. However, I think the point here goes deeper than that. I do not wish to condemn any religion for its beliefs or practices but rather emphasize the importance of thinking critically for oneself. The issues that our country and our world face are many and they depend on our abilities to be responsible global citizens. Such responsibility entails opening our eyes and being brave enough to question oppressive “tradition” and change the world in the way that we want to see it progress. As Desmond Tutu once said, “When we see others as the enemy, we risk becoming what we hate. When we oppress others, we end up oppressing ourselves. All of our humanity is dependent upon recognizing the humanity in others."

Mallory Massie

What Would YOU Do At A Moment's Notice?

2011-03-18T23:34:00.000-07:00

Have you ever driven by a car accident and not known what to do? Do I call 911? Did someone else already call? Do I stop? That is exactly what was running through my mind today as I was driving with my roommate. We were going about our business driving down Sepulveda and to the right of us there was a blue car flipped over. Instinctively I wanted to help but I didn’t know what to do. We had seen a man jump out of his car and run to the blue car that was resting on its roof. My roommate and I looked at each other and decided to call 911. As the 911 operator answered they knew exactly where the accident was, however, they did not know if someone was still in the car. We had just planned to call in, however, we decided to turn around. We turned around and raced back to back to the small street. Unfortunately, the light was red so we sat there helpless while a sea of cars raced past us on both sides. Just then, two police officers came speeding up to the accident. We drove away as there were people already by the car and we were no longer needed. Though this may seem a bit anti climatic it still has me thinking.
As we drove away I began to put myself in the blue sedan as if I was the person that was in the car. Though there were a couple people that had pulled over to see if they could help so many more had driven by. There have been so many times when I have driven by or been in a car where you drive by and think that someone else has already called 911 or is already helping the person. I began to think that if I was lying there stuck in the car that I would want anyone and everyone to help me. Though that seems a bit narcissistic I am sure that many of you who are reading this would want the same type of help.
So why is it that we have to go through this process of self-interrogation before we decide to dial emergency services. I am still not sure. It may be some fear of being involved and having to stay at the scene, be a witness, and even having to deal with the incident later on down the road. I thought about all those things today, however, each time I came to point where the person’s life that I could have helped was much more important than my busy schedule. I found myself like many others do, thinking about the repercussions of what is going to happen to me rather than what is going to happen to this person who may be stuck in the car or grasping on to the last threads of their life. There is a great deal that I learned in the short five minutes that it took me to see the accident, dial 911, turn around, and drive away from the scene. Though there were other people who called today, to help that blue sedan who’s to say that you or I may be the one person who found five minutes to help someone or better yet save another person’s life.

by Alyssa Silva

Air Travel-Worth the Trouble?

2011-03-18T08:04:00.000-07:00

At one time, air travel was a luxury, an occasion. Nowadays, trips to the airport are obligatory, dreaded, and uneventful (for most, at least). It used to be that people would put on their best clothes in hopes of being seen at the airport, whereas now airports are crowded with people in sweatpants, jeans, and even pajamas. Not that that’s bad (well, I wouldn’t choose to go out in public in pajamas, but to each his own), but it certainly highlights the evolution of travel, from a symbol of status to a relatively commonplace occasion.
I personally, cannot stand air travel. It’s not that I’m afraid of flying, like many are; I simply don’t have the patience for it. All you do at the airport is wait. You wait to check in, and you’d better hope your bag is under 50 pounds, or you’ll be paying 50 dollars instead of the newly-mandated 25 to get it on the plane with you. Then you wait in the security line, and if you’re like me, you always end up behind someone who doesn’t understand that water is liquid and therefore not allowed on the plane, and even though your laptop is already out of its sleeve and in its own plastic bin, your car keys have been taken out of your pocket, and there is nothing protecting your feet from the filthy carpet, you are at a stand-still in front of the x-ray machine, wondering how the person in front of you doesn’t understand basic airport protocol. You wait at the gate, but of course you don’t have enough time to get anything significant done before they call your boarding group. You get on the plane, where the person seated in front of you immediately reclines his chair into your knees (especially uncomfortable if you’re tall like me), even though he knows the flight attendant will ask him to put his seat back up for take off. If you’re really lucky, there’s a crying baby somewhere on the plane, of course it doesn’t matter where, because the cacophony reverberates throughout the cabin regardless. Long flights endow you with the privilege of the in-flight meal. Last time I was offered a frittata, which I politely declined. Hungry as I may have been, I certainly wasn’t hungry enough. Hope you weren’t planning on suppressing your hunger through sleep, because you will be woken up by the woman in the window seat, trying to plow through you en route to the bathroom. Twice. They finally land the plane and people take their sweet time getting up, and of course a woman sitting in the row in front of you insists on beating you into the aisle, but can’t get her bag out of the overhead compartment, and the man across the aisle doesn’t help her because he wants to get out even faster than you do, and nobody has manners anymore anyway. You wait for your bags at the claim, you consider yourself lucky if they come out of the carousel at all, as your bags have been lost or left in the location of your departure more times than seem likely.
It’s hard to believe that traveling wasn’t always so unpleasant. As technology evolves, people get much more innovative in the ways they choose to sabotage air travel, so many of the inconveniences are preemptive strikes on terrorism, but somehow, people always find new and creative ways to disobey FAA regulations, so we have many more inconveniences to look forward to as time goes on! So the next time you’re being air scanned or patted down in front of your fellow travelers, or the lovely woman in her official airport employee outfit (complete with badge and photo ID!) throws away your hundred dollar bottle of perfume that you ever-so-conveniently forgot to take out of your purse, you can thank those who, in choosing to terrorize America, have also chosen to terrorize you as an individual.

-Kelsey Laubscher

Homeless Court: LA

2011-03-16T18:15:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles is the global model for the American lifestyle. Our culture is exported from L.A., where people see clean streets, beautiful houses, and a vibrant nightlife. But we have a secret. Los Angeles is also home to the largest concentrated homeless population in the United States. Skid Row, 50 square blocks of downtown, is where we herd those who are most in need. It is here that they find themselves victims of gang violence, drug wars, and even prostitution. However, there is a less noticeable but extremely important problem plaguing the homeless: criminalization.

Living on the streets is a life more challenging than most of us will ever know. It is a daily struggle for survival and human connection that sometimes necessitates breaking laws for good reasons. For example, a large percentage of L.A.’s homeless have been issued tickets for jaywalking, riding the metro with no fare, and loitering. With a criminal record it is difficult to return to society and gain employment and housing. Is it beneficial for Los Angeles to criminalize a group of people who are already living on the fringe of society?

The Los Angeles Homeless Court doesn’t think so. Their mission is to hold monthly court sessions in areas like Skid Row were minor charges can be dismissed in exchange for commitments to rehabilitation and job training programs. The concept is simple: allow the homeless an opportunity to reenter society as self-sufficient citizens. Employers often pass over applications that show any sort of criminal record, even if the crime was as minor as jaywalking. At a time when unemployment is as high as it has been in decades, checking that box could mean missing out on a job.

So do we want to keep the homeless homeless, or do we want to provide every avenue for self-improvement we can? On a technical level, Homeless Court helps get people off the street, but there is more to this than just landing a job. Orlando Ward now works at Midnight Mission, but he used to be homeless. Reflecting on his charges, Ward says, “It's the emotional side. The court is recognizing that I have changed. I have overcome this. It does an awful lot for your self-esteem.”

Treating the homeless with a sense of humanity needs to be the foundation of all rehabilitation measures. Blaming and judging will get us nowhere because we need the homeless to believe they are valuable, and not a detriment to society. One simple way to do this is to see them as people, not as criminals. Next time you meet someone down on their luck, don’t be afraid to treat them like a human being.

Sean McEvoy

Little Bouey

2011-03-15T20:26:00.000-07:00

Middle school and high school were very awkward times for me. I experienced huge changes in academics, friendships and romance. While I knew I was not alone in this regard, it did not make it any less of a long, uncomfortable transition into the adult life. I certainly look back on this time and cringe at embarrassing and immature behavior. My 16-year-old brother, Adam, on the other hand, embraces the strange parts about him, managing to make him even more confident.

For example, when he was in the 8th grade he came with my mom, my sister and me to see Mamma Mia! in theatres. It may strike you the rarity of a teenage boy even going to see the film with his female relatives, but I was even more shocked to find him a couple hours later, getting ready for football practice as he sang, “Mamma Mia, here I go again. My, my, how can I resist you” I shouldn’t have been surprised: he felt happy and was not afraid to show it.

A benefit of such self-assurance was that the ladies did not hesitate to flock to my brother. I heard about several of his girlfriends in middle school before he declared, “I’m done with middle school girls.” He explained that he was having difficulty finding girls cute when they never stopped giggling. Unfortunately, he found that many girls continue this behavior well through high school.

About a year ago, he was feeling pretty good about a potential love interest. She proposed the concept of being “friends with benefits” to him because she didn’t want to be in a relationship. 15 years old, I remind you. While this is a dream come true for many men, in high school as well as college, Adam rejected the offer because he wanted the relationship. 15 years old!

Over the summer, my family went on a cruise in the Mediterranean. While my older siblings and I timidly kept to ourselves for the most part, Adam walked around the ship for two full days trying to connect with kids his age. When he finally did, we saw him walking around with a mix of boys and girls. Being older siblings, we naturally harassed him every night when he returned to the room, “So, you get any boob?” His response was always an apathetic “No.” Yet back in Verona he grabbed the breast of the bronze statue of Juliet for a photo opportunity. He laughs at himself.

When I was visiting home for Spring break, there was one night that we had a family dinner. Adam was absent, however, for a birthday party. When he returned, we asked him how it was and he said, “It was fun. No boob,” before he began to brag about his skills on the dance floor. And he had every right to brag. He managed to pull off some of the goofiest dance moves you can imagine with no shame. He also played up some seduction by performing the rope and lasso move on a girl who was sitting in a chair a few feet away. When he threw the imaginary lasso around her, he swept his foot around and hooked it under the chair so he pulled her closer as he was pretending to pull the lasso. His unsuspecting prey was speechless for a few seconds before she noticed and laughed with the surrounding audience.

I wonder on a regular basis how my little brother is so much more natural in the field of romance than any of his siblings. I like to think he has observed and learned from our victories and defeats, but it’s essentially who he is. I would love to be a strong role model for Adam, but it is difficult to set an example for the people you often find yourself looking up to.

-Colleen Bouey

Turning Twenty-One

2011-03-15T12:21:00.000-07:00

Over this past week of spring break, I was fortunate enough to share my 21st birthday with friends, family and my boyfriend. Two of my closest friends flew with me to Atlanta, Georgia where my father resides. Many of the friends I already have there in the city met up with me on Saturday, March 5th. We celebrated late that evening to ensure I brought in my birthday (March 6th) the right way. I arrived into Atlanta on Wednesday and partied every single night I was there. I was stoked to have my friends with me for each and every minute of my birthday week.
By Friday, I was partied out and felt that resting until Saturday evening might be the best option. Little did I know that my boyfriend would arrive earlier than expected. He drove down from Michigan on Thursday evening and arrived to my house on Friday morning. As soon as he and his friend got to my house we began to party more. Later Friday night we even went to a club to continue our partying streak. My friends all loved my boyfriend although some of them had never met him.
After my boyfriend and his friend drove down I had a total of nine individuals staying at my house, with five cars parked in my driveway. From morning to night, it was a party with everyone staying under one roof and managing to share three full bathrooms.
This was the least of the wildness that would occur over my birthday weekend.
On Saturday March 5th at 9:00pm, I threw a pre-party. Twenty-two people arrived at my house and began “pre-gaming” until 10:00pm. At exactly 10:01pm the 24 passenger party bus arrived to my house. I was really excited by this point. We all loaded onto the party bus and headed out to Club Life. This club is located downtown in the heart of the city. Although it was quite rainy, getting into the club was hassle free. Upon entering the club, our party was directed to the Red Room—a VIP lounge area in the club. Before I could even sit down, there were three bartenders bringing us champagne with sparklers on top of each bottle! For the rest of the night we partied until about 3:00am. I had the best birthday ever, but more so the 21st birthday I have always dreamed of.
Despite the hang over and headache the next morning, I was extremely satisfied with the evening. Everything went so well and I had the time of my life. Later Sunday evening all of my guests began departing from Atlanta to return home. I will never forget my 21st birthday! Based on my birthday celebration, I can conclude that everyone enjoys to have the 21st birthday they dream of. You only get one day out of an entire lifetime, to celebrate turning 21. This is a stage in one’s life where they truly feel like things are changing and they are maturing into a solid adult. Turing twenty-one was great, but it also taught me that my responsibility level is much higher than when I was sixteen years old.
You only get one chance at life, so be sure to make the most of it!
-Brittnee Wadlington

The Rhythm of Human Experience

2011-03-15T10:20:00.000-07:00

It’s finally time to write,
A way for me to speak
A tone and sound for you to hear
A way for you to see and feel

Directly, although indirectly.
Let’s hope you connect with me
On the topic of how we are to be
A human nature we have and we see

Rhythm

Anything but my life in ruins
And I, as still as a tree, unknowingly
I have been lost to seclusion
As so as you, lost in a musical allusion

But with a rhythmic flow of love
For without it and you, I am nothing
And you without me too
Allusion of rhythm
Seclusion if not accepting the flow

Human

On this day the sun has risen, the sun has set
But I have so much to write yet
We could dance and we could sing!’
We are human beings

Nothing would stop us until the sound is no more
For it has been said, “If not to dance, why all this music?”
Oh, dear love, come let us use it!

We could dance and we could sing, all day and all night,
We could rock and we could sway until black is light!
A sweet rhythm or an enchanting tune,
Is all we need for a human mood.
But by then I see us dancing under the moon,
Let the stars have their say on this fateful day,
Where there is me and you

Experience

I have learned of life, I have learned of you
It is our time to witness the power of life
So, let’s take up our problems - and dance
We have so much to live for, and with each other, even more!

Let us lay our experiences out
Let them flow through the rhythmic sound
See how love flows in the hearts of those found
But I guess that’s just it.
A human experience in a world through sound

-Yenitza Munoz

A Story told to me by a friend and now i retell

2011-03-15T00:36:00.000-07:00

Every day feels like the night making the darkness all consuming. I draw the shades down to hide the promise of a new day, a new life. It is all a lie. Why look at a false hope hiding inside a beam of light that kisses your face while simultaneously lying to your heart. Today I wear my usual black cardigan because it covers the history I long to forget, the past that haunts my future. Every line on my arm has a story on a page I yearn to burn. Occasionally I do. It wasn’t always like this. I used to be able to bask in the sun just like you; to smile just like you. But that was before the screaming started. Before the nights where I clung to my pillow for a little bit of relief from the constant hate that filled my ears. I couldn’t take it. I didn’t understand why it was happening or why it never seemed to stop. We use to be happy; we used to live. Momma blamed me. She screamed it was my fault he was doing this, my fault he hated her so; hated us. She called me the mistake, the curse, the unwanted creature that cast darkness into her life. I didn’t want to believe her but daddy said it too. He took to bottle every night then lost himself in fits of rage. Momma would fall and cower as his aggression turned him into a beast that could not be tamed. One-day daddy took it too far and his anger got him sent to prison. Momma blamed me. I believed it was my fault. I was there; I was the unwanted. Momma said when daddy hit her he wished he was hitting me. Momma said she protected me by letting him strike her so and now he is gone and she would trade a million of me for one more day with him. That day came. I woke up Monday morning and momma was not there. Today is Friday and momma is still not here. So I wait, hiding the light and it’s promise that never comes.

--Alyssa Bermudes

America, Oh America

2011-03-15T00:10:00.000-07:00

I have a bone to pick with America’s health care system, but it’s very frustrating to even discuss because there is really nothing I can do about it. America prides itself on being the land of the free and the land of opportunity. Americans pride themselves on living in the world’s greatest country. But is she as great as her citizens perceive her to be? I personally do not think so in regards to nurturing her children. Health care has been an issue even before I was birthed into this earth and the issue continues to place politicians and citizens into a bottomless pit of stress and heartache. My question is what is stopping our government from converting our health care system from private to government owned and operated like Europe. If this type of system is proven to be beneficial to both the government through taxes and the public via worry free health care, why haven’t our leaders made moves towards this way?

People die of treatable illnesses every single day because of the lack of financial support for proper health care. That to me is appalling given that we, as a nation, have been given the right to pursue happiness, but in order to actualize that right one must be healthy and strong to do so. Unfortunately, due to the current state of our system, many of the people of America do not or did not have the chance to see this right come into fruition. Currently in America, according to costhelper.com, the cost for an uninsured family to have a child is any where from $9,000 – $25,000; teeth cleaning at a dentist would cost anywhere from $100 - $1600, need I say more? Without good health insurance, who would want to even step foot into a doctor’s or dentist’s office, let alone a specialist’s office? I know I wouldn’t. This is what is frustrating because, not only do I not have any ideas on how to initiate reform effectively, but as time passes, people are getting closer and closer to death and even more people are loosing their lives. What is the problem?

I have a small inclination that the government is terrified of loosing the money they gain from these pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and other industries in the health care arena and I am pretty sure that taxpayers will not have a party about an increase in taxes either. Why is America so cold and heartless? Why do we value our currency over our fellows? Why are we so driven by personal gain, wealth, and status so much so that it clouds or suppresses the humanly innate characteristic of help? These values are rooted in America and I personally think that the roots are too deep to pull out.

My only hope is that something changes quickly concerning this issue so that we won’t have to wait another two to six years for someone else to come in and perpetuate the cycle of only attempting to get rid of the symptoms but not solve the problem.

- Cairesse Grimes

2011-03-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

Aaron Frias
Thank you Mike Judge

Whether someone claims that they don’t watch television is lying when they say that they don’t have at least one favorite show. They are most certainly aware of an invention called television and on this invention they show shows. (Pulp Fiction) Those who are couch potatoes are fully aware of what shows are definitely worth watching and which ones will get cancelled after two episodes. Let’s rewind time back to the early to mid 1990s, back when MTV was actually called Music Television. Now days, MTV is enjoying their loads of money thanks to stupid shows like “Jersey Shore” but I won’t get into that again. (Read my last blog) But back in the 90s, it was actually cool to say that one watches MTV. During these golden years of said channel, a simple show created by Mike Judge changed the television industry as we know it. It was about two high school dimwits who don’t have a clue about life while laughing at nearly everything and nothing in front of their beloved television. I’m talking, of course, about “Beavis and Butthead”, a show that had such a huge cult following that fans have been begging for it to come back on the air ever since the series ended.
When “Beavis and Butthead” ended, Judge was busy at work working on his new show on Fox called, “King of the Hill”. Usually regarded as Judge’s most subtle yet cleverest work he’s done in his career, the show often gets a bad reputation. Fans of Judge got an idea of his sense of humor with “Beavis and Butthead” and expected “King of the Hill” to be just as funny. Being that I’m fans of both shows, the comparison of humor is vastly different from one another. At the end of the day, “Beavis and Butthead” is simple yet ingenious at the same time. Anyone can make a show about two stupid friends, but Judge creates them so vividly and lifelike that you completely forget that one is watching a cartoon. When the show ended in 1996, fans have desperately wanted the dynamic duo to come back on the air, and just recently Judge announced that they will be making a glorious return. Not only that, but they are returning to MTV.
For those who don’t watch the show religiously, (It’s on Netflix Instant Stream) the show consists of two high school metal heads that are completely oblivious to everything and everyone surrounding them. They don’t care about their futures because they are living for each individual moment and their life passes them by in front of the television. One of the great things about the show when it first aired in the 1990s was the fact that it was one of the few shows to air on a music channel that wasn’t actually about music. However, the characters Beavis and Butthead usually watch actual music videos that MTV would air regularly. With that, the two would constantly make fun of the videos if they didn’t like the genre of song. In addition, they always wear the same clothes, as most cartoon characters do, sporting their Metallica and AC/DC shirts. Even though the boys are completely idiotic, they have a keen taste in music. With the new episodes that Judge says will come out Fall of 2011, the boys will of course watch more music videos. (My God I can’t wait to see what they say about Lady Gaga and that Bieber kid) Also, they will watch UFC fights, YouTube videos and will watch “Jersey Shore”. It was about time that MTV did something worthy for their channel. At this point, I think that they too miss their old selves that they used to be. “Beavis and Butthead” was a HUGE reason why it was cool to say that one watches the channel. I look forward to seeing the return of quality television returning. The nostalgic feeling is taking over my brain and I love every second of it.

Pleasant Time

2011-03-14T00:19:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting on the sand at Dockweiler Beach and it is 10am. It was a spur of the moment thing. Instead of making a right onto LMU Drive, I continued straight and made my way here. It’s incredibly calm and serene and the weather is perfect! I am just sitting here listening to the waves crash and the seagulls cry out while I write this blog in my notebook – where seagulls usually irritates the crapiola out of me, today is different, it’s like listening to one of those ocean sound CD’s. There are birds resting on the ocean’s surface, enjoying the time to themselves, so care free. I even see a family of dolphins frolicking in the water about 50 – 60 meters from the shore line.
What a pleasant idea to think of living a care free life, just riding the waves of time and catching the wind as it blows. I love coming to the beach because it paints that type of atmosphere for me. The sounds of nature and the beauty of God’s creations place me into a fairytale, allowing me to escape life for the time being. I am in a sort of dream world, forgetting about the stresses of school and complex situations that life so graciously yields. I am able to think clearly and organize my thoughts with simplicity. Here, it is so easy for me to forgive, appreciate, and love because everything around me seems to draw the negative thoughts, feelings, and energy out of me and replaces that void space with joy, bliss, and peace.
Looking at the water, I perceive it to be so refreshing and it is very tempting to jump right in. Too bad I don’t have extra clothes in the car or else it would have been a done deal.
I lived in the San Fernando Valley for the majority of my life, minus the three years I lived out here for school. My mom loves going to the beach, frankly, she just loves to travel – guess that’s where I get my travel bug from. So every now and then – more than most valley residents actually – she would take my siblings and me to the beach, regardless of the long 405 drive. We went to Redondo and Manhattan Beach most of the time. My mom also ventured off into boondocks beaches like Zero Beach, which, to this day, I still do not know where exactly that beach is. Sad I know, especially when I have something called “Google” at my fingertips.
My mom calls us her fish kids for a reason. We were always in some body of water swimming and having a blast. The beach is such a wonderful place to be. I fell in love with it back then and I love it even more now. My hope is to share this love with my kids someday to give them a place to escape and enjoy as well. What a great way to start a beautiful day.

- Cairesse Grimes

Head Over Water

2011-03-13T23:37:00.000-07:00

The 8.9 magnitude earthquake and subsequent catastrophes occurring in Japan has the world’s attention and empathy. At this time, an upwards of 10,000 people are thought dead, approximately $35billion dollars is estimated in damages, and the country is far from regaining any stability. Turn on a news channel to find the incredible power of the Pacific Ocean plowing through cityscape and countryside alike. It is in times of crisis such as this that we see the progress of humanity in terms of technological advancement responding to natural disasters.
Following the devastating 1995 Kobe earthquake, Japan tightened building codes to include hydraulic pads, spring dampening systems, and reinforced steel bracings to withstand the numerous tremors of the region. These preventative measures, along with mandated earthquake and tsunami evacuation drills, helped to limit the death toll in this crisis. While the rest of the world is seemingly up in arms, eyewitness account relays that the demeanor of the Japanese people in areas affected has been relatively calm. Social networking has been a key tool for communication and rescue efforts, with Twitter reporting an upwards of 1200 tweets per minute in Japan currently. Other websites such as Google’s People Finder--which allows users to either search for missing persons or submit information about individuals whereabouts--and Youtube’s Citizen Tube--providing up to date videos and reporting about breaking news in the world--have opened networks to a seamless worldwide communication.
This level of accessibility to witness natural disasters essentially firsthand has increased public awareness exponentially. Along with the awareness comes a heightened sense of vulnerability. If Japan--a country so prepared for both earthquake and tsunami dangers--is still declaring the worst crisis since WWII, it makes other fault-proximate regions question their preparation. California has been well aware of the damages from medium strength earthquakes and has implemented many stricter building codes, but none have surpassed the 8 magnitude for over a century. How the state, or West Coast in general, would respond to the next big earth quake--considered long overdue by the Southern California Earthquake Center--is questionable. The evacuation procedures so evident in Japan are largely unimplemented stateside, leaving huge vulnerabilities in the way that citizens would be fending for themselves in a free for all manner. A surging tidal wave through the streets of Los Angeles would be pure anarchy, especially given the lack of alert systems for immediate threats and lack of practical experience in evading these disasters. Perhaps the most significant danger is the status of Japan’s nuclear reactors, which have remained largely safe even with the onslaught of quakes and waves and explosions. Questions of efficient energy sources aside, the potential for nuclear fallout is a massive issue and one that relates to local preparation, given the proximity of San Onofre’s nuclear plant to all of Southern California.
Ultimately, natural disasters are an inevitability that can only be addressed with proper preparation and a quick rescue response. Along with sending thoughts and prayers to victims of the disaster, donations of money and supplies are greatly needed. Citizens surviving in ravaged districts now face immense shortages of food and water. Websites such as Charity Navigator provide extensive evaluations of legitimate charities to send donations through. Please do as much as you feel possible in assisting fellow humans revive their well-being in the face of such tribulation.

Weston Finfer

Why, oh why?

2011-03-12T21:46:00.000-08:00

By: Jordan Bunger

There’s been a hell hole of a low to start out with. The last day was horribly terrifying. It shook me back to those years of strangeness. I was fighting with myself. I couldn’t let the negativity go. It hurt me to be thrown back into the thick of it, to return to a lonely side of myself.

I don’t want to return there again. I don’t want it to be so bad again. I never want it again. I need to break on through to make sure it doesn’t. So, this is a challenge to myself, a goal to move forward - to not forget the pain of the last day, the return to the strange. I’m going to take it with me and keep it close by. We’ll work on this and grow stronger. We’ll take the problems, feelings, thoughts, all-up-in-my-head-ness, dirty dipping doubt, and find the lessons in between. We’ll take those and do some dirty work. It won’t be consistent growth or constant entertainment. It’s going to be rough. I’ll study these lessons, apply them and break on through. Then, when I seem over it, it’ll all come back, in a new way. It will show me a hole in the master plan, a flaw I didn’t see before. The strangeness will creep back up and it will hurt bad. All the work I had done will seem to be thrown away. There will be no more confidence in my own abilities. The dirty dipping doubt will arise, strong, decisive, confident, sure of itself as much as I was sure of myself the moment before it crept up.

The seesaw battle between heaven and hell will never stop. While good sleeps, evil plots and plans. The one on top is always envied for their status. When I am feeling my flow so well, I see myself on top of the world. The strangeness seems too far to catch back up with me. I forget it doesn’t sleep while I do. It’s constantly at work to gain an edge any moment I’m riding the breeze. And when I’ve ridden too long, I feel it grip me out of my comfort and drag me out of the way. I fall to the side, retreating to my thoughts. And slowly, it takes over. When I let it control me, I turn distant. I live a life of interaction and contact with an outside world that is completely inside my head. I get too deep down in the muddy dirt, so far from where I should be. I should be kicking it with all of you, holding it down out front, but I take myself out too early and they miss me. I miss me.

What did I say earlier though? The seesaw battle never ends. Now I am the underdog. I am coming out from under, hidden down below too long. The one on top will now be asleep while I fight for my rights back. I am going to return, and I will be stronger than before. I don’t want to stay down low so my next step is to rise. This is where we need to do work. We need to cover up the holes of this recent set back, recover, and learn the lessons it’s trying to teach.

Let’s do it.

Gas Price Spike

2011-03-11T00:54:00.000-08:00

With the increasing political and social unrest in many parts of the Middle East as well as Northern Africa, the media is beginning to blame their actions on the recent gas price increase. More specifically, networks such as FOX, CNN, and MSNBC, claims that the sharp increase of oil prices are mostly due to the civil war outbreak in Libya. New York Times reports that a rising number of officials in Washington are urging President Obama to release millions barrels of oil from our 727 million-barrel Strategiv Petroleum Reserve (SPR) With the gas prices rising 33 cents a gallon only in the last month, it's a very tempting idea, but do we really need to? Is the civil unrest in Libya even the problem? The answer to both is no. Americans seem to believe that most of our oil comes from the Middle East, but actually the highest percentage of oil reserves comes from our Canadian neighbors. Libya represents a mere 0.5% of U.S. Oil imports, and Saudi Arabia is increasing its production to make up the difference. There have been no reports of sudden increase in demand for oil, nor has the supply been depleting faster than usual. In fact, refineries are operating at 88.4%, which is a relatively low number in terms of capacity load, according to the U.S Energy Information Institute. So then, who are the culprits behind the rising oil prices? Pesky Speculators in investment firms. Investment banks are being allowed to speculate at unlimited levels in the commodities market.
Utilizing media-fueled fear, speculators bet on rising oil prices and a falling dollar using cheaply borrowed money. Back in 2008, when oil hit $147 a barrel the Commodities Futures Trading Commission, the body that keeps the trading pits honest, discovered that 81% of the trading volume in oil was being conducted by speculators. Meanwhile, the businesses that actually use the oil, such as airlines, were only operating 19% of the trading. The reason we have price inflations from time to time is because hedge funds and investment banks want to make a quick buck. While the speculators made enough money to eat the finest caviar and champagne while orbiting in space, we shave off another twenty dollars to fill it up our cars. Luckily, these inflated prices are not bound to stay up forever, but the CFTC needs to put an end to this debauchery. We may be lucky to have fairly low prices compared to most of the world, but knowing that prices are inflated for absolutely no reason at all angers me just a tad bit.

The Simple Revolution

2011-03-09T16:20:00.000-08:00

This past week I spent spring break in Sacramento working with an organization that is trying to ignite a revolution. It is a revolution that affects politics, culture, and our sense of community, and it takes us back to our roots. I’m talking about the local food revolution, which is picking up in cities across the nation, but particularly on the Pacific coast. Their ideas are radical, but far from new, and challenge the core values of what America has become, while speaking to our innermost humanity.

Ubuntu Green was founded last year, and has already received funding to carry out their mission of localizing food production. Working in low-income areas, they provide the service of building free home gardens for anyone who is willing to accept. Their plan is simple: target specific neighborhoods, teaching the skills needed to grow food, encourage inter-community dialogue to spread the knowledge, and finally to create a sustainable source of fruits, vegetables, and herbs that bypass the corporate food structure. They’re bringing it back home in the most basic sense, and they’re having fun doing it too.

The staff of Ubuntu is filled with energy, probably because they understand the importance of what they are hoping to accomplish. There is an easy charm in them that comes from working with the growing process that is hard to describe. I guess you could say they’re down to earth, literally. This is still a young organization, but already they have made an impact on their community. This revolution can only happen at local levels, and can be fueled by increased social communication technology and word of mouth. Ubuntu is hopefully the first of many like it, paving the way to deconstruct the food production mess we have gotten ourselves in over the last 60 years.

This highlights something seriously wrong with our culture. With more money than any other country (well, not anymore) and the best self-proclaimed inventiveness of any people, we still have to be encouraged to take care of our land and get to know our neighbors. Our culture promotes chasing high-end salaries and vacationing in third-world countries, but for how long can that really sustain happiness? Ubuntu showed me that taking care of the simple things is the quickest way to boost self-esteem and find meaning in life. Instead of chasing fantasy narratives of corporate escalation, take care of the land you live on and meet the people who live around you. There is nothing more important that being a good human being. Everything else is secondary.

-Sean McEvoy

I'm A Grown-Up Now

2011-03-09T12:30:00.000-08:00

Everyone says the same thing. I remember when I was little and couldn’t wait to be an adult, but now I just wish I could go back. I graduate from LMU in 2 months. Then I enter the real world of a career, actual bills, settling down and getting to this thing we call life. There are a million and one thoughts in my mind that deal with that same idea. I wish it wasn’t here so soon, but there are a million and two thoughts that tell me I am ready.

Do I have a job set up for me when I graduate? Do I know what I will be doing after I graduate? Do I know where I will be? My answer to all of these questions is a big fat no. I do, however, know that I will not be attending Grad school. After 18 years of school, I am physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. Not to mention financially, but that is only a result of these past four years. Still, I can see the finish line and I am ready.

I admit that there is a lot of fear inside. What if I don’t succeed? What if I never find a job that will actually apply the major I got my degree in? What if I have to settle for something little? How do I know I will turn out fine? Everyone tells you, “You’re a bright kid. You will do well,” but you never know. I have seen success stories and those of failures. I know what it is like to be put up on a pedestal as the star child that could do anything. I could fail though.

But I won’t. I believe in myself. I believe in all the years I fought and disciplined myself. All of this isn’t for nothing. I am ready. Of course I wish I had a crystal ball that said you will be fine in your future, but I don’t. Still, there is not as much fear in me as there is a desire to get out there.

It may sound a bit cliché, but I want to get out there and make a difference. I want to work in a place where I can change lives. And as I near my graduation, I cannot wait to hand someone a resume that says look at my accomplishments so that we can create more together. I am hungry. I will succeed.

There is a part of me that would love to go back to those days when I was younger and didn’t have to worry about anything. Those were fun years, but who says being an adult isn’t fun. Yes, there's a lot of work, stress, and sacrifices involved, but it betters the person you are. We all have to grow up at some point and when we look back, we can see all those fun times we had as kids and adults. We can look at all of the great moments from our entire life.

I am not afraid of what is going to happen to me after these two months are up. Yes, the economy sucks and the world we’re in is crazy, but what better time to enter it. If I can survive becoming an adult in one of the roughest times, I will be happy and that little kid who always wanted some sort of superhero power will have finally gotten them.

~Michelle Mitchell