306 blog

Life=Adversity

2007-12-03T23:28:00.000-05:00

I always imagined that my senior year would be the easiest out of all four years. For some reason, it made sense to believe that after three years, you would have your college and personal life down pat, and be ready to get a “real” job. Days of wondering how the rent is going to be paid, and if you studied enough for that terrible exam, would almost be over and life should be good.According to my thinking if my bills were paid and I had groceries, it couldn't be that bad. However, life is messy and the older I get the more complicated my problems seem to become.

I thought totaling my car a week after I bought it was devastating. Or living on tuna, crackers, and Ramen for an entire week because I was broke and jobless. Being stranded an hour outside of Wilmington seemed pretty bad. Especially since I was a lone girl on a dark road with no power to my vehicle. I had to wait an hour for a tow truck to come as the heat slowly seeped out and was replaced by the freezing temperature outside. I thought life was messy then. My car, my money, my ten page paper were the worst problems I knew yet. I didn’t know what I know now: if it can get messier it will; and if you think you can handle just about anything then something else will be thrown your way.

Right now, I have reached my breaking point. Three things have happened in the past week to make me consider how much personal strength I possess. Two are hard blows; one life changing. Sitting down and thinking, it’s overwhelming to realize how much your life can change in just one freaking week. I wonder what would happen if I just gave up, said screw it all and pulled the covers over my head and didn’t make an appearance until spring. What happens if I truly give in and give up? Will I end up much further from where I am now? Will life be any better if I keep trudging on crisis after crisis?

My mom wrote me an email and said she hasn’t heard from me for weeks, but that it’s probably because of all my projects, papers, and exams that I have going on. My only wish right now is that life would stop long enough for those to be my main priorities. I thought my senior year would be most difficult because of school; in actuality, it’s trying to even concentrate on school when my life seems to be turned upside down.

I know that I can make it through a lot. I have been supporting myself and making my own decisions since I was 17. I am a self-sufficient person. I know, logically, that crises make me stronger and I am a better person for it. However, sometimes enough is enough. I wonder how much more I can suck up and still keep on keeping on. I’m strong, but not that strong. In the end, I have no choice, as I guess most of us don’t. But every once in a while, I think it’s okay and even necessary to absolutely give up. Just for a second; right before you keep trudging on. So I give up.

Jump In With Two Feet

2007-12-03T00:10:00.001-05:00

Relationships. Uggghhh. The word makes me cringe. I cannot say I hate relationships; in fact, I love being in a great relationship. Truth is though, not every relationship is great and therefore you must survive those not so great, or even terrible, relationships to find the great ones.

It makes me cringe because of all those connotations that it brings to mind. Work. A lot of work. Mistakes. Choices. Heartbreak. I am the type of person who sees the line that should not be crossed, refuses to, and then for some insane desire for self-destruction promptly crosses that said line. We all want to believe we are the exception to the rule, and sometimes we are. But dealing with not being the exception is far worse than simply acknowledging your disappointment and moving away from that potential relationship in the first place.

Dating an older man? Why not. Dating a boy my mom hated? Let’s do that too. Taking back a guy who had dumped me for another girl? Just couldn’t help it. Dating my brother’s friend? Well, let’s just say I was smitten at the time and not willing to admit that it was a bad idea to begin with. I have never been the exception to the rule, but at the same time I keep trying, and ending up asking myself the same question: why do I do it to myself?

For my senior seminar project, I took up dating self-help books to examine and compare them to established philosophers. This meant I spent the majority of my semester engrossed in books that told me just how to catch a guy’s eye, play hard to get, and whether or not I was emotionally stable and secure enough to be in a relationship to begin with.

The funny thing is, even the few books that I found to be full of common sense and reason I began bashing to pieces as I compared them to Aristotle and Epictetus. Who made up these “rules”? Rather than principles to live by, the books tend to espouse themselves as the absolute end all be all of dating. Every single one claims to know the secret to finding the love of your life and how to keep them. And what I believe now is that the whole genre of self-help dating books is full of crap.

So I thought what my own rules would be:
1. There are no absolute rules. Life is complicated, and dating is more so.
2. Jump in with two feet, give a relationship all you got. (Not in a psycho way, in a living whole-heartedly way.)
3. No matter how much your friends hate him, or how many books tell you to dump him, you have to learn the hard way.
4. If your heart gets broken, it gets broken. It’ll make you stronger and pickier next time.
5. Sometimes, despite heartache, doubt, and tough times, it does work. And that’s what makes it worth trying.
6. Everyone says not to waste time wishing for someone you’ll never have. Don’t wait for him to call, don’t waste your tears crying when he disappears. Thing is, you will at some point in your life. Even if it’s just five minutes. So just don’t let them know, and your secret is safe.

No, they are not perfect rules but they will change as my relationships change. And maybe someday the word “relationship” won’t make me run and take cover.

Expanding Consciousness

2007-12-03T00:10:00.000-05:00

The mind is inconceivably powerful and influential. Consciousness is more than just nerves and synapses, or secretions of chemicals. Consciousness is real and one doesn’t have to be “knocked out” to be deemed unconscious. A friend and teammate of mine in high school first opened my eyes to the power of expanding consciousness. We were teammates on the varsity wrestling squad in the fall of 1996.

Mike was average wrestler at best, fairly new to the sport but had a world of potential. Most wrestlers begin their careers between ages 5 and 8, Mike didn’t start wrestling until his sophomore year of high school. His first two years as a wrestler were losing efforts, finishing both seasons well below the .500 mark. Mike worked hard in the off season and was improving dramatically but he had along way to go to in order to compete with athletes that had nearly 10 years of experience on him. He was severely behind the learning curve. I noticed a marked progression in his ability and we both looked forward to his final season as senior. Our team opened each season with a tough dual meet against cross-town rival Kenwood High, Mike would be matched up with their best wrestler, a former state champion. Mike fought valiantly but lost the match by a few points. He did better than anyone expected, but he still didn’t win. He was knocking on the door to success but he hadn’t quite put all of the pieces together yet.

Following that meet, might met with his counselor who suggested hypnosis and meditation as a supplement to his wrestling training. Desperate for a winning season, Mike followed the doctor’s advice and began to meditate. He underwent when session of hypnosis and then meditated on his own from there on out. Our teammates and coaches knew nothing of this at first, Mike didn’t say a word and went about his normal routine. Two weeks and a few unimpressive wins later, Mike defeated 2x High School All-American at a tournament in Delaware. He didn’t get lucky, it wasn’t a fluke or aberration. He flat out beat the kid! We were dumbfounded, what happened to this guy in the period of two weeks? “I’m hypnotized,” Mike said. We laughed it off, it sounded comical of course. This was the type of thing you’d see on a made-for-TV movie right? Well, Mike went on to explain the hypnosis and his meditation practice but we were still skeptics to say the least. A week later he did it again. Wrestling for the championship at the Dundalk Tournament, Mike absolutely throttled an undefeated wrestler and eventual state champion that year at 130 lbs. Now we were convinced, something extraordinary was going on here. Mike finished his senior season as a county champion, region champion and state runner-up, defeating some of Maryland’s best wrestlers along the way.

I didn’t understand what that extraordinary factor was at the time, but since researching Transcendental Meditation I’m quite convinced that expansion of consciousness was largely responsible for Mike’s new-found success. He was able to make mind-body connections that would have otherwise taken years in a matter of weeks. I’m not claiming that this same process could work miracles on any wrestler, or athlete in general, that wants to step their game up dramatically in a short period of time. Mike had the potential, the foundation was there. He was ready to take shape as an athlete but just needed time. Without those tools, none of this would have worked for him. Without meditation, those tools would have taken much longer to sharpen.

Anbar Province or Bust

2007-12-02T23:40:00.000-05:00

Drill weekend. Standing around with the usual grind going on. A urinalysis test. A blood draw for the entire company. More standing around. When will it end? Finally, last formation. Saturday breezes by without a hitch. My arm hurts from having my blood drawn and I was still on a high from passing my PT test that I took the day before. All I want to do is go to sleep and wake up refreshed Sunday morning. While Saturday is uneventful, Sunday is when the real bomb drops.

I had gone out to the bars with my sister and her friend Melanie. I got only a few hours of sleep (literally three hours) and had to be up at around 6am Sunday morning. I wondered what we were going to do for the day considering everything else we had to do pretty much was done the day before. Anyone who was important as far as senior leadership and officers would be in a meeting for God knows how long. So, we were told to go back to the Wilmington Armory (we were currently at Carolina Beach) to put an install kit in a Humvee for the radios. I got down and dirty, getting greasy, running antenna cables along the underbelly of the vehicle and we all finally finished up. More sitting around.

Lunch time rolls around and I go back to my apartment to munch on some leftover, cold pizza, which is the best, in my opinion, no matter what time of day. I watched a few more episodes of Nip/Tuck, by far one of the greatest shows ever made. I had bought the DVD series 1 and 2 on Black Friday. They were $15 each. I also bought my 22” LCD monitor for my laptop. Its something to do when you’re bored. 1:00 rolls around and lunch is over, so I drove back to the armory wondering what was to become of our idle time.

We sit around for another hour or so awaiting what was to happen the rest of that day and next drill in January. We were sitting around and getting the news on what was to happen in the near future, and that’s when we were told where there was a strong possibility of us going. My jaw dropped and for once, I actually thought God hated me. I laugh at that, but where we were going was punishment. My world stopped, and the first thing I thought about was calling my father to tell him.

Everyone was leaving around 2:30 and I drove home, dialing my dad’s number as I drove. I told him, upset, but not insanely concerned because it was still a year out. I could tell by my father’s response that he was in denial and he knew that his baby boy was going to be in harm’s way once again. I felt like shit for signing up again, knowing full well what was in store. But why I did it was for the life I missed, for the bonds that were formed, for the pride the uniform provided. And once again in my life, what I served for wearing that uniform was about something bigger than me, and I knew on some level that my dad understood that. He was a retired Marine and Gulf War vet himself.

No one wants to see their children in harm’s way, and as strong as my dad is, I knew that it hurt him to know what was in store for me because of where we were going. He had the optimist’s view that things would change and maybe I wouldn’t have to go over there or maybe I would go somewhere else. I’m a realist. I never wanted to hurt my dad, but in the end, he knows I’m going to do what makes me happy, and signing back up was what did it. The best he can do is be the supportive parent and back me up 110% like any good dad would who is always proud of his son.

Beginner Mind

2007-12-02T23:39:00.001-05:00

This is an attempt from me to try recollecting the things I know about Buddhist religion.

Buddha and Zen are synonymous.

Awake at six in the morning on a Monday. I'm my common mindset described best as, "after a long weekend state of mind." I reach across my bed to the bottom corners and sift through some of my books lying in the corner. I have trouble deciding which one I want to feed this early morning coma, it's a transient stage, you're half awake but feel like you are dreaming and any noises you hear may or may not be real, that kind of consciousness. Because I feel dualistic, I grab the white cover with Zen Mind, Beginners Mind Shambhala Library written on the cover.
I think, "Zen trance, an interesting concept and must be confusing to Buddha himself."

The things I have read about Buddhism continuously expand my trouble understanding the dualisitc transient state of being.

It may be the description of life conceptually being that it is what it is. This is how the practitioners and masters ask you to look at life. Say if something exists in your conscious stream of thought, then you must not think about that thought for it has more than one property. The "property" is mainly of confusion as I see it, also it is a certain kind of weight which grips your ability to think, see, and act clearly. Any way, it's awfully, and painfully, and regrettably, and frustratingly more complicated than that. Because in the "beginners mind" it's preached to make sure none of those qualities exist. The zen paradox in my eyes.

The topic of reading I have for the moment requires determination and certain "mindless" concentration. I'm close, I'm reading in the concious like the kind I have when it is six in the morning on a Monday. By mindless, in this case is when the mind should be missing from your reading. An idea that one must rid themselves of all predisposition, starting over, like the mind of a beginner as Buddha sees it.

As I prepare the minds-eye for the universal-directional whim I'll receive from my prefered style of reading. I constantly ask, "will gaining this type of insight, or "enlightenment" help train myself to become a better person, will it teach me to correct then realize the how-to's in getting through life and forgetting about all the inanimate problems and issues of my existance?" The conclusion is to focus on life itself about how lucky we are to be alive- better yet, conscious.

I believe this question would not be answered directly in any reading let alone this reading.

Zen conciousness teaches us to not look for such answers or search for any truth, just exist and be harmonious. A question or problem such as this can only be answered by seeking "it." I think I'm fighting a difficult battle, one with too many complications, too many variables for myself in answering dualistic theory. That is, the beginners mind.

As I read on I'm reminded zen mind is not about answering self-enlightenment questions, or great insightful dominance over fellow man, it is simply balance. The balance is all things exist as one, at the same time exist as different parts, which are in everyday life. The reading describes it like this, "The mind which includes everything, and the mind which is related to nothing." A dualistic nature of our minds that Buddhism teaches us, having these "two" minds will make concentration on single ideas difficult.

I still have many difficulties wrapping my minds fingers around Buddhas conceptual insights or practice beliefs. Honestly, I don't think a word exist that defines what is taught in Buddhism and Zen practice. While I lie in my bed reading these books you can feel and imagine that there does exist such a comfortable existence. I say comfortable to mean frictionless existence. This is enough for me to continue my own practice. Naturally many things along with my maturity must continue to grow in order to understand more of this natural state of being.

The Greatest Story Ever Told About Secaucus

2007-12-02T23:31:00.000-05:00

The melody of a shitty ringtone fills the air. Awake. Where the fuck am I?! Ah, the hotel room.

Hello?
Hey Mom, Good You?
The game was good. The score?
What WAS the score of the game?
Hey, what was the score of the game? I asked my friend, Sags as I covered the phone.
3-1 Barcelona

After a short conversation, I hang up the phone. Phew. Close Call.

What the fuck happened last night?

Glimpses of the previous night come and go like some kind of dream. To get you to understand my current state of alcohol-induced confusion, I would have to start somewhere around 24 hours ago.

So here I am, sitting in the smallest of backseats in some kind of corn-powered hybrid with 75 horsepower or something like that.

*Shoulda called shotty*

And we are off, with Shane to my right, Tommy riding shotgun, and Sags driving...or is he pedaling this piece of shit. I'll never know. Onward, we trek towards Secaucus, NJ to watch Barcelona play the NJ/NY Redbulls. Up Rt. 1 towards the hellhole known as Northern Delaware.

Fucking 45 in a 55?! What the fuck are you doing, Sags?!

*Shoulda taken my car*

As if we aren't late enough as it is, we hit traffic. Does this thing have A/C? I don't think it does. Don't you know that a silver car is like tin foil. I'm dying back here. Finally, we reach Christiana Mall for food and to reevaluate our driver. Should we leave him here? We're late. How are we going to pregame for the soccer game? We better hurry. I grab my teriyaki chicken and my giant-ass iced tea and walk to the car.

And we drive on, listening to Will Smith unsure of what lay ahead. We drive and drive. I sip my iced tea, hoping that Sags flips the car and I die a quick death and end this hangover from the previous night. I slip into a coma-like state until something jolts my attention.

A sign reads: Truck-Buses Only

Now, I've seen trucks and I've seen buses. Hell, I'd even go as far as to say that I had seen a few fucked up things before in my life, but never, not once, had I seen a Truck-Bus. The thought of a bus fused with a truck in some kind of fucked-up creation was scary. Had man become so absorbed with innovation that he would mend a vehicle for cargo with a vehicle for passengers into one single being? My mind raced as I imagined a Truck-Bus bearing down on our little ball of aluminum foil at 75 MPH. I slip in and out of conciousness. Iced...Tea...Wearing...Off

...Crashing...Asleep.

I snap out of my slumber by a loud noise.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! A TRUCK BUS?! JESUS CHRIST!!

No, just my imagination.

Where are we?
Not too far.
Hurry up
Your'e only going 65?!
FASTER!!

We near Secaucus but come to a halt as traffic gets heavy. Ah, Secaucus! We can see it. With a little less than 2 hours to find our hotel and pregame, we begin to worry.

I'm not too familiar with what a Triangle Motor is but our place of residence was called the Triangle Motor Inn or something like that. We finally get off the highway to Secaucus but have no idea where this place is.

STOP, STOP
Fuck, you passed it.

Apparently, In New Jersey, if you miss your turn, you are fucked. With absolutely no way to get back to the parking lot of the Triangle Motor Inn except for going the wrong way for 30 feet on a highway, we park in the lot next door. Trust me, it crosses our minds. No one bothers to mention to Sags the dangers of being towed. It was better that way.

A laughing fit mixed with a Giant-ass Iced Tea makes me piss my pants.

*Shoulda gotten a small iced tea*

Fuck, I pissed my pants

They don't believe me, or they don't care. Fuck it, we made it, who cares? Check-in takes way too long. Hurry up. We gots to drink. Less than an hour to get drunk! Psh, easy.

10 minutes later, we're settled in and ready to drink. In some act of desperation, we make some retarded drinking game out of a really bad game show on TV. It turns into shots, Shots turn into chugs, and chugs turn into too much fun. We take our gatorade and Svedka and get to the car.

I feel I must give a disclaimer at this point in the story and say details may be fuzzy and every thing done in this story by these four characters is in every way, shape, and form, fictitious and not to be used in a court of law. Thank you.

We sit in traffic and drink as we pass hispanic after hispanic with Barcelona jerseys on. I hate Barcelona and that's for one reason, a fucking alien that people call "Ronaldinho." We pass drunk people who sense we are drunk. It's a silent understanding. Jubilation ensues. We make our way to a parking lot and pay an obscene amount of cash for three hours.

We park and play bartender. We make them stiff and strong. We have a chug before we leave the car. Don't want to be caught sober at the game, so we mix a strong one to take in the stadium. Tickets are dispersed and we make our way to the gate. We join a mass of moving bodies like cattle to the slaughter. Faces become blurs but somehow we manage to stay together.

Sorry, No beverages allowed inside.
Fuck, we have to drink them now.

We take our lethal concoctions of half-vodka and half-gatorade to the face. No sweat, Right? Did we just drink countless shots of vodka infused with the uber-drunkifying gatorade in 45 minutes? Yes, I think we did.

Seperated into two groups yet guided by some unseen force, we all find our correct seats. It's funny how when you're wasted, you manage to do miraculous things like find your seat among 90,000 others yet you can't keep your pants on.

We take our seats next to Tommy and Sags.
Fuck, they have Miller Lites.

Where's ours?
Gimme money!

Shane and I watched hopelessly as Sags and Tommy sipped their delicious Miller Lite out of plastic bottles. Hmmm Plastic Bottles? I suppose it's so when you give them to children to drink and they drop the bottles, they won't break.

Sandwiched between Barcelona fans, a father and son, and two older men, I tell myself to behave. Ah, the two older men, they were wearing trench coats, it was August. Are they jacking off under there? I think they are. Gross.

The electrolytes in the gatorade carry the alcohol to my blood quickly, creating a thirst for more. After some announcing and the National Anthem, I sit down. America, Fuck Yeah. My world was spinning.

We had successfully completed our mission: Get drunk before the game. Kudos to us.

Sags and Tommy set off to get Shane and I a couple of 8 dollar beers. After 20 minutes of watching the game beerless, Tommy returns. No Sags. Fuck. We laughed and joked that he had left with our money, got kidnapped, or got arrested. HA, arrested! That's so crazy it's funny. Too happy or too drunk to care, we watch without him.

bzzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzz

NEW TXT MSG

From: Saagar Patel
Sent: August 13th, 2006

Yo I got arrested

FUUUUUCK

Somewhere below the stadium, he is being detained in a holding cell with other fans for some crime. Half an hour later, he returns with stories of his time in the slammer. Cruel guards who refuse to put on the game for the prisoners. Many of Sags' fellow prisoners were being detained for throwing bottles. Sags had tried to use a bad fake ID. Foolish. Who wanted beer anyway? Oh yeah, Shane and I. They let him off with a firm warning, a firm anal raping, and a permanent ban from the stadium unless he wrote them a letter beforehand. Better get writing for next year pal. Oh yeah, and they took his ID!

With confirmation of no KIAs on Operation: Get Shane and Alex beer, my inebriation hits a new level. My voice grows louder, my random thoughts become verbalized, my hatred for Ronaldinho grows, My reputation as the drunk asshole at the game is set in stone. I had become THAT GUY.

The laughter of others fuels me. My three friends laugh. The father and son laugh. The two creepy guys laugh. Sweet, I had gained the approval of the guy who was whacking it under his coat. HIGH FIVE. maybe not...

Suspect: Alex Clark

Alias: Asshole at the game

Known offenses: Yelling Profanities at Ronaldinho, Yelling "FLAVA FLAV,'' Telling the refs to "MOVE THOSE CHAINS" (an AMERICAN football chant, not soccer), Flashing ass to 90,000 fans, Trying to start a wave, Underage drinking, Public Intoxication,
Associating with a known criminal, Saagar Patel, and Corruption of a minor

Partner in crime: Shane Barry

The game comes to a close and we make our exit. How I did not get kicked out, I do not know. We exit a different way than the way we came in. We follow a path that resembles the US-Mexico border in Texas. Fences, Hispanics, Security Guards. The whole nine yards. Again, guided by an unseen force, we find the car.

I grab a parking cone and climbed on top of the Honda Shitpiece and continue to yell shit. Out of control. Madness Ensued.

What is this? A green mask?
My green Goosebumps mask from 3rd grade resembled Ronaldinho which is why I brought it. It has found a new purpose though. Stuck in traffic leaving the stadium, something inside of me is inspired.

It tells me, Put on the mask, C'mon, Do it.

Even the mask looks at me yearning to be worn. I put it on.

It tells me, Now take off your clothes and run around traffic.

In bumper to bumper traffic, I hop out in my boxers and mask and run around. Protected by anonymity, I do foolish things. Some cheer, some laugh, others threaten and lock their doors. Fuck them, I live for the people who laugh at the half-naked guy in the Goosebumps mask. I make my parade short and sweet. Back in the car, we make our way back to the Triangle Motor Inn.

Wasted at this point, I want sleep. They want to go into New York City.

ME ALEX. ME TIRED. ME BREAK CONCRETE PLANTER FULL OF PLANTS ON HOTEL FLOOR.

Come on, Alex!

They lead, I follow. I slip into a zombie-like blackout state. All aboard the crazy train. We make it two blocks and Shane and I have what I like to call a difference of opinion. Words turn into shoves, shoves turn into wrestling, wrestling turns into an epic battle. We battled and battled. A small crowd gathered as we wrestled on the ground. Like two modern-day gladiators, we fight. As quick as it starts, it ends with a cop nearly running us over.

We were just playing around officer.
GO HOME!
Yes sir.

The fun is over. To the gas station we head for drinks and such. I grab a drink and take it to the counter. Fuck, no cash. I dump my wallet in front of the man. Blood donor card, UNseaW card, ATM card, Driver's License, but nothing of value.

What the fuck is all of this?
Let's go, Alex.

Fun's over. As the drunkest and craziest out of all of us that night, I get a bed by default. After a tirade of abuse by Shane about being out of control and being too drunk or some shit, I don't remember, I am too drunk, I pass out.

The melody of a shitty ringtone fills the air. Awake. Fuck.

Self therapy and a worried state of mind

2007-12-02T23:29:00.000-05:00

Something has been happening to me. I don’t know what it is, but I can guess what is causing it. I’ve stopped caring. My friends have recently been bringing up senioritis, but I don’t think that is what I have. It’s not that I don’t feel like doing homework or studying, because that’s what I feel validates me most in life. If I fall behind academically, I’m consumed with thoughts of failing in life. If I could, I’d stay in college forever. I have lots of friends that aren’t in college and they have a waiting job at a nearby restaurant and they know what their schedule will always be. Meanwhile my nights are plagued with homework and stress. I wonder why I would want this life to go on.

I’m planning on moving to England after I graduate and I’m scared it won’t work out. If I really wanted to, I could stay at UNCW and double major or stay for graduate school. But I’m taking a huge risk and moving to a different country. I talk about it a lot, but the more I talk about it, the more I’m not sure if I’m making the right decision.

I’m spending three weeks in England this break and I think it’s going to be my deciding factor as to whether or not I feel I can commit to such an extravagant decision. I’m guessing the reason why I’m not myself is because I’m afraid of making a huge mistake. Will I be ready in January to start the paper work for my living abroad?

I’ve started to gain weight. I’ve stopped going to the gym and I’m splurging on foods I never would have before. I stand in my room everyday for several minutes just staring at the floor thinking, do I get dressed? Do I go run or spend the day in the library or brush my hair? Then I usually get in my bed and take a long nap, thinking it will recharge me, but it only makes me more sluggish later.

I always try to be a healthy person, thanks to my parents. I’m very much emotionally charged, as most females are. If I’m feeling more about something than usual, it lasts for weeks. I’ve only been in therapy once for it and it was a waste of time. I had to go because I was breaking out in hives from stress. But I’ve decided that from now one, I’m going to be my own therapist. If I feel I’m having a problem making a decision like leaving my country next year, I need to sit down with myself and work out all the pros and cons. I need to count backwards from ten when I get nervous and I need to force myself to do things that benefit me. Even simple tasks for other people seem like huge endeavors for me when I’m not at my emotional best. I live alone, so I should start a hobby. I have uneven sleeping patterns, so I should start a schedule and stick to it.

I don’t know if becoming my own therapist will work, but even if it doesn’t, it will be a great way to learn more about myself and help me make important decisions in this crucial time in my life.

The Art of Damien Bowling

2007-12-02T22:26:00.001-05:00

The house that I rent has hardwood floors. I do not own a pair of toenail clippers for my dog. My roommate owns a chicken suit. These three facts seemingly have nothing in common. However, they were all essential in the creation of the newest sport to sweep the Wilmington athletic community.

A Quick History

Damien bowling, like all truly great inventions, came to me in a drunken haze. My roommate and I had returned to our house following the bar crawl the weekend before Halloween. I had thrown my costume together in five minutes, but my roommate spent $80 on a full-size giant chicken costume. The one thing he hadn’t counted on was how hot it would get inside six feet of polyester completely covered in feathers. He headed straight for his room, ripped the Velcro backing apart and tossed the chicken suit to the floor and walked into . He was drenched in sweat and it looked like he had spent all day at a water park. Had he gone into his room wearing his costume the great sport of Damien Bowling may have never come to be.

While my roommate was changing in his room, my dog, Damien, was scratching at the door. I let him out and that’s when inspiration hit --I was going to scare the shit out of my dog. I walked over and picked up the chicken suit. The aroma of B.O. hit and immediately sent me back to my high school locker room days. I fought through the overwhelming odor and put the suit on.

I crept out of the hallway and lurked around the corner. I had left the front door open, and now I was waiting for Damien to come back into the house. Damien walked through the door, obviously relieved, and aproached the corner I was hiding behind. I charged at him, screaming as I appeared out of the darkness and the dog took off. He was terrified. He tore through the living room at full speed seemingly oblivious to the limitations of the house. When he caught a glimpse of the far wall, he tried to stop suddenly. His incredibly long and sharp toenails tapped furiously against the hardwood before he slammed face first into the wall. Five minutes later, when I stopped laughing, I came up with the concept of Damien Bowling.

What You Will Need

-A very stupid and easily startled dog
-10 empty 24-packs
-A chicken suit
-Hardwood floors
-And, unless you’re Michael Vick, some cushions to put behind the boxes

How To Play

You will need to consume a lot of alcohol before you get started. Damien Bowling is too asinine of an activity to try to attempt sober. Get Damien drunk as well. His poor balance and flailing limbs will not only be hilarious but it will also help your score. Once you’re a good 8-10 shots deep, it’s time to suit up in the chicken costume. You’ll want to make sure Damien doesn’t see you putting it on or he we be desensitized to the terror of a giant chicken chasing him through the house.

While you’re putting on the suit, have some one else set up the empty beer boxes like a regulation bowling pins. While Damien is still drinking beer out of his dish, throw the door open and charge him. Damien will take off down the hallway, like he always does, and fruitlessly try to stop before sliding on all fours and knocking over beer boxes before slamming into the padding against the back wall.

Your score is however many "pins" Damien knocks over before he hits the back padding. Beer boxes that fall while he is regrouping himself do not count. My best score is eight. I'm still trying for a strike. You can usually only go one time before the dog figures out what’s going on, so you’re basically competing against yourself. There are no winners or losers. Except for Damien. He definitely loses by having me for an owner.

Walking in a White Dress

2007-12-02T22:15:00.000-05:00

Every little girl dreams about the say that she will walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. She is in a white dress and she is beautiful and she is walking toward her prince charming. Her father is smiling and her mother is crying. Nowhere in this dream does the little girl see that getting to this day means that she and her mother will almost kill each other.

I am getting married in eight months and I am in the middle of planning, what I thought, was a very simple wedding. I wanted to marry the man I love and have been with for eight years in the church where we met. I wanted be in a simple white dress carrying a bouquet of white tulips and have my cousin and a few friends as bridesmaids. Then I wanted to go to the reception hall behind the church and be with my family and friends having cake and punch. That was my vision—a small, traditional Southern wedding. I did not know I would be fighting my mother the whole way.

I want a hundred and fifty people to be invited. That includes my close family and friends and my fiancé’s close family and friends. This happened to be the first piece of information that would send me and my mother on a bad downward spiral. I was driving with mother to meet with a photographer that I was considering for the wedding. We started talking about the amount of people that the church would hold and who the most important people would be to invite. I mentioned that we would not be able to invite everyone who attends my church. She shot daggers through my head with her eyes. She burst into tears. She said, “How can we have the wedding at the church and not invite our church family?” I was driving and trying not to jump out of the car from shock and fear. I said with trepidation, “But there are eighty people that go to our church.” She screamed back, “Yeah, I know that!” Things continued to escalate. To make a long story short, she ended up crying and we were fifteen minutes late to meet with the photographers because she could not go into their studio crying.

Let me be clear, my mother is not crazy. She is normal—I think. These little incidents have continued when I told her that I wanted only white and green as my colors, that I did not want her cousin to be my guest book attendant, and that we told only invite a hundred and fifty people to the ceremony. Each of these incidents has ended with her crying and me waiting in confusion for her to stop.

During one of these episodes, she told me that she had been dreaming about this day longer than I had and it meant more to her than me. She said that one day, when I had a daughter that I would understand. I could not believe that she said that! How could my wedding day mean more to her than me. I am the one getting married!

Then I considered where she was coming from. I am her only daughter and as long a have been dreaming of my wedding, she was dreaming of it before I was born. Maybe she looks at my wedding plans and she wants my wedding to be prefect and better than hers. I am not the type of person to back down from want I want, but maybe I need to handle her a little more gently. My strategy now is to tell her everything I am doing with the wedding and give her some control on the things that do not matter to me as much. I never thought the biggest obstacle to planning my wedding would be my own mother, but then again, she is my biggest inspiration.

A mental goat rodeo

2007-12-02T21:20:00.000-05:00

The question is inevitable for a college senior.

"So, are you going to graduate on time?"

If the answer is yes, there follow up is "do you know what you're doing after that?"

Since I was 16, I have been able to answer that question with confidence. My response has always been some varying form of "Yep, I'm going to go into sports writing / television / radio."

The response was usually one of shock, as most kids my age barely knew what kind of liquor they'd be drinking that evening.

With five years invested in my career and five months remaining until graduation, most everyone my age has finally pulled it together and found something that they want to do.

I went the other way. Five years into my 'career,' I have no idea if this is what I want to do with my life anymore.

I still love sports and I still love writing. I like the feeling of writing a story that captures the despair of a moment or explains someone’s personality. Mostly everyone that I’ve ever worked with has been great and I enjoy going into work on just about every trip.

I have noticed that when I’m at home I find myself flipping past ESPN a little bit more. I rarely read newspapers anymore and I can see that some people in the business aren’t happy. A lot of the more famous sportswriters turn into cynical assholes who hate everyone and everything, screaming out obvious points and making little sense.

I’m sitting in the office right now. I’ve got my dinner on my desk, a basketball game on television over my desk and we’ve been talking about the BCS all night. It’s basically how I’d spend part of my evening with friends.

However, some of those evenings can wear on you. I had planned to be out of work around midnight on Saturday to go out with some friends. I probably would have made it, except for all hell broke loose when Missouri and West Virginia both lost and most of the section had to be redone for second edition.

I couldn’t even enjoy how awesome the football games were because I was praying that they’d end quickly so I could get out of there. I ended up leaving at about 12:45 and had to go home to get ready to go.

Those long nights can wear you out during the week as well, with homework and all of that fun stuff still needing to be done. My time management skills are god awful. Mix that with my night-owl tendencies, and sometimes, I don’t start my work until 2 a.m. That makes for a lovely morning.

Working from 5 p.m. until 2 a.m. isn’t something that I envision myself doing for the next 20 years. But, there’s going to come a day when this is about more than me.

From my desk I can hear a coworker tell his daughter goodnight after a few minutes on the phone. The brief phone call is a large portion of his contact with her on days he has to work.
Not only is it hard to support a family emotionally in the journalism business, but also financially. The money is an absolute joke. I’ve seen ‘good’ jobs for college graduates that pay just over $20,000 per year.

The money isn’t getting any better due to the fact that many people are getting their news online now. Job security isn’t great either as newspapers are having to watch their finances due to lost money.

Am I overly concerned with the money? Maybe, but that’s no one else’s problem but my own. The thing is, that I’m not trying to sell my soul. I could still write on the side, but I want a steady job that I enjoy. My mom is ‘disappointed’ because she thinks I’m going to chase the money.

Does this blog even make any sense? Probably not. That’s how little the situation makes sense to me. I can feel the disorganization of my thoughts coming out on the page, but for some reason, it's comforting to see them there.

Who knows, maybe I’ll get the internship that I applied for at the Washington Post.

That’ll solve everything…

Some women are from Mars and some Men are from Venus.

2007-12-02T21:13:00.000-05:00

Relationships is one of those topics that anyone could write a book on. We have all had experiences in relationships. But, why are we forcing ourselves to be in bad relationships when it is projected that over 50% of marriages end in divorce? I see so many unhappy relationships and I just wonder where the animosity that builds up in a relationship would potentially stem from. There are the obvious physical differences that do tend to cause skiffs within relationships. Women have a menstrual cycle that men love to blame for their significant other’s strange behavior, but in all honestly men have times in which our moods change also. That doesn’t necessarily have that much to do with the true physical differences because most of the true differences occur in the psyche of a person.

The behavior of the two different sexes has been a popular form of entertainment and has given the anti-Christ, I mean Dr. Phil, a wonderful job telling people what they think they want to hear. Besides Oprah’s bosom buddy, many authors have utilized this problem between the sexes to get their interpretations across. But I have a question: If women are from Venus and men are from Mars, what happens to those of us who live on the East side of Mars and the women who reside on the East side of Venus? Not all of us behave the same, but one-fact still remains the same is that we are human. The authors, of books about the Venus and Mars epidemic, stereotype people and do not look at each person as an individual. These authors grossly simplify and stereotype the real problems that we are having by masking these books with interesting and useful ideas for your relationship. Besides the obvious female to male differences, we as people have behavioral patterns. All of these self-help books, talk show hosts and know-it-alls who have the answers are useful if they would just try to help us appreciate the uniqueness of each other as an individual.
The emotional aspect to relationships has long been indicated as the undisputed fight starter. I used to hear my girlfriend and many other friends (who are girls) rant, rave and straight out bitch that we men never talk about our feelings. This has got to stop. We men do talk about our feelings, yet our phrasing may not be in the exact context in which you would like. And men always say that they find it so difficult to figure out what women want. Even the famous psychologist Sigmund Fraud asked, “What does a woman want?” And women women respond that they do tell us what they want, but men are listening to the wrong parts of the text.

As a man, I urge women to understand that most men don’t like to elaborate on our feelings. We are straight-to-the-punch, ‘just-the-facts’, and ‘no-filler’ types of guys. Most of our conversations are carried out with these terms in mind. But most women enjoy the process of talking. They are more concerned with the intricacies or the inner-workings of our minds, trying to understand what we’ve already told you. We tell you everything that you need to know about our day, how we are feeling, and how everyone is getting along just by saying ‘it wasokay’. I’m not stereotyping men and saying that we don’t have feelings, nor am I saying that sometimes we don’t like to elaborate about specific subjects, but a large majority of the time we like to keep it simple. Women want to emphasize specific understanding and men just yearn for simplicity.

Relationships are complicated, but I think that all in all we deserve to give them a chance. We might have to do a little bit of work in regards to understanding the way that our specific love interest thinks and acts but they are possible. Each of us, as human beings, are different. Though behavior and emotional differences may occur, to make this co-existance between men and women work we must delve deeper into the hearts and minds of one another. We must try to forget about the bullshit representations that Dr. Phil presents on TV and completely disregard whatever stereotypipcal man that you think lives on Mars.

Slipknot Sucks: I Say Death By Axe!

2007-12-02T20:14:00.001-05:00

What’s sad about Mushroomhead is that their image is supposed to be EXTREME!, but they are slower and poppier than Slipknot. Their masks brought them a few moments of spotlight, but their appearance was too similar to Slipknot and they were not as talented musically. Slipknot is kind of a joke amongst real metalheads - it is metal in the same way that Lil Jon is rap; it's a poppy and superficial ripoff that appeals to angsty teens and other people who are unwilling to really delve into the genre. However, I loved them in highschool, and occasionally I still put them on to remind me of more rebellious and stupid times. I used to like the percussion but the fact that they need three different drummers to produce that sound is really pathetic: why not just get a good drummer like Hellhammer, Gene Hoglan, or Thomas Haake. I did not realize until later that they had nothing original to offer the heavy metal genre outside of there weak attempts at combining turntablism and rap vocals in their distorted slurry; ironically, this is my least favorite part of their music. But at the time, I genuinely liked their brand of down tuned, fast paced sludge, this was before I discovered baroqueian pedal points in death metal, or the classic “gallop” which originated from the Gods: Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. Even back then, before I was schooled in the ways of rock, I thought the masks were silly.

I love Ace Frehley’s Signature guitar excessively equipped with three humbucking pickups, but I have always hated KISS. I must admit that their first album is mediocre, but then everything "spiralled out of control." Their movie, KISS Meets the Phantom in the Park, is the funniest piece of crap that was ever filmed, and that's kind of how i feel about them musically; plus the costumes are lame. Lordi, Finnish hard rock/heavy metal act, does have intricate and very expensive costumes, but they may be the worst “monster band” I have ever heard. There is no variety in their sound and with serious lyrics such as “the devil is a loser and he’s my bitch,” they have no musical creativity and they are not even scary; their image is the only reason they are famous. Combined with their shitty sound, their stupid look just makes me dislike them that much more, and most musicians who have to dress up to sell generally suck.

There is one exception to this rule which really stands out: Gwar, an acronym for God What an Awful Racket. Comprised of evil monsters from another planet, they may be some of the best performers I have ever seen, and it’s mostly because of the costumes. This may be an unfair claim: it's not that they are posers, because they were around in 1985 during the birth of thrash, the seeds of death metal had been planted and later they would dabble in it. They do sometimes bark sarcastically, but their vocal style has never had strong metal characteristics, no ear piercing hair metal crescendos, no raspy black metal screeching, no growling death metal cookie monster grunts. Their vocal style has been inconsistent throughout their 11 studio albums, but is largely punk based, and I think they are definitely influenced by the maniacal monk vocals of Jello Biafra from the Dead Kennedys.

The guitar is not as fast I remember, and they will occasionally play fragmented slow gallops while the bass chugs along faster. The parts that I enjoyed the most were the lightening speed “breakdowns” which are reminiscent of Dimebag Darrel from Pantera. This element which is now widespread in metal originated in hardcore, and is when the main melody stops and becomes minimal. This is often the climax of the song, when everyone moshes the hardest, and is usually driven by one loud guitar riff accompanied by either rests or palm mutes in between. This produces a jarring and/or pounding effect: it's stereotypical headbanging time. When the strobe lights came on they seemed to be synchronized at the same speed as the guitar. The guitar solos are also Dimebaggian, except not as technical. They are short and often start out with slow tapping, and end with basic tremolo picking. I’ve noticed that they also really like pinched harmonic vibratos.

Lordi formed in 1992, and recently have become popular, and there have been many comparisons to Gwar because of the appearance (Lordi claims to have never heard of Gwar until they hit it big, which I have a hard time believing). Aside from Lordi totally sucking as a band, the main difference between Lordi and Gwar is that Gwar is a parody. Their lyrics are satirical and intentionally overexaggerated. They normally talk about the joys of politics and enslaving the human race, they love war and think violence is sexy. They also make fun of the metal genre: watching Gwar feels kind of like seeing a thrash metal version of Spinal Tap: except so overdone and extreme that not even Dethklok from Adult Swim’s Metalocalypse could compete. In between songs, they tell jokes and indulge in grotesque theatrics. Monsters or politicians or religious figures will come on stage and flick off the crowd or anger Gwar by claiming to be more evil and they will get into axe or sword fights. During a fight someone always dies, loses an appendage, and literally sprays fake blood all over the crowd for at least a minute while writhing and dancing around.

I’d say the most offensive and funny thing I saw this year at the December 1rst show was Pope Benedict goose-stepping onto stage, screaming “heil Hitler,” making fun of the fact that he was a former member of The Hitler Youth; obviously, he was killed by axe. This was followed by some dummy which came out on stage claiming to be Jesus, and he spoke to Gwar and the crowd at the same time talking about salvation, and death to all Jews, which did not make sense until it turned around and on the other side of the head was Hitler. It went back and forth from Hitler to Jesus, until Gwar became aggravated and they drew weapons. As Hitler-Jesus was dying, spraying blood from its neck, it masturbated blood from his extremely large phallice all over the crowd. With all of the Jewish jokes, it only seemed appropriate for the giant, 9-eyed, bird-dog-monster, Jewsifer, to flap its dime-pinching Jewish wings and attack. This was the grand finale fight, and the star-of-david-wearing demon was definitely their best dummy.

The show was almost ended when Gwar left the stage, and a cop strutted out waving his nightstick, telling us there was nothing to see and to go home, he was then beaten and killed, and Gwar played an encore just for the hell of it. They recently had an appearance on MTV's Viva La Bam, which I think is lame, because I dislike Bam Margera as a person. However Bam Margera did come onto stage and talk with Gwar, "Hey dudes, I'm filming Jackass three in Hell right now." Gwar was not impressed, and began to poke fun "Yea, well maybe we'll see you down there, and instead of getting Jessica Simpson to suck your dick, we'll get OJ Simpson to suck your dick." Bam thought that sounded like a great idea, and leaned in to make out with Oderus Urungus, and to his surprise, got his tongue and part of his face bitten off; then his eyes were poked out, and he started screaming and spraying blood, saying "this is great, are you filming this?" The city of Charlotte once banned Gwar for a year, and fined Urungus for obscenity charges. They made a reference to that saying, "This town once stole my penis, but God I love this town." In 1993 one of Gwars shows was shutdown in Athens Georgia and with the help of the ACLU they sued. When they won, they donated the money to charity.

2004’s show was better and funnier than this years, probably because they had more political material to work with; their 2004 cd, War Party referenced the war on terror. That and they had an actual "blood cannon", which was awesome. There were far more characters: Lacy Peterson gave birth to a lobster, Michael Jackson talked about how much he loves kids, President Bush asked us if we wanted any coke, and Osama Bin Laden came out of with a bomb strapped to his head talking about how he was going to be having sex with 72 virgins. The show was ended by a Gwar rap side project with great beats, and one of the gwar monsters spraying the blood cannon all over the crowd going wild.

The costumes are really incredible, some really are scary while others are just outlandishly stupid. Their music alone is not unique enough to distinguish them from literally hundreds of other similar sounding bands, but I will see them live every chance I get. This first class novelty act will never die because they have always recieved warm support from their diehard cult following. In return they have served us with more than twenty years of brutality and stupidity, and have always charged moderate prices, even though their shows cost them a lot of money. I paid twenty bucks, and fourteen bucks last time.

Despite their over-the-top image, they have not let rock star excess affect their performance, reliability or reputation. I know that when I am 35 I won't have to drop 180 euros (starting price) to see their one time reunion, like the upcoming Zeppelin shebang. The audacity...you disappear for 20 years, and now you charge 250$ for one ticket?! This sucks, I don't have that kind of money! I just want to rock out to Valhalla, is that too much to ask!? Some moron just paid 83,000 pounds online for a pair of remaining tickets, setting the record for most expensive concert ticket. Only rich bastards or psychos will be able to see this, which is not fair because i'm relatively sane and poor. Come on Jimmy, way to repay the fans: I say you are now obligated to tour world wide for this tremendous tease, or else you will meet inevitable death by obsessive fan, like John Lennon. Just because your biggest fans will pay big prices doesn't mean you should exploit them. I mean, you know most of your fans are stupid, they did all the same drugs you did in the 70's, remember? ...oh yea, I guess you don't. Gwar should beat your ass.

Anyways, as a fan/audience member I am primarily influenced by sound, and have a pretty short attention span for anything else. The moral of the story: if you’re in a band that's going to wear costumes, you better have a pretty good act to go along with it. It's probably best to have a sense of humor too. This is not for those who are easily offended, but it is a great time that I would suggest to anyone who likes metal or punk, and wants to see something insane. Just don't wear anything nice, because they do spray a lot of blood.

Poetry Passion: Revealed

2007-12-02T20:12:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of things that go along with being a writer. Practicing the craft, staying on top of grammar limitations, but in my opinion, being an active reader is essential to growth for a writer. My studies in creative writing have expanded the reach in regards to genre. I no longer head straight for the fiction section when I enter a bookstore. I like to challenge myself--pick up a cook book or a how-to piece on gardening. The other day while browsing the isles at Barnes and Noble, I found myself in the poetry section. I happed to pick up a thick collection of poems by a previous Poet Laureate, Billy Collins. After thumbing through the pages, page 15 caught my eye.

Is there a more gentle way to go into the night
than to follow an endless rope of sentences
and then to slip drowsily under the surface of a page
into the first tentative flicker of a dream,
passing out of the bright precincts of attention
like cigarette smoke passing through a window screen? ("Reading Myself to Sleep")

In Questions About Angels, Billy Collins captures in a simplistically beautiful way the journey that is life. The broad range of subject matter almost lends a sense of universality to the collection; everyone is bound to find something to relate to in his ninety page masterpiece. His tone varies greatly from piece to piece. In "The History Teacher," Collins takes on a very playful tone-- as if speaking to the students in this particular professor’s classroom.

Trying to protect his students’ innocence
He told them the Ice Age was really just
The Chilly Age, a period of a million years
When everyone had to wear sweaters.

Then, in poem’s such as "Pensee," Collins explores life and death with strong metaphors embedded deeply in historical facts and figures such as Pascal and Magellan. This was one of my favorite poems in the book. It is a perfect example of Collins’ ability to take the simplest concepts and transform them into an astonishing, explosive image with so much power.

We die only when we run out of footprints.
Then the biographers move in to retrace our paths,
Enclosing them in tall mazes of lumber
To make our lives see more complex, more arduous,
To make our leaving the room seem heroic.

Another trademark of Collins’ is seen in "Pensee." He maintains great control throughout his poems by choosing a single image or concept, sticks with it and finds a way to creatively incorporate it until the end of the poem.
Collins writes with impressive diction and winds in and out of incredible metaphors with ease. His words always seem to fit perfectly onto each line. Typically, his lines are much longer than most would expect in poems but his poems, with their lengthy lines and lingering images stay true to his own style, which is truly remarkable. He is not afraid to use big, convoluted, sometimes confusing words because the reader gets the sense that it doesn’t really matter that much to him if you don’t get the word, skip over it, keep going-- you’ll get it in the end. Collins’ also doesn’t shy from name-dropping; he turns these great figures into humans the reader can relate to. Cezanne is merely “… a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,” and Kafka is struggling to put words on his page just like every other troubled writer. Collins is a great leveler, which I believe is very important, especially in published work, poems that have an audience. Finally, Collins’ metaphors are ultimately what grab at you from each page; they leave you dumbfounded, all you can write is a pathetic little “wow,” in the margin. Sometimes there just aren’t words and that’s it. Collins’ Questions About Angels is magical, mystical and leaves you completely unsure of what it is you have experienced once you finally put it down-- he makes you feel alive and for me, that was enough.

I will feel the rotation of the earth
As electrically as the sudden touch of a stranger.
I will wonder how many thousands of days
It would take the two of us to walk to the moon.

La Dolce Vita: The Greatest Film of All Time

2007-12-02T16:43:00.000-05:00

“I wish that every young person with an interest in film could have had the same experience that I had back in those days; to be young, open to everything, and to walk into the theater and have your expectations not only met, but surpassed time and time again. We all had one film that was a turning point, a touchstone, and I suppose that Fellini’s 8½ was mine.”

–Martin Scorsese

Federico Fellini carves his greatest masterpiece from the vacuous characters devoid of moral fabric in this celebration of film. La Dolce Vita is about excess, wanton desire and un-fulfillment. No amount of money, fame and partners can satisfy Marcello Rubini’s hunger. On top of this he is weighed down by his emotionally needy girlfriend who is a complete bore. He is an outsider wanting in. He knows this, the celebrities he leeches on know this but it fuels their egos.

The beginning of the film has Marcello Rubini played by Marcello Mastroianni flying a helicopter following a statue of Jesus being carried by another helicopter. This overt symbolism is a bit over the top but powerful nonetheless. He is sidetracked by some sunbathing woman on a pool rooftop. They make small talk about the statue and he is on his way again. To him the statue is just as much a celebrity as the people he writes about in his columns.

What La Dolce Vita does so well is make something as stereotypically glamorous and alluring like fame, power and casual sex seem so depraved. Why is Marcello trapped? He has famous friends, disposable cash and drunken parties on end but he is lost. He is a chameleon to whatever trend he feels he needs to mask his true self under. He is a nomad with no home because he does not know himself and once he gets a glimpse of who he is, he runs.

The celebrities he meets as a journalist are whatever his mind projects them to be. To him they are exciting, desirable and posses whatever he lacks. They fuel his insecurity by the very need of him wanting to assimilate and be part of something that he is not. What ultimately happens though is that plays an enemy to himself by being no more than an observer. He does not question what he sees and believes that nothing he sees could be an act. Like the mystery that allures people to another, he is enamored by their image and success. After spending so much time with these movie stars though he sees their cracks and weaknesses but is unfazed. He wants to believe the elusive lie that is their representation of happiness and not his own.

The turning point of the film is when he is at the beach with the famous crowd he has leeched onto the whole film. He encounters an angelic looking girl who looks at him invitingly. She offers him self redemption but he falters. Instead he goes with his fake friends and ultimately kills any sort of self worth he may have ever had. He seeks the lie of something fake because it is much more exciting even though it offers nothing substantial. Her eyes trail off of him and onto us for falling into the same trap. It is hypnotic, haunting and unforgettable.

Gold Digging for Dummies...

2007-12-02T13:09:00.000-05:00

Alright ladies, here it is. The holy grail of dating and using men for their money. Have you ever wondered how you will pay this month's rent or afford the new pair of stilettos you've been eyeing at the mall? Are you gutless and desperate? Can you handle the stigma that goes along with the title? If so, you are on your way to becoming a gold-digger, draped in furs and diamonds or at the very least, set with a full tank of gas. The following is a how-to guide on getting what you want for free (ish).

Step one: Acquire a suitable target. Upscale bars and other establishments are the most promising to find a good gold-diggee. Try to steer clear from any man wearing denim jackets or overalls. Those are two characteristics that will ultimately lead you to a trailer park and a can of Busch Light. And beware of popped collars and boat shoes. While seemingly trendy, they tell tales of daddy's money and a pre-nup. Stay away.You want to look for class. We're talking baby calf-skin jackets and alligator loafers. Sunglasses encrusted with diamonds and pinky rings are also accessories that scream "cha-ching". Remember to take your time. Proper selection is key to a true gold-digging lifestyle.

Step two: Focus first on charming your subject. Bat those eyelashes, nibble on your bottom lip, then casually drop something on the floor--bending over seductively to tease him with your goodies. Did his mouth open slightly at the sight of your booty drop? If so, he's hooked and you can move on to the next step. If not, jiggle the twins a little more or move on to a more interested subject. Remember: while looks are a bonus, they don't fill his wallet with cash. Focus your aim on his checkbook rather than his potbelly.

Step three: Test the water for gold-digging potential. You don't want to invest a great deal of time into a subject that doesn't put out monetarily. Clear your throat and ask what he's drinking. A true gentleman, perfect for gold-digging, will most often offer to buy you a beverage. Test the waters by ordering a premium, top shelf cocktail. But do not go overboard and ask for a double Grey Goose. Ease him into it and save the doubles for date two. If your target does not offer to buy you a drink or scoffs at your high alcohol standards, take this as a clue that Wal-mart may be more his style and that he will not be game to buy you Manolos or Prada. Suck it up as a loss and move on to the next suitable guy.

Step four: Set up for continuation but do not go home with the target. Remember the golden rule: No money, no honey. While this is a give and take relationship, don't give it up until you are confident that he will continue showering you with not only his love and affection, but with credit cards and cash. Check out his car, his house, his job and if possible, his bank statements. You need security that your pampered lifestyle will continue. No one wants to give up the goodies and be left knocked up with a mini-van.

Step five: If you are confident that your target is a perfect gold-diggee, than build the spending momentum by taking a trip to the mall. Breathe admiration of diamonds and couture and sigh sadly as you look at the price tags. A worthy sugar-daddy will whip out his credit card and sign with a smile.

While gold-digging is a seemingly shallow job, you will grow to love your gold-diggee. Trips to the Bahamas and Milan will bring the two of you closer, making you realize that there's more to him than meets the wallet. Shower him with love and kindness and he will be sure to continue to fill your closet and your heart.

Beauty in Aging

2007-12-01T10:50:00.000-05:00

There is a commercial on TV that I frequently see these days that disturbs me. It is an ad for product that removes "fine lines and tiny wrinkles" to make you look years younger, at least according to the word of the beautiful actors on the screen. It is similar to Botox and must be administered by a medical professional. It isn't the product that disturbs me as much as the ad itself, particularly the line one woman delivers. Different people say "I use it because..." giving their personal reason. One very attractive woman who is being embraced by an equally attractive man says, "I use it because he thinks I am younger than I am." This five second blurb pricks at my sensibility and aggravates my normally easy going acceptance of all things commerical. Why? Because it illustrates all too clearly the fact that our society no longer sees any value or beauty in the inevitable process of aging.

In less than two weeks I will celebrate my 46th birthday. And I do mean celebrate because every birthday signifies another year I have been able to live on this planet, sharing the joys and sorrows known as life. If I am lucky enough to live into my 90's, I am truly middle-aged and I am comfortable with that and all that accompanies it -- including the idea of looking my age. But that feeling, according to the standards now being set by our society, is no longer acceptable. Thanks in part to celebrities like Elizabeth Taylor, Cher, Priscilla Presley and Joan Rivers, it is no longer considered acceptable to grow old gracefully.

The idea of being beautiful in your 50s and 60s now seems to include lips puffed to bee-stung proportions, eyes so tightly stretched that many might assume there is Asian ethnicity in the genes, and cheekbones honed to a razor sharpness. Of course, anything over a size six in the wardrobe department is also considered nearly obese, with exception of the chest area which should firmly ride high over the unnaturally perky 36D cups. Women of any age now should now look as close to twenty-five as possible, even if it requires removing any part of the body or face that actually makes you your age.

I remember seeing an interview with an aging Audrey Hepburn a while back. I was struck by the thought of a what a beautiful woman she was. Not a beautiful older woman, or the beautiful woman she had been in her youth, but a beautiful woman altogether. Age had softened her, created a looked that exuded class, warmth and wisdom. I wasn't distracted by eyebrows pinched into her hairline and dyed coal black hair coyly draped over a misshapen cheek. Hers was a simple beauty of a woman aged into her sixties, seasoned by life.

When I look into my senior years, I can't help but think of my grandmother, a little old lady that looked remarkably like Granny in the Tweety and Sylvester cartoons. She was a tiny thing, with powder white hair and a soft peach complextion that surrounded her lively blue eyes. I can remember telling her that I loved how soft she felt because it made her better to hug. She was beautiful to me, to my cousins and to her own children, and she looked nothing like the senior starlets portrayed in the media today. She gave me the understanding of growing old gracefully.

While I may miss some of my looks from my twenties, especially the flat stomach and firmly set chin, I am much happier with who I am today. With every year that passes, I gain new wisdom and confidence. I no longer concern myself simple with how a pair of jeans fit or if I can turn someone's head. I just want to be that person my grandmother was to me, someone who my children and grandchildren look up to and value. For that is the true beauty in growing old; I honestly don't want someone to think "I am younger than I am."

Under the Influence of Rock

2007-11-30T02:32:00.000-05:00

In my own experience, rock music is a way of life, a mode of existence, an intellectual and spiritual interchange between artist and listener. In fact, I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t have the radio tuned to a rock station. Certain bands, because of their song structure, lyrics or style, influence me on a daily basis. I attend live shows with my younger brother who shares my passion for electric guitars. After the shows, we hang out late on my back porch and discuss the various emotions and sensations we experienced that night; usually, we’re still talking about how wild the show was and what parts we loved most the next morning. In this way, rock lyrics become a cultural text that we incorporate into our daily discussions and musings. Two bands in particular—the Vines and Bloc Party—influence me the most.

I began listening to the Vines as a freshman in high school after my guitar teacher lent me their debut album, “Highly Evolved,” which is a post-grunge celebration of drug-induced visions, fallen humanity, and restless aggression. Distorted guitars, progressive drum-beats, and butter-smooth vocals that become devilish screams are some of the band’s characteristic sounds. Formed in 1999, the Australian band consists of Craig Nicholls (lead vocals/guitar), Ryan Griffiths (guitar/vocals), Hamish Rosser (drums), and Brad Heald (Bass). As a songwriter, I feel a close connection to Nicholls, who writes eccentric verses and choruses that border on the dark side of postmodernism. Nicholls expresses a distinct distaste for human artifice and the search for truth, and condemns it outright on many of his tracks. To support Nicholls’s vocals, the guitarist composes grungy solos that are intricate and rebellious, and sometimes they last for several minutes. Backing all the chaos is solid, progressive drumming that provides a melodic spine to the screams and harmonic, punkish rhythms.

After listening to the Vines all throughout high school, I discovered another band during my first year in college: Bloc Party. My cousin stumbled upon the group while surfing the net one day and later introduced me to their music on a glorious weekend in the spring of 2004. Hailing from the UK, Bloc Party is an indie rock band that has managed to become the soundtrack to my intellectual life. In fact, I rarely write papers or essays without having one of their songs pulsing from my laptop speakers and into my receptive ear drums. With spiking guitar riffs and dancehall beats, the songs give my fingers a creative impulse, an impulse that calls for orderliness and productivity in my assignments. As the moods of the tracks shift, so does my textual input and thought processes. Certain songs, like the introspective “So Here We Are,” are best for writing thoughtful, melancholy poems or prose pieces in which sensory details are vital. Other songs, like “Banquet” and “Helicopter” are more upbeat and, consequently, are more appropriate for writing narratives that require a fluid pace or underlying sense of timing.

The lyrics, as well as the sounds, of Bloc Party are honest and unpretentious, and I’m attracted to their subtle intellect. When I listen to the words of lead singer Kele Okereke, I feel like he’s painting images on the walls of my skull, sketching epiphanies and confessions with a glow-in-the-dark pencil. More specifically, he speaks to the my confused generation and tries to make sense of raging technology, postmodern values, identity-crises, racism, terrorism, drug use, sexual tensions, and superfluous materialism, all of which are issues I ponder on a regular basis. In the song “Hunting for Witches,” Okereke tackles the aftermath of the September 11^th attacks: “1990's, optimistic as a teen/But now its terror, airplanes crash into towers/The Daily mail say's ‘the enemy is among us!’/ ‘Taking our women and taking our jobs.’” Throughout the rest of the song, he explains his viewpoint that the government uses media coverage of terrorist attacks to keep society in a state of fear (A Weekend in the City). I relate closely to this sentiment and see his socially-aware framework of thought as a resource for my own ideas.

In closing, the music I’ve incorporated into my life—the Vines and Bloc Party—influences my emotional and intellectual lives. I can’t live without my rock music. As I look to the future and its unknown void, I don’t worry because I have my stereo and two great bands to accompany me through life’s nebulae. Rock moves me forwards.

My Purple Car

2007-11-28T19:09:00.000-05:00

My pocket vibrated as my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I said. “Hey Chris,” my dad replied, “I, uh, didn’t want to ruin your weekend, but your car has been vandalized.” “Dad, what did you do to my car?” I said jokingly. I thought he was playing a prank on me and had placed Buffalo Bill stickers on my car or something. He replied, “Chris, I’m not kidding. I didn’t do anything to your car.” “What?!!” I screeched. He spoke quickly, “Honey, don’t worry about it. We will get it fixed. You just enjoy your weekend.” It was too late though. Tears shot up and threatened to spill over onto my cheeks. It had been such a great day too and now it was ruined.

Thursday afternoon, I drove to the Trask parking lot with my adidas bags packed full with my running shoes, uniform, and extra clothes for the weekend. The top eight lady cross-country runners were going to Louisville, Kentucky to race at Regionals. I was so excited to go. I pulled up to the building and ran inside to grab a parking pass from my Coach. I jogged back to my car and hurried to park at the UNCW track so we could get on the van and start our ten hour trip to KY. I jumped into the backseat of the van and we were on our way. We arrived in Louisville on Friday and started preparing for our race on Saturday morning. I was pumped and ready for the race.

Saturday morning finally came around after a restless night of sleep. We drove to the park where the race was and my family was waiting there for me. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was in the 50’s. It was the perfect set up for a great race. After one last shout, “Go Seahawks!” the girls lined up at the start. The gun went off and the pain began. A grueling 23 minutes later, I finished the race with my personal record for the season. I could not stop smiling as we packed up our bags so we could go explore downtown Louisville and eat some delicious food.

We stopped at Joe’s Crab Shack to eat lunch. We all sat down and excitedly discussed our race. What an awesome day. I thought. I got to see my mom and all my siblings. I set a personal record in the 6k which ended our season on a great note. And we were going to get to downtown Louisville. Nothing could have ruined my joyous mood and then…I felt my pocket vibrate. I glanced at my phone. Oh, it’s my dad. After the conversation with my dad, I found it hard to go back to celebrating. The thrill of the end of the season and the last race had vanished.

The next day we started our trip back to Wilmington. Knots tightened in my stomach as I impatiently waited to get to campus so I could look at my car. We pulled in the track parking lot and I held my breath as we inched closer and closer to my car. Then, I let out a startled shriek. My usually glimmering dark purple Dodge Stratus was covered with dirt and mud. Both my side mirrors had been knocked off. One was missing while the other dangled pitifully from the blue and red wires out of the car. My passenger back door had a dent the size of basketball in it. Rage rose through my entire body as I observed the damages. Those stupid jerks!!

I drove my beat-up car home and depressingly went to call my insurance. They informed that since I had liability only they would not be able to help me pay for the damages. I held back a frustrated scream that was making its way up my throat. I went back outside to observe my car one more time. As I stood there contemplating why it had to be my car, I started to laugh. Of course it would be my car. Why wouldn’t it be? I called my mom so she could humor me with some sympathy. I thought I had to salvage what was left of my Sunday. I told her what happened and then was silent, waiting for her to feel sorry for me. And this is what she said, “Well, next time don’t buy a purple car.”

Welcome to the “Real World”

2007-11-28T17:41:00.000-05:00

My eyes keep glancing at the clock on my car radio—1:45. I have fifteen minutes to get there. As I frantically try to smooth out any wrinkles left in my skirt, the traffic begins to back up like a hair clog in a drain. As soon as I merge onto 440 cars come to a complete stop, as if anything else can go wrong. I don’t even live back home in Raleigh again and already I am starting to hate it.

“Hi Garrett, this is Amanda Adams. I have an interview scheduled for 2:00. Yes, I am going to be a little late, I am stuck in traffic and just wanted to let you all know, but I will get there as soon as possible. Okay thank you so much, Goodbye.”

This is wonderful. My very first job interview and I am going to be late. This isn’t like me; I am usually early for everything. I scramble to make sure my resume looks presentable while at a standstill, and realize the printer was evidently running out of ink. The first half of the print is black, and then fades into a light gray. That looks professional.

As I finally merge onto my exit, I continue to follow the reliable Map Quest directions. I have lived near Raleigh all my life, but I never had to drive around much, so it was all new to me. After traveling ten minutes and not seeing the next road, I panicked. I called my boyfriend in desperation of where to go as tears streamed down my face. Nothing looked familiar and I couldn’t stop anywhere. He calmly told me which turns to make and I was back on track. It is now 2:05. He informs me I still have ten minutes to go before I would arrive at my interview, and I immediately contemplated turning around and going home. This is not the stress I wanted to endure over Thanksgiving break. However, I remembered how fortunate I was to receive a call back from this company—it was a possible job.

I speed walk into the tall, glass building with all the confidence I could dig back up. While riding the elevator I whipped the tears from my eyes and gave myself a pep talk. “You can do this. They want you. Just be yourself.”

My legs began to shake as I approached the door labeled “JRW Marketing Group.” Just then a million questions rushed through my head. What if they don’t like me? What if I am not qualified? What if I freeze when answering a question? What if I throw up in the office? I felt like I was in a dream, wondering aimlessly around the “real world” life.

I quietly walked in and was greeted by a friendly receptionist. Two seconds after I sat down, another guy who looked to be my age came in the door and sat next to me. My stomach dropped. I bet this guy knows what he is doing. I bet his resume is all the same color. Well, at least he was late too.

After anxiously waiting only a few minutes, a man named Mitch introduced himself to us and took me back into his office. I took a deep breath and sat down. He joked with me about how bad traffic is in that part of Raleigh, which relieved some of my guilt for being late. I explained to him how I’ve lived in Wilmington the last four years, and we quickly engaged in a conversation about UNCW and life at the beach. I forgot I was even being interviewed, and my legs stopped shaking. He was down to earth and nice. I realized I wasn’t being judged; Mitch simply wanted to get to know me.

It was business talk from there on, with discussions about what the company is about and what my job would entail. He explained that since it is an entry level job, it involves a three-step interview process, where I would job shadow to learn and observe. The fear of being thrown into a position unaware of my responsibilities frightened me like being trapped in a cage of hungry lions. Mitch explained a few more details concerning the job environment, and it was over. We shook hands and I was still alive. I made it through my first “real world” job interview, and I felt satisfied.

When just finishing school and entering the work force, everything is new. In my case, I assumed I should already know how things work and be able to handle all the pressure. But the interview taught me it doesn’t work that way—it is a continuous learning process. I am thankful I had a positive experience with my first interview, because there will be many more. For the others I will refill the ink cartridge, allow plenty of time for traffic, and most importantly, focus on proving who I am and why I am valuable.

Going Home

2007-11-26T23:03:00.000-05:00

I love going home to the comfort of my bed, the familiarity of my kitchen, and the love of my dog. There are a million memories and a million laughs that have been shared in that home. My hometown is where I met my friends and where we had all of our childish fights. My home holds my past and I know that I can always go back and enjoy the things I have left behind, but there is a problem-I go home a different person. The place I remember, the place I love, has not changed but I am so different. How can you go back home, if you see the world in a completely different way?

I go home around every other weekend and almost every time I go home he tells me that I have become too liberal. My family is strictly conservative and I used to be as well. Like most young people, I thought the sun rose and set in my parents’ opinions. Now that I have been in college and away from home for over three years, I see things and examine my own beliefs before I think “What would my parents do?” They are happy that I challenge them and have my own beliefs, but I am a great debater and my Dad and I get a little competitive with the heated conversations. I know that everyone grows up and their opinions and beliefs change, but I never noticed how rigid my parents’ beliefs were until mine had changed.

At graduation everyone says that we are going to be the friends that stay close forever and that we will be the exception to the rule that says everyone drifts apart after high school. We were wrong. I haven’t seen my best friend form high school in two years. He was just like me and knew how to make me laugh when I needed to the most. He went to North Carolina State and I went the UNCW. We talked for the first few weeks we were away, but by the end of the first semester we were barely talking. Looking back on the things that made us friends, the things that we had in common all of those things have changed. In my hometown, we were the two smartest people in our school. We worked together and we had every class together. We were friends because we had so much in common we had to be. Now everything that made us friends is gone and I cannot imagine us being friends now.

Every time I go home for a high school football game or go shopping in our local Wal-Mart, I am afraid that I will see a former close friend. That awkward “how are you” conversation is something that I avoid, because I cannot tell them how I am—I am stronger, more independent, and the childish things that made me think you were going to be a great and successful person are gone.

I can go home anytime I want, it’s only an hour away, but I am not the person who left. Nothing has changed there, but everything has changed in me.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Room 203

2007-11-25T23:47:00.000-05:00

So you’re heading east on I-40. As you get close to the Wilmington city limits, the speed limit will change from 70 mph to 55 mph. Keep driving straight, and I-40 will turn into College Road, which is the road that UNCW is off of. You’ll know you’re going the right way because the speed limit will change to 45 mph and buildings and restaurants will pop up alongside the road. You’ll see a Best Buy on your left and a Checkers on your right. After passing New Centre Drive and some other streets, take a left onto Randall Drive.

You are now on campus. Do not let the supersized pick-up trucks, Hummers and Jeeps with apocalyptic-sounding exhaust kits scare you. These vehicles belong to people who don’t have girlfriends.

Keep driving down Randall. Beware of the speed bumps, which are Everest-like and unforgiving to low-riders. On your right you’ll see a green sign that says, “Randall Library.” Hang a right into the parking lot. Ok, now it’s time to utilize all that Survival-of-the-Fittest individualism you studied in biology class. Rule Number One: Don’t apologize for swooping in and snagging a parking spot that someone else has been waiting for. Just keep your hood on, exit your car in a hurry, and ignore the torrent of F-bombs. Rule Number Two: Don’t snag someone else’s spot if you value the paint-job on your car. Keys aren’t just for opening doors, you know.

If you park before 4 p.m., you run the risk of being ticketed by over-zealous uniformed men on bicycles. Like the truck-and-Hummer boys, these men do not have girlfriends. To outsmart their meticulous methods, you must find a car that already has a ticket on its windshield and steal it. When no one’s looking, put the ticket on your own windshield, so when the biker boys come around, they’ll think they already pegged you. This is a rude and unconscionable thing to do, and you’ll probably go to hell for it. At least you save 25 bucks, though. If you are an out-of-towner, don’t even bother with the whole ticket fraud: campus police only follow up on tickets that are easy to collect on, such as those tickets issued to registered students who can't buy the steam off a hot cup of Ramen.

Once parked, walk straight ahead until you’re facing Randall Library. Turn your head left until you see another brick building with a sign above its doors that reads “Morton Hall.” Enter through the entrance that faces the clock tower. Take the staircase on your left. Once you’ve reached the top, push open the double doors and walk straight down the hall. Room 203 will be on your left. Open the wooden door, have a seat, and call me when you get there. If you want, you can pass the time by sending random text messages to random people.

Home Is...

2007-11-25T23:40:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school, my older three sisters and my brother all moved out at some point to go on to some new life of their own. Some of them ended up coming back home for a while, some never did. I was always close to them, and looked forward to them coming home to visit. It was a huge family affair, with tons of food, drinking, and catching up on all that was new in their lives. I looked forward to the time when I would come home to the same. I never did in quite the same way.

Since I am the youngest of five kids, my leaving home was much different. My parents traveled the country to visit my sister at boot camp and when she arrived home from deployment; they traveled six hours to take another sister to college and help her settle in. My leaving was much different. My mom didn't cry; in fact, I think she was as anxious for me to leave as I was. I didn't realize this at the time, but it was an adventure for her as well. For the first time in her life, she was not wrapped up in her children's lives and was free to do as she pleased.

The weekend I was suppose to leave there was a hurricane and my parents debated with me whether they wanted to take me before or after it was supposed to hit. My Dad simply ended up driving me to Wilmington, helping me drag my few possessions up to my dorm room and left. And since then I've learned to make my own home.

I've been home since, but not in the way that I imagined. No, it is not the same. My room was emptied of my things and taken over for new uses. And for holidays I'd rather travel the country to visit my siblings, or have them come see me, then return home. We've parted ways so much, I doubt there's going to be a holiday with all of us, my parents and sisters and brother, cooking and drinking and talking again.

We've all had to adjust. I had to learn how to make my own home, and it is truly mine now. I am free to live the way I want; if that means having a party or not getting home till four in the morning that's my choice and I could never give up my freedom for anything. My parents have had to adjust by realizing that I am an adult now and the need for them to be parents setting out rules or telling me what to do is nonexistent. And my siblings no longer know that I am safely at home and waiting for them to come visit me.

We'll always be close, but home is not my parents' house. It is my house, my possessions, my friends. At some point in the past, my parents made the same change.

Where Do Our Priorities Lie?

2007-11-25T23:37:00.000-05:00

Healthcare. Education. The War on Terror. The War on Drugs. The Iraq War. Homeland Security. Buzzwords on an all-too-familiar view of CNN or Fox News, depending on the day you catch it. Pundits vehemently argue politics and policy while videos of burning humvees pop up on the screen and the tape rolling beneath it reads, “15 more US soldiers die by IEDs in Anbar province and across Iraq.” The clip doesn’t even solicit a response from the spitfire of the pundits; meanwhile, a professor joining the discussion by satellite from an Ivy League university begins to argue something profound:

“Can’t the money pumped into the War in Iraq be better spent on education and healthcare?”

Silence. Doubt creeps onto the pundits’ faces. The professor is winning his argument already. The cost of the War in Iraq alone is skyrocketing, and there is no sign in sight of the funding decreasing. Government corruption in the US and Iraq is rampant, with high-ranking US officials having corporate ties to the civilian contractors who are protecting our men and women in uniform. An evolving, ancient sectarian fight between Sunni and Shi’ite Muslims is constantly threatening the rebuilding of infrastructure in the country. More security and more troops and more funding are required to battle the insurgents.

MORE is always the focus, but the play on words is more profound when it focuses on funding and battle. Already the Iraq War is costing taxpayers $471,783,400,000, and it is increasing daily.1

What does all that money translate to? The gas stations across the country are no indicator, with gas topping $3.00 in most places, so cheaper oil is out of the question. But isn’t that why the Commander-in-Chief is sending our sons and daughters into harms way for – cheaper oil?

Maintaining stability might be a rational argument if the United States government did not undermine the most stable thing Iraq had going for it – Saddam Hussein. The lesser of two evils is displayed with Saddam versus disruption spreading from Iraq to surrounding nations. In the 1980s, Saddam’s regime was responsible for the extermination of 180,000 Kurds.2 Now, compare that to the number of Iraqi deaths since the US-led occupation - 1.2 million.3 American deaths since the beginning of the war – 3,905.4 While the number of American deaths may seem small compared to the Iraqi deaths, that’s roughly one entire Brigade Combat Team now resting in Arlington National Cemetery. With each soldier, marine, sailor, or airman outfitted war, the cost becomes even higher.

Here is a safer alternative. America becomes less of the world police and becomes the beacon of education, technological and scientific innovation, and human rights. Breaking the billions of dollars down, more young (those on their way to graduation and possibly college) and middle-aged adults can see a pure display of their tax dollars benefiting them directly.

Many children in the United States have no health insurance. The money spent on the Iraq War translates to $1607/child for one year; the total number of children that money could insure is 282,505,000.5

$20,627/student for 4 years at a public university (in-state tuition) in scholarships given to 22,871,100 students across the country.5 American middle and lower classes no longer has to take out credit cards and tremendous amounts of student loan, further incurring heavy debt. The more cash Americans have, the more likely they are to reinvest in the economy. Black Friday (the biggest shopping day of the year), following Thanksgiving, is a prime example of how much Americans can spend.

8,176,075 teachers with an average salary of $57,700 for one year could be employed in schools across the country with what is being spent on the Iraq War.5 Smaller classes, engaging students in a constructive manner, internships and job placement during and after school, all of these are just some things that a larger workforce of teachers could provide. The National Institute for Literacy published a recent report, “The State of Literacy in America.” The report states that out of 191 million adults in the US, as many as 44 million cannot read a newspaper or fill out a job application. Another 50 million more cannot read or comprehend above and 8th grade level. A more educated population translates to adults becoming more involved with one another, fostering new ideas and becoming active participants in society and its operations. A well-informed and educated society is better poised to influence the policies that guide it, both domestically and overseas.

Education and ideologies are the most paramount weapons in the Iraq War and ultimately the War on Terror. Terrorists are breeding their doctrine of hate and revolution against the United States and the West through education and a fundamentalist ideology. All of this is done in some sort of learning environment. The American response should be to look at the past, garner a better understanding of an evolving culture [Islam], and seek to collaborate rather than engage that culture.

Money spent on the Iraq War is better spent on Americans through education and healthcare than procuring defense contracts, future oil assets, and the disruption of entire cultures and religions. Develop assets at home instead of abroad and reinvest in a new American Dream – give Americans the tools to raise the lowest denominator and build a shining beacon of learning, peace, and prosperity.

1 Congressional Budget Office. 2007.

2 http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/paperchase/2007/10/iraqi-prosecutor-defends-death-sentence.php. Oct. 27. 2007.

3 alternet.org/story/62728/

4 www.globalsecurity.org

5 www.nationalpriorities.org

President Arthur Branch

2007-11-25T23:16:00.000-05:00

Fred Thompson was recently asked, "What job do you think is harder, playing the President on TV or in real life?" Thompson responded, "I don't think either is very hard."

The actor and Republican presidential candidate, best known for his role as District Attorney Arthur Branch on the television show Law & Order, is hot on the campaign trail selling Americans just want they want...a lethal dose of delusion. Americans would much rather bury their heads in the proverbial sand than hear the truth at this point. The truth is far too painful, the solution far too drastic. Thompson gives one hope in the "TV Dad." He's out to prove that all is right in the world, that America is still the greatest nation on the planet. We've done nothing wrong and everything will be ok. We are not the America you see on TV.

According to Thompson, we have the strongest health care system in the world. Why is it then, Mr. Thompson, that the U.S. is the only industrialized nation on Earth lacking universal health care access? Why are we ranked 41st in lowest infant mortality rate and 45th in total life expectancy (CIA World Factbook)? The World Health Organization ranks the U.S. 37th overall behind likes of Chile, Costa Rica and Saudi Arabia. We are not the America you see on TV.

Fred Thompson is the guy America so desperately wants to trust in a time when he just might be the most dangerous man for the job. His sheer disregard for reality and unshakeable positivity coupled with that good-old-boy southern vernacular has him in the position to make his TV dreams a reality. President on TV, president of the United States of America (in the real world), it's all the same to Thompson.

Reagan has already laid the groundwork; we've seen this sort of thing before. Thompson is often compared to Reagan, the man who sold us a Hollywood version of politics almost 30 years ago. In the wake of the Vietnam War Reagan had America believing that it was as badass as ever. As dreamy and idealistic as Reagan was, he at least kept one foot in reality. Thompson, on the other hand, doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Reality, that is. The less we know of reality the better. After all, what you don’t know can't hurt you, right? We are not the America we see on TV.

Sure, art informs life to a certain extent. But have we really gotten to the point where we can't see TV from reality? Are our next four years going to play out like a made-for-TV movie? If Fred Thompson has his way, he'll write the script. Or better yet, he'll let you write you own. I'm not holding my breath for a Hollywood ending to this one.

Home Sweet...Home?

2007-11-25T23:02:00.000-05:00

They say that once you leave home, you can never truly go back. I was blindsided with this realization the first time I made the trek from my new home in Wilmington back to good old Doylestown, Ohio; home of farms, fishing ponds, and one stoplight.

Excited to be going home to see my family and friends and take in the country air, I was surprised to find myself feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Upon my arrival, I felt a new sense of unease take over. The cornfields seemed smaller, the dirt roads had been paved, and they added a new stop sign. Even the cows looked at me differently, a slightly glazed look with no hint of recognition, their spots dark and unfamiliar.

As we pulled into the driveway, I felt my heart beat a little bit faster, unsure why. After being greeted by warm hugs and kisses and shown the latest renovations, my heart sank a little. My home, the house that I had spent the better part of my life in, wasn't the home that I remembered so fondly. My bedroom had been renovated into an art room for my mother's budding passion for painting. And after being introduced to the newest addition to the family, a 170 pound Great Dane named Elizabeth, I was told I could sleep in the family room with the cat.

After taking a day or two to get settled, the awkward feeling eased up a bit, yet I still felt more like I was a visitor in my parents' home. As much as I loved being with my family, I longed to go back to Wilmington...to my home. It saddened me to think that the place where I had grown up now felt so alien to me. What had happened in those six months that changed my feelings of home so drastically?

Besides my new found independence, I still felt like the same small-town girl. I still had the same friends and went to the same bars, but it felt different somehow; as if I were a stranger that was playing my old role. As relaxing as I'd hoped my visit home would be, it stressed me out to feel so foreign in the one place where I thought I would always feel completely at ease.

On my last day there, I went out to the hammock to take a nap. Being out in that country air, breathing in the fresh-cut grass and watching the sun set over the fields was something that had not changed. It brought back that familiar feeling. The love I had growing up and the freedom of my summers to roam through the countryside. I realized that while life can change us, our past is still full of our memories. And holding on to those memories can always bring me back home.

Blog In A Nutshell: Stay on I-40, Turn Left at Randall

2007-11-25T22:38:00.000-05:00

Once you get onto I-40, you better have used the restroom and taken the other necessary stops because there is not much from this point until you get into Wilmington. For me, this part of the drive is the dregs of the entire trip. Maybe it is the fact that it is the last stretch of highway before entering the glory that is Wilmington, North Carolina.

I once had a friend who made the mistake of taking a bus home from school en route to Annapolis, Maryland. On his way back, he sent a text explaining where he was. It read, “I’m in purgatory, somewhere on I-40.” I haven't heard from him since.

For those of us from the North, I-40 is not the "end all, be all" road to get to college life, it is merely the last stretch. For us out-of-staters who travel on I-95 towards our destination, I-40 is both sweet and sour. Sweet, we are merely two hours away from the wonderful college life. Sour, we are two hours away on top of the six hours we have already been driving. For the commuters who invest in I-40 as a stepping stone between I-95 and civilization, I offer you this caveat emptor.

Unfortunately, having only traveled this road a couple of times, I offer you little in regards to directions. I shall do my best. The area of I-40 which you will travel is your typical boring road designed solely for transport between two cities. Hopes for modernization or taking steps into the 21st century seem to be on the back burner on I-40. The residents along I-40 seem content with mediocrity. Most signs of civilization along I-40 are little more than gas stations. The people at these gas stations are more than friendly in my experience.

In the baking August heat, I entered a gas station with no shirt on my way back to school. I was met with curious glances and raised eyebrows. At the cashier, the lady explained to me that I had to have a shirt on the next time I came in the store. I politely obliged and smirked. Her reply was unexpected. She leaned in, smirked back at me and whispered, “If it were up to me, I’d let you walk around with no shirt on.” She followed it with a wink. Maybe in another life, sweetheart.

Smithfield is a place that will stick out in your mind as you drive by it. You will be tempted with Bojangles. I won’t judge. I advise you to stop by Smithfield because it is most likely your last stop before Wilmington. After discarding your empty Bojangles box at speeds of 80 MPH, you will draw closer to Wilmington.

Mind you, the cops on this road are like sharks. We like to lie to ourselves and say that “they don’t fancy these parts,” or “they won’t go after me,” but in all reality, they are a real threat. Hint: I have heard that if you don’t move, they can’t see you. Was that North Carolina State Troopers or Tyrannosaurus Rexes?

By now, you are ready to pull the revolver out of the glove box and pull the trigger to the tunes of some hokey country station but hold strong. A sign reads, "Wilmington: So freakin’ close." You put the gun away, thankful for your hesitant lack of action.

You will pass a giant factory on your left and on through an intersection. I have no explanation for the factory really. I have always questioned it but never thought twice. I always assumed it was something moral and hearty like a genetically modified organ manufacturer. You will pass a gas station on your right immediately after the intersection. Do not try and buy beer there even if you are 37. There is an old hag lady who thinks everyone is under 21 and is using a fake ID.

As you drive over the overpass, a shimmering light will shine upon you. These are the parking lot lights of Wal-Mart, the Mecca of all that is corporation and consumerism. For a brief second as you reach the peak of the overpass, you can practically see the world’s end. That, Pure Gold, and Krazy Horse at the same time. What a glorious view.

As you make your way down Wilmington’s highest summit, you will continue on South College Road towards UNCW. After you pass several shopping centers on both sides, you will see Hardee’s on the left side across the other lane. Slam on your brakes and make a U-turn. Your inclination will be to turn left onto UNCW’s campus but your inclination is wrong. You really want a Hawaiian Chicken Sandwich. Oft times during closing hours, you can give the guy cash, which he will pocket, and he will hook you up with the “throwaway food”.

Turn left onto College Acres Drive. You will pass a large house with several overcompensating assets in the front yard such as a Hummer and a BMW where I once went to a party and drank copious amounts of their alcohol from their fridge after they aggressively tried to charge me cover into their house party. Revenge is a shot best served cold.

You will then come to flashing red lights. Take a right hand turn and continue straight through the next light beside the UNCW water tower. The road will take a curve to the right and you will see a little parking circle, a cul-de-sac if you so please.

Park haphazardly and whip out a sheet of paper and in your sloppiest handwriting write the words, “Went to Student Health Center. Gastrointestinal problems. Come get me and I’ll move.” Now, they will very unlikely check the Student Health Center and you can usually appeal these things so long as you date the note and have a snickers bar handy for special effects. As you exit your car, you will see a beautiful and empty fountain.

Look to the right of the fountain and you will your weary eyes upon Morton Hall.

You can't go to that metaphorical home again.

2007-11-25T21:33:00.000-05:00

It's too late before you realize that you can never go back to the person you before. It happens for us all. We grow up both physically and emotionally. But there are exceptions of course and some people force themselves to be cookie-cutter representations of their parents for the rest of their lives. They basically don’t evolve, because their evolution is just fine-tuning the person that they already were. With those exceptions, those of us lucky enough to go off to college realize that once you’ve moved on with your life…you can’t go home again.

Physically you can go to the place that you were born, but emotionally you cannot. You have changed. The experiences that you have during the ‘growing up’ process alter you. This happens whether you like it or not. It was hard for me, because of all the things that had been ingrained in my head as a child were now being questioned. I was born into a household where intellgence was not pushed. I was pushed in school to merely do my best, which is a good thing of course, but that was about it. My parents are educated people in their specific fields. Both of my parents work in the law enforcement field, so having an intellectual conversation is sometimes a struggle. Most of the nights that I spent at my parent's home consisted of watching Cops and hearing about who had gotten into a police chase that day. My parents wanted me to remain in that mold of a rednecky, country boy but I had been changed. My brain had opened up to new possibilities and it was hard for me to admit that my parents already knew. They already knew that I had chosen to go down a that different road.

It was extremely hard for me because I wanted to stay the way that I was, believing the same things I did before and changing into the person that my parents wanted me to be, but I knew that that was impossible. The different emotions that I felt when I went home were hard to turn off. I saw things differently than I did before. I wanted to get angry with my parents because of the idiotic belief systems that they had. I wanted to hate them for their close-mindedness on certain topics. I wanted to scream at them and make them understand all the different things that I had had my mind turned on to, but they wouldn’t understand even if I did. They aren't simple people but they are merely intellegent in their own fields.

The many ways in which we as people grow away from the ones that we love so dearly is amazing. The fact that I basically grew up on a farm is an easy way to explain why I can’t go home and expect my dad to understand the new poem that I wrote. I can’t expect them to be able to talk to me about books that they will never read. That’s why they say that you can’t ever go home again. You’ve changed. You’re a different person once you have entered another world. Your life is altered and you can’t change back to the person you once were. Your life is on a different course just because you have seen and experienced different things.

These different paths that I have taken throughout the course of my life have made it to where I cannot go home again. I have veered off the path of what my parents wanted for me in my life. They weren’t too happy about my tattoos. But in spite of it all my parents are proud of me because I have grown up. I am a man now and even though things may not be exactly the way they planned, they know that I can’t go to that metaphorical home again and they are okay with that.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

2007-11-25T21:05:00.000-05:00

If the United States adhered to the same rule of law it enforces, the world would be quite a different place.

In all 50 states, if one has been convicted of a felony, whether or not it is gun-related, that person is prohibited from legally possessing a gun. The reasoning is logical. If someone is prone to felonious behavior it is in the best interest of society to ensure that the person’s ability to continue and perhaps escalate the behavior is limited as much as possible.

While there are arguments against these laws (“Most drug possession charges are felonies; most hot check charges are felonies; most tax offenses are felonies; most frauds are felonies”*: therefore, there are huge groups of felons that are nonviolent offenders), I want to focus on the offenders who have committed violent crimes in the past. For the sake of argument, let’s assume the laws only prohibit “violent offenders” from owning guns – which I think we can all agree is rational and sane – no matter what side of any 2^nd Amendment debate you may be on. Guns, among with a few other uses, can be used to commit murder.

Scenario 1: Joseph X uses his lawfully acquired shotgun to kill an innocent convenient store clerk in order to obtain access to a drawer full of cash.

Solution 1: If Mr. X ever gets out of prison, which is unlikely within 25 years or so, he will never be allowed to own a gun again. This is a rational answer. This is a sane solution.

Scenario 2: The United States used two nuclear powered bombs to kill an estimated 240,000 (mostly civilian) Japanese citizens in order to end a war and possibly, according to their calculations (which are unverifiable) save more lives than were taken.

Solution 2: The United States will never be allowed access to, or control of, nuclear powered weapons again. This is a rational answer. This is a sane solution.

The United States is the only civilization in the world to aggressively use nuclear powered weapons against another civilization. Am I the only one who laughs when the United States sets out to prevent other countries from obtaining nuclear capabilities? Iran’s acquisition of “the bomb” doesn’t frighten me in the slightest. What frightens me is the United States’ reaction.

The problem lies in the power. Joseph X has no control beyond the handcuffs of the local police department, which answers to the local government, which abides by state laws, wherein exists the law which prevents him from ever owning another gun. On the other hand, the only entity that the United States (theoretically) answers to is the United Nations. However, by yielding such an unprecedented power as the only nation on earth crazy enough to use a nuclear weapon (twice!), the United States realistically answers to no one.

The United States is a violent, felonious offender. As was established earlier, if an entity is prone to felonious behavior it is in the best interest of society to ensure that this entity’s ability to continue and perhaps escalate the behavior is limited as much as possible. Does this not apply to the case when nuclear weapons are involved? Is it not even more relevant to the situation? Aren’t more lives at stake? Perhaps even the entire human race?

*Quote from Kathryn A., Graham’s “Felons and Guns Revisited,” published in The Sierra Times

Computers and football don't mix

2007-11-25T20:46:00.000-05:00

The college football season is supposed to end with the best team claiming the championship. Come January, there’s a big chance that college football fans will have no idea who was the best team in the 2007 football season thanks to the flawed Bowl Championship Series.

The BCS is a rating system that takes into account two human polls, the Associated Press and Harris polls, as well as a computer average. The computer average is the average rating given by eight different computer formulas used to figure rankings.

Computers can beat the world’s best chess player and computers can run nuclear reactors. Johnny 5 should have an Academy Award for his performance in Short Circuit. They’re good at what they do, for the most part. But, I don’t know of a computer that can watch a football game and consider factors outside of the final statistics. Sure, Ohio State only lost one game, but they were involved in a lot of dogfights with lesser competition. Hawaii is undefeated, but they were taken to overtime by San Jose State. All the computer can see is the final result, and not how those final results were achieved.

The BCS also places far too much emphasis on November instead of looking at the whole body of work. Previously undefeated Kansas lost for the first time on Saturday night to No. 1 ranked Missouri, eliminating itself from national title consideration. No. 2 West Virginia, ranked three slots ahead, got the doors blown off by No. 21 South Florida two months ago. Another mystery within the BCS rankings is No. 6 Virginia Tech being ranked ahead of No. 7 LSU. LSU destroyed Virginia Tech 48-7 on national television in September, yet the computers have the Hokies ranked a slot higher. Teams change throughout the season, but I would put the farm on LSU winning a head-to-head matchup nine-of-ten times.

While all of the teams with loss fight things out at the top of the BCS rankings, the lone unbeaten, Hawaii (11-0) stands at No. 12. The Warriors are ranked at No. 10 in both of the human polls, but the computers aren’t a big fan. Maybe the computers can’t stay up late enough to watch the midnight kickoffs from Honolulu, but for some reason, undefeated doesn’t mean very much to them. Granted, Hawaii doesn’t play the best competition in the world, but there’s something to be said for winning games. Immediately ahead of them in the rankings are two-loss Boston College and three-loss Florida.

Instead of allowing these computers that have an early bedtime and selective viewing practices to decide championships, how about we play it out on the field in an eight-team playoff?

Champions of the six power conferences (ACC, Big East, Big Ten, Big XII, Pac-10 and SEC) would be given bids a playoff. Two remaining spots in the playoffs would be given to teams that finished with the highest BCS ratings. Only two teams would be allowed to represent each conference. Independents and teams from non-BCS conferences would automatically qualify if they finished in the top eight.

Doubters will say that that adding the possibility of four games to a team’s schedule will take too much of a toll on the student-athletes, giving them a possible total of playing 16 games in a season. Somehow the ‘lesser’ athletes on the Division I-AA are able to pull it off without trouble. If Appalachian State can play in a 16-team playoff, then why can’t Michigan finish an eight-team playoff?

College football purists will put up the argument that this would ruin the history and tradition of a bowl system. That system happens to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars each year, which seems to be what people are most worried about losing. It wouldn’t have to, actually. How many people honestly care about the Music City Bowl? Imagine the difference if the Music City Bowl were the host site of a playoff game? I’d say the atmosphere would be a little bit different and millions more would tune in to watch.

The NCAA could use a computer to calculate something -- the boatloads of cash that would pile in with a playoff system.

What the computer can’t do is crown a champion.

Vaginal Rape Less Common For "Male" Prisoners

2007-11-25T20:17:00.000-05:00

This afternoon when I heard about the inmates who want free sex changes, I thought it was the beginning of a bad joke; the punchline being that these (new)women could be the legit’ prison bitches. But apparently Wisconsin inmate Scott Konitzer, who was convicted of multiple armed robberies and stabbing another inmate, is suing prison officials for not allowing him to sex change, claiming that it violates his pursuit of happiness. He has been on state paid hormone therapy since 1999, which has caused him to develop feminine features including breasts (not just moobs).

The basis of his defense is that prison officials told him that he would be offered the surgery after hormone treatment, and that not to go through with the therapy is cruel and unusual punishment. Prison officials claim they were only allowing him to continue a treatment he had used occasionally prior to incarceration. Konitzer objects to being incarcerated with men, taking communal showers, being strip searched by male guards, and he also resents the fact that he cannot wear bras or other female clothing.

Transexualism is one of the few topics I’m not extremely opinionated on because I don’t fully understand the situation. I know that almost everyone who believes they are the opposite gender has Gender Identity Disorder and I’d like to believe that this is merely the product of a severe self image “problem.” I’d like to blame this on internalized oppression stemming from traditional gender roles or confusion with sexual orientation. I’d really like to believe that this could be treated with extensive therapy and lots and lots of drugs.

However, I don't know that my assumptions are true, and although the neutrality of the wikipedia page is disputed, it claims that aversion therapy is now looked down upon as unaffective and emotionally damaging. Those who do not receive any treatment will always feel that the person they are on the inside is inconsistent with who they are on the inside. They often dream of castration or other forms of genital mutilation long before they come to the conclusion that they need a sex change. The transsexual group has some of the highest suicide rates. To my surprise, Surgery is often the most effective treatment.

I suppose that if Joe Blow wants to become Suzie Blow, it’s not harming me, so whatever. However losing the privilege to sex change is one of the many prices you must pay for being incarcerated. I’m sure lots of transsexuals were just angry at the world because they were really chicks on the inside. But if they wanted a sex change that badly, they should’ve been saving up money in a bank account and working overtime, not selling rocks and killing people.

Although the condition affects 1 in 30,000 females and 1 in 100,000 males, you don’t hear of any females requesting prison sex changes. The cynical part of me suspects that lots of these “transsexual” men are faking the condition because they are suicidal. Maybe they really do have image problems from constant abuse, but either way I bet that they are getting beaten and raped constantly; it would make sense that some inmates would dramatically exaggerate their mindset because they know that getting transferred to a women’s prison would result in better treatment. They are getting paroled in year 3000, and they have no other way out, so why not get a free sex change…after all, their penises are pretty worthless in jail.

Konitzer has an interesting case, and I actually think he could win: I sympathize with him. The prison officials are definitely at fault and have wasted tax payers money with this questionable hormone treatment. Now he is even more pained because he feels and looks more like a woman trapped in a man’s body. Either give him the drugs and the sex change or don't do either (and maybe let him win this lawsuit). It’s just obvious that if you give a mouse a cookie, it will only want a glass of milk, or a sex change.

Another cynical part of me has decided that I don't care if he loses. If he wins it may set precedent for further lawsuits which could eventually lead to free prison sex changes. This is not fair to American tax payers, and Walter Mayer, president of the International Gender Dysphoria Association, said “If the prison system started to offer this surgery, there would be people lining up to be in prison. Some of my patients would commit crimes just to get free surgery.” This is an expensive procedure that law abiders have to pay for themselves on the outside. What's next - breast implants? Facial reconstruction?

This kind of reminds me of the Ludovico treatment in A Clockwork Orange: aggression control, and whether or not it is ethical and practical. Maybe anyone serving a mandatory minimum sentence for violence or sex related crimes should be sex changed, or given estrogen, or neutered. It would definitely provide incentive to obey the law. However there are lots of habitual offenders and since we would have to enforce this policy equally on all genders, lots of these men transformed into women would then become men again, and then women, and so on. Sure there'd be great mugshots for all of us to see, but this would probably also be cruel and unusual punishment. This would be an interesting experiment, that would prove a lot about hormones and moral/legal decisions, but I'm not emperor of the world; so maybe we should just force prisoners to suffer the way they were born, after all, prison is not a vacation. Not when you stab people.

Home-less

2007-11-25T20:15:00.000-05:00

I’m the youngest of three children. My two older sisters and I all went to college. My parents always talked about retiring and moving to the Chesapeake Bay when we were all done with school, but because of good pensions (my parents both work for the city) they were able to retire a few years earlier then they had expected. My mom retired after her school year was over, and my dad followed not too long after. With no one at home and no jobs tying them down, my parents sold the house that I lived in since I was six months old this summer. I literally cannot go home again.

Over Thanksgiving break, my friends from high school were all back in my home town in rural western Maryland. While they were all in the houses they grew up in, I was a half hour away in the house my mom inherited when her parents passed away. It was my parents, my dog and me all fighting for space in a two-bedroom townhouse on the outskirts of Baltimore. I have very fond memories of my grandparents’ house, but I would never consider it home.

This past Friday, while I was back at “home,” my best friend from high school invited me to come over. I wanted to see my friend but with gas hovering at $3.00 a gallon and I decided against making the trip. I had seen him on Wednesday at our unofficial class reunion at a local Mexican bar, so I wasn’t betraying a friend by not seeing him over break. What surprised me was that I wasn’t even upset. I knew exactly what happened before I even talked to him the next day. He and two of my other friends sat in his basement and took shots of vodka from the bottle as they watched the Boise St-Hawaii game.

If I still had a house in my hometown I would have been right there next to them. I would have drunk heavily and laughed about old times. Instead, I met up with another group of friends at a bar. I dressed up because it was an upscale bar and cut myself off early because I had to drive and unlike my basement drinking days, I made a conscious decision to go to sleep rather than chug liquor until I collapsed to the floor.

I have a lease for my house in Wilmington until August and a place to stay whenever I go back to Maryland, but I still consider myself “home”-less. I have only a few memories of my grandparents’ house and those are only good ones. They pale in comparison, in number and range, to the memories I have of the house I grew up in. Your real home has to have the good and the bad experiences that ultimately shape who you are as person. In Wilmington, I have gone from Colonial Park to Mill Creek to a summer on my friend’s couch to my current house downtown. I’ve had good and bad experiences at all of these places, but I wouldn’t consider any of them my home. They have all only been shelter to me.

There are times when I long to go to my childhood house and feel that sense of familiarity I haven’t felt in three years. But, even though I’ve lost the only home I’ve ever known, I’m glad that my parents sold it. I will always cherish my childhood but it’s time for me to grow up. I will always be close with my best friend from high school but I don’t think my life will be empty without drinking in his basement.

After seeing most of my friends from back home, I decided to drive back Saturday afternoon rather than go bar-hopping in Annapolis because I had a lot of work to do. That’s something I would have never done that in past, but it was for the best. Though it can be agonizing to abondon the only house you've ever considered to be "home", maybe not being able to go back again can sometimes be a good thing.

The Age of Drinking and the Drinking Age

2007-11-25T19:35:00.000-05:00

The drinking age should be lowered because the age of eighteen indicates mental maturity and responsibility on the part of the consumer. The U.S. has the strictest youth drinking laws in western civilization and yet has the most drinking-related problems among its young. As most of us know, in 1987 the drinking age was increased from eighteen to twenty one. This was done because of the behavior shown in younger people. But did anyone ever think of what the results would be? Now, younger people don’t have easy access to alcohol, but it is abused more. This only discourages the law to be passed to increase the drinking age, but with privilege comes learned responsibility. I think it’s important for younger people to start learning how to handle alcohol consumption at an earlier age. This way, they are less likely to makes bad mistakes later on. When people think of lowering the drinking age, crazy college students with no limits probably come to mind. But there are many aspects to enjoying alcohol that don’t involve getting “trashed.” Enjoying wine with a meal and drinking a beer watching the game are responsible acts people under 21 should be allowed to do.

It’s true younger people must have not shown enough responsibility while it was legal for those eighteen and above to drink, but a different generation exists now. Studies show young people eighteen and over aren’t as reckless as they were at the time of the law being changed to twenty one and over. On top of that, the amount of consumption has actually increased in the past 9 years. It’s important now more than ever to lower the drinking age so young people can have better judgment and ease into the process of being able to drink, not dive in and drown.

Introducing alcohol at an earlier age is the safest way to promote safe drinking. Young people in France, Spain, and Argentina rarely abuse alcohol. They learn how to drink within the family, which sees drinking in moderation as normal. Youth in these societies rarely embarrass themselves or their families by abusing alcohol. When it comes to binge drinking, however, I believe it’s the fault of the drinking age. Instead of in European countries, where they teach moderation and responsible drinking at a very early age, in this country drinking is more demoralized. It almost seems to be a sort of demonized thing. The simple fact is that when alcohol isn't demonized, the thirst for it is not quite so strong. But kids do it in their basement or they do it in backdoor keg parties. They don't learn responsible drinking with their parents. That's what raising the drinking age has done, it hasturned responsible drinking into dangerous drinking. If the drinking age is kept where it is and is enforced as strictly as it is now, it's just going to lead to dangerous results with alcoholism being much higher than it is in Europe and drunk driving deaths being much higher than they are in Europe.

Something else that may make drinking safer for younger people is lowering the drinking age and, at the same time, raising the driving age. In North Carolina, there are young people just shy of their fifteenth birthday who have a beginner's driving permit. To me, a 15-year-old in the driver's seat of their father’s sports car is a far scarier proposition than a 20-year-old on a bar stool with a margarita. Let's take the cars away from kids and give the right to enjoy a beer in a licensed, regulated establishment back to the adults. And rather than try to legislate good behavior, let's pursue education that promotes responsibility. This would be a legal driving age of 18 instead of 16 and a legal drinking age of 18 instead of 21.

The best answer for the proper alcohol consumption at the age of 18 would be to have education on the subject of drinking. We need to educate people about alcohol and educate people on the harms of alcohol. So that means if somebody has different capacities for alcohol, we teach them that because they're going to have to find out sometime, someday, whether they're over 21 or over 18 they're going to find out how they react to alcohol.

If adults would learn to have a better attitude about behavior toward young men and women, more maturity, self-restraint, and social responsibility could be expected of them. Parents, especially in the United States, have immediate thoughts that lowering the drinking age would be a bad idea, but they don’t take into account the good it could do. Everything experienced at an earlier age results in better responsibility late on in life, so why should early exposure to alcohol be any different? Whether it’s early exposure through a legal drinking age of 18, or alcohol education classes at even earlier ages, this is what young people today need. They need to know the effects of alcohol, how much is too much for each individual, and know the behavior that coincides with alcohol consumption. Also, alcohol isn’t some poison that ruins lives, when used correctly it’s actually healthy. For women, one drink a day is healthy and for men two. This method has long been proven to help prevent heart related problems. The number of strokes people have is reduced dramatically when moderate drinking is done compared to people that never drink. Perhaps, the stronger of the alcoholic drinks should be kept at bay until 21 such as hard liquors. Wine and beer don’t have nearly the alcohol content and could be controlled easier when drinking. It might be easier for a person to fathom the alcohol content being drank if it’s lower as well as be less likely to abuse it and get addicted at that age and later in life. I saw first hand what happens in dorms filled with underage drinkers. Because they couldn’t buy alcohol in clubs, they’d “pregame,” which mean binge drink so their buzz lasts for hours. This wouldn’t happen if the drinking age were lowered.

Priorities

2007-11-25T19:20:00.000-05:00

Am I the only person who does not care how celebrities spent their Thanksgiving? It is a sad day for the media when the most interesting story that they can find is what Britney Spears did on Thanksgiving. It would be less offensive if they at least conjured up something semi-entertaining or at least discussed topics concerning all Americans. The concern for global warming or the lack of a decent healthcare plan, take a back seat to wondering who is going to be the next American Idol.

I can’t turn on the TV or listen to the radio without hearing an anecdote about Britney Spears, or Nicole Richie. Because of this, I only listen to CDs in my car. I also cancelled the cable in my apartment. I’d rather stare at a blank screen and talk to the walls than listen to any more pointless stories about celebrities. I’m not saying that everything on the news has to be about war and politics and the economy, but if people knew half as much about these issues as they do about the latest fads, according to the most recent one hit wonder, the country would be in better shape. We’re raising our children to be materialistic vultures with absolutely no respect for the people or the environment in which they live.

Resource conservation is certainly not respected and is only enforced in eleven states of the U.S. Global warming is a serious concern, not only for us, but for the entire world population. However, our government refuses to take a stronger stance on the issue. As Americans, we have the right to force these issues upon our leaders and demand swifter action. But not enough people stand up for their beliefs anymore. Perhaps if we saw more about global warming in the media, and less about celebrity icons, more of us would be motivated to take action. Al Gore’s documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, takes a strong and intelligent stance on global warming. This documentary, even though it won an Academy Award, was criticized by the New York Times for containing “fictitious” elements. This sort of censure is confusing to the public and creates a foundation for inaction. This example proves that self awareness is essential in making sure that the facts we see on TV are indeed the facts.

Information is easily accessible due to the technological revolution of the last half century. Whereas these advances have been truly wonderful, they have also come with a price. Many years ago, mankind produced a truly stunning object, stunning enough to still be around today. The objects are usually rectangular and contain several pieces of paper that are bind together. These items are called books. A book is a truly wonderful thing in the sense that it forces your complete concentration on the material. It is easy enough to “space out” while watching a TV show or to have an ongoing solitaire game while trying to read an article online. In an age where multitasking is a requirement for many jobs and is taught in our schools, it is unrealistic to think that the majority of the country has the patience to sit and read a book. Despite the fact that books are often “one-sided” when it comes to a debatable issue, research can be an educational tool in providing an individual with enough facts to make a decision concerning a certain topic.

While many people warship the entertainment sections of their favorite show or tabloid, I purposely avoid it. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts I still stumble into segments about Tom Cruise or some other bored Hollywood actor or over-privileged child star. And even if I can avoid seeing it, wherever I go, people are talking about it. They’re talking about Lindsey Lohan while they’re pumping gas at over $3.00 a gallon. They’re wondering “Who’s the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby” or “why did Britney shave her head?” There is a series problem with national priorities. With the world slipping further and further into the future, the dangers of ignorance and the lack of strong leadership can prove to be impeding for our nation. And that, my friends, is all too sad.

Hold On To Home

2007-11-24T20:19:00.001-05:00

When driving aimlessly around my hometown I never have to think about which lefts and rights take me to my house, my home, the place my family lives. It is the only house my family has ever owned and has been one of the few things to remain constant over the last couple years. If you would have caught me in this spot four years ago, I believe you would be looking at a very different person from who I am today. Comparing a quick visit home to what my life used to look like when I lived inside these walls shows just how much moving away from home has changed me.

A four day trip gives me just enough time to spend with the family and old friends and to take a few quiet moments to reflect on how things have changed. In high school, I spent a large percentage of my week at school but my home life was a lot of wasted time. While I was never big into T.V., I spent hours upon hours on the Internet, messaging my friends and reading whiny teen blogs. Every night my mom would come into our computer room and lecture me. Why couldn't I read a book instead? Wasn't there some type of school work I could be doing rather than sitting in front of the computer screen? I didn't understand what the big deal was. I was reading so it had to be good for me--right? It’s funny to me now that I couldn’t see that spending that time with my parents or brothers and sisters would be so much more worthwhile. Today, I’d like to think I see things more clearly. Other than checking the balance of my checking account or taking a peek at my e-mail inbox for a moment, I steer clear of the family computer when visiting. I find myself helping my mom prepare dinner or do the dishes, reading The Grouchy Ladybug to my three-year-old brother or playing board games like Balderdash with my younger siblings. Those are the things that I immediately jump at the thought of doing. The drive home from Wilmington is seven hours, so my trips home are few and far between. There are times at school when I would give anything to be sitting right where I am now, within ear shot of my mom and sister talking and giggling in the next room. Those moments when I can't be with the people I love have taught me to cherish the moments at home instead of wasting them away on the computer.

Chatting online with friends was all about me. What I was thinking about, what I was doing, what upset me. Being in an environment like college where the world doesn't rise and set on my schedule, I've learned to consider the feelings, desires of others before my own. In high school I didn't realize how lucky I was to be living under the same roof as my grandparents. I didn't see them as sources of great love and knowledge, but rather a burden, something standing in my way from having my mother's attention at any given time. Now, since my time with them has become so limited I take time to climb downstairs to their basement apartment and talk with them about school and their dog Cookie or new cat Precious. Despite all the new friends I've made in Wilmington, the networking contacts, I know I will never find two people like my grandparents that are rooting for me and believing in me the way they are. Every success is met with immense praise, every failure with a hug and steadfast encouragement. As more and more time passes, my trips home become less about meeting up with old friends and catching up on sleep and instead centered around that which makes my home, my home—the people inside.

So while the sayings abound about home never being quite the same as you remember it, or the walls of your home fading with memory and the passing of time, I don’t pay them any mind. True, neighborhoods may expand and street names bear new names, but my family keeps the feeling of home intact, regardless of our surroundings.

Education, At Any Age, Empowers

2007-11-24T11:26:00.000-05:00

Parents often mention that their children leave for college at 18 and come back home four, sometimes five years later, changed individuals. The assumption is that they grew up during that time, maturing with the passing of the years. And yes, that is true, in part, but there is one other factor that probably causes most of the change: education. Attending college at any age changes a person, hopefully in a positive manner, giving them greater self-esteem; that goal alone should be the highest objective of the academic institution.

I started college just as I entered middle age. The past twenty plus years had been spent raising children, supporting my husband as he completed college and working in the secular world. It could be correctly assumed that I have done a lot of changing since high school. Most might think that my basic personality is firmly set and the person I was when I started college four years ago would be pretty much the person I am now. I had that same assumption, at least when I started school. Knowing what I know now, that idea was way off base.

I have often referred to myself as a liberal republican or a conservative democrat. I have always tried to be objective in my views and accept everyone for who they are as well as looking for the best side in any situation. I maintained a very middle-of-the-road stance in all I did. I felt this made me a good person. Four years into my education, I still try to be that way, but the opinions I form are now influenced by a deeper understanding and background. More noticeable than that is the fact that I am much more secure in my own beliefs and values. Before I started college, I was quick to waiver when someone disagreed with me; backing down or shutting up entirely in order to avoid a discussion I didn't feel competent to defend. For years I felt I couldn't participate in the intelligent discussions of my peers. It seemed they just knew so much more than I did, and they felt so comfortable in their own ideas and opinions. With that innate comfort comes a sense of self-esteem. That is what education has given me, self-esteem through knowledge.

As I approach my graduation, I take with me four years of learning but, more importantly, I take a confidence within myself that I am just as intelligent, valued and important as the person standing next to me. I know that I have learned to evaluate and process information and then take that knowledge and use it in a productive manner. I understand that learning carries responsibility. Education is what creates enlightened individuals; it gives them a greater understanding of their place in society along with what they can give back. For me, it gave the drive to give back to the institution that has provided me with the tools to find my own self-esteem. Education helped me find my voice, a voice I plan to use to help others discover the same confidence I now possess. I have changed from college, I am empowered and perhaps, in the end, that is the greatest purpose of education.

BEOWULF

2007-11-18T23:30:00.000-05:00

The movie Beowulf, directed by Robert Zemeckis, is an animated tale based on the old story of a Scandinavian hero of great deeds who comes to King Ruthgar's cursed lands to rid them of the monster, which he later learns is called Grendel. Modern actors are animated in the film, such as Anthony Hopkins, Angelina Jolie, and John Malkovich. The life-like computer animation and placement of the actors’ likenesses
within the film gives it a modern touch. Although an old tale, there are modern lessons to be learned by this movie.

Set in Scandinavia, Beowulf treks with his handful of men to Rothgar's lands, where a monster, Grendel, is plaguing them. Beowulf, being the proud and boastful hero, takes on the challenge. He ends up fighting Grendel naked rips the beast's arm off, sending the monster running back to its mother (played by Angelina Jolie). Grendel ends up dying. And as a token of his appreciation, Rothgar offers his queen to Beowulf. The irony is, Grendel was actually the offspring of King Rothgar (Anthony Hopkins) and the monster played by Angelina Jolie. That is why the queen could never produce a son because she would not lay with Rothgar.

Beowulf ends up going back to the moors after almost the entire lodge is slain by the she-monster (Angelina Jolie). Rothgar's advisor Umferth (John Malkovich) is wary of Beowulf, and gets into several verbal altercations with the hero. As a Christian in a land of pagans, Umferth warns Beowulf of his pride. Beowulf merely shrugs him off and goes to fight the she-monster, where he is enticed the same way Rothgar was. He is promised power and wealth and a great kingdom in exchange for giving her another son and giving her the dragon cup. This is the pact they make. Beowulf returns to Rothgar saying he has slain the she-monster, and brings back Grendel's head. Umferth is wary of him, but goes with it. Rothgar knows Beowulf really did not slay her but says she is Beowulf's problem now. The King ends up committing suicide and beforehand "wills" his kingdom and everything in it to Beowulf.

Years go by and the kingdom expands. Then, a tragic turn is taken when the dragon cup is found. The pact between the she-monster is broken, and their son (which can morph into a dragon) attacks the lands. Beowulf sets out to destroy the dragon, but ends up losing his life to do so, taking it personally and not risking anyone else's life for his mistakes. He kills the dragon, ends up dying himself, and his best friend takes over the kingdom. The movie, though, shows the best friend holding the dragon cup and standing mid-waist in the ocean, looking at the she-monster.

The movie has powerful action sequences including Beowulf, Grendel, the dragon, and war between opposing tribes. The dialogue in the movie accentuates the points in the movie of greed, lust, pride, dishonesty, and shame. The computer animation is unlike any previously animated movie has done, including Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within. It is worth seeing, and being only two hours long, it includes many aspects that make it worthy of watching, plenty of action and battle, lust and sex, suspense, and intrigue. I give Beowulf 3.5 stars.

Stuck Under a Cloud? Well it's always sunny in Philadelphia...

2007-11-18T23:29:00.000-05:00

They become addicted crack. They take on the persona of a serial killer. They run a sweat shop. These are just a few of the out-of-control antics that the characters of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia suffer through.

In a world full of sitcoms with laugh tracks flooding your sound system, It's Always Sunny is a breath of fresh air with creative ideas and storylines that push the envelope in its most extreme forms. From pimps to drug dealers to slavery and transsexuals, Dennis, Dee, Mac and Charlie do it all. They, along with Dennis and Dee's legal father and Charlie's biological father, played by Danny DeVito, own and operate an Irish pub. Their complete dysfunction is hysterical and is simply a must-see for comedy fans.

Dennis, the narcissistic twin brother of Dee, uses women as pawns and sexual objects yet has a softer side that wanted to become a veterinarian and sometimes cries. Dee, dubbed "The Aluminum Monster" in high school due to scoliosis, is an alcoholic bartender who looks for love in all the wrong places and desperately yearns to become an actress. Mac, the only genuinely nice character, tries in earnest to do "right", yet never succeeds due to his lack of intelligence. In hopes of gaining the respect of his incarcerated, estranged father, Mac is recruited to smuggle heroin in his rectum with his childhood friend Charlie. An illiterate pathological liar, Charlie has a "puppy-dog" essence despite his complete immorality. As a partner in the pub, he gave away his shares for sandwiches.

Each character is completely self-serving and looks out only for themselves. With random, reoccurring characters popping into the picture, hilarity ensues. A cracked out priest named Rickety Kricket who is in love with Dee and the incestuous McPoyle brothers are a few of the strange characters that are part of the tangled web of vanity, extortion, and dishonesty that get the four friends nowhere.

In the most recent episode, "The Gang", as they are affectionately known, tried out for the Philadelphia Eagles. This is not even the most far fetched of the episodes. In one episode, The Gang schemes to win money and accuse their gym teacher of molestation. In another, they suspect Mac of being a serial killer when in fact, he is dating a transsexual. These kinds of situations, while off the wall, are supremely subtle in their hilarity. The actors let the extreme plots do the flaunting while never overacting.

Their awkwardness and the completely strange situations that they get into create such a creative and hilarious show that is relatively unknown, yet quickly becoming a classic. I would recommend this show to anyone who wants something funny with a fresh, new twist on the predictable and tired sitcom. The Gang from It's Always Sunny will not disappoint.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

2007-11-18T23:21:00.000-05:00

One of the most interesting books that I have read in a long time is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. It is written from the point of view of a twelve-year-old autistic boy named Christopher. His best friend is his neighbor’s dog, a poodle named Wellington. The novel starts with Christopher finding Wellington dead—stabbed by a pitchfork. Christopher goes on a journey to find out who killed Wellington and in the process learns a lot about his dead mother and gains independence that he never knew he needed.

That is the main plot, and I do not want to give much away because it is an amazing murder mystery. Even more interesting than the plot itself is Christopher’s character. This is the first novel I have ever read where I was inside the mind of an autistic person. To be able to enter territory that is completely unfamiliar to you keeps you reading and thrills you. The writing made me feel like Christopher was a real person, and I became invested in what happened to him. I found myself rooting for Christopher, and isn’t that what readers ultimately want from the nontraditional hero?

Being autistic, Christopher has some interesting and challenging quirks. He does not wear, touch, or eat anything yellow. There is no traumatic past incident with the color yellow, but his brain tells him that yellow is a color that he should stay away from. He has numerous other aversions and rituals that keep his world in order. He decides if his day is going to be good or bad by what cars he sees on his bus ride to school. If he sees four red cars in a row then it is going to be a “good day.” If he sees five red cars in a row then it is going to be a “super good day.” If he sees four yellow cars in a row then it is going to be a “black day.” These things mean nothing to the average person, but to this autistic child, they mean the difference between a day of doing math and talking to his teacher or sitting in the corner of class with his hands over his ears screaming all day.

Things are simple in his mind, but then all of these simple things can add up to a big mass of complicated things. When Christopher is in a train station he reads a store sign. That is fairly simple, but for Christopher it does not stop there. He reads every sign in the station and makes a list, a long list, in his mind. Then he tries to organize them in his mind into patterns. Christopher occupies his mind with these signs for hours, and he is able to block out the stimuli that are scaring him. Christopher has learned how to make his complicated brain work off him so he can survive around other people.

This novel pulled me in and did not let go. I have recommended it to every literary-inclined person I know. Looking through the eyes of Christopher you see an innocent world and a world full of wonder. As a hero, Christopher is vulnerable and naive and everything that makes a nontraditional hero loveable.

Cheers to a Good Time

2007-11-18T23:04:00.000-05:00

I've heard some people call it that "obnoxious bar." Or a friend say, "Even though you work there, I won't come see you." It's Rum Runners, its located downtown and it's pull is the fact that it features "World Famous Dueling Pianos." Two pianists sit facing each other and put on a complete show while patrons put request slips, along with money, atop the pianos.

Working there up to three nights a week, I get to hear the good, the bad and the repetition night after night. Similiar to the way people who work in restaurants eventually can't stand the sight of the food they serve, I've found that being exposed to the same music and jokes all the time has made me roll my eyes as I work with customers, who are taking pictures of the pianists and gushing how amazing they are. The drums are loud, the lines are the same, and I often run into the kitchen and grab my handy bottle of Advil and pop a few, usually after handing a few to a bouncer or server.

However, the other night I was hiding from a drunken crowd behind the bar with another server. A new pianist was filling in for someone else that night. She leaned over to me and yelled "This guy isn't that good, he kind of sucks."

"Yea, Dave's a lot better."

Often times you don't know what's good until you hear what's bad, and that's the way the show was that night. Since then, I've noticed just how good a show they actually put on. The wide range of cover songs that they know is quite impressive; only once in a great while will one laugh into the mike and tell the other pianist, "This is a really good tip; I don't know this song but I'm gonna fake it!" A crowd of 200 plus puts up songs, and they are generally satisfied by having their songs played.

And then there's the show. The "Devil Went Down To Georgia" is played at least once a night, twice if the crowd is large, and features Danny standing on the pianos playing his fiddle and stomping his feet while Marc the bartender will run on stage, down a shot, and breathe fire. If that's not the climax of the night, then it's Jared putting on a top hat, sunglasses and playing the electric guitar while standing on the piano's with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Yes, they do the same jokes for bachelorette and birthdays every night. One sings "I'm a little teacup, short and stout, so bend me over and ea..." and is interrupted by the other saying "Nooo, you can't say that!" At the same time, for every 21st birthday girl or bachelorette it's their very first time hearing it, especially sung to them, while they sit on the piano.

There are many people who avoid this place, yet the musicians manage to please much more patrons than they don't. Otherwise, there wouldn't be people at 2:15 a.m. chanting "Georgia! Georgia!" begging to hear "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" one more time. So if you can stand a possible headache, bachelorette parties and at times general chaos, I suggest you come down to Rum Runners. I'll bring you a 32 oz. Long Island, maybe a jagerbomb, and you'll get to experience a truly good show.

Jon Lajoie: YouTube Superstar

2007-11-18T22:32:00.001-05:00

Jon Lajoie is a star in the YouTube universe. The Canadian-born comedian uses the website, as well as his own, to broadcast his foul-mouthed humor to the world. YouTube was invented for people like Lajoie whose style and material would never be aired on cable, much less network TV. Offensive material aside, Lajoie’s material is separated into randomly posted and unrelated skits. Producing his own work and keeping it on the internet allow Lajoie’s message to remain unfiltered by network executive and the FCC.

Lajoie needs this freedom because he gets obscene in every skit. This obscenity is showcased fully in "Pointless Profanity" and "Pointless Profanity Pt 2." There is no point to these skits and are solely for the reason to see how offensive he can be in two and a half minutes. In "Vorclaw", Lajoie is the messenger of death for the world who becomes upset when he realizes that he won’t survive global destruction. Lajoie also displays his musical talents on his site. He plays a heartfelt love song to the two girls in the infamous "2 Girls 1 Cup" clip circling the web.

The comedy is also extremely random, reminiscent of Wet Hot American Summer. In "Pierre Trudeau…," Lajoie reminisces about the former Canadian Prime Minister, only to be interrupted by a ninja and a talking zebra. He adopts the voice of the greatest playwright of all time in "The News with Shakespeare." In the skit Shakespeare informs the audience that Chuck Norris is just as cool as he was in the 80’s just before he swings to his weatherman, Jesus Christ.

In my favorite skit, "The Mysteries of the Universe," Lajoie, as Brent Coleslaw, ponders ancient philosophical truths. His journey into the great questions of life include how he believes God ripped off He-Man by claiming to be the Supreme Being in the universe and that if we are all share the same energy, then he should be able to have sex with his best friend's sister. In "Breathing Commercial" he informs the viewer on how to avoid “death-like symptoms” with the very easy and affordable act of breathing.

If you’re like me and have the sense of humor of a 14-year-old then Jon Lajoie is something you need to check out. He is obscene, foul and random but above everything else he is hilarious. After my friend sent me the link to his website (jonlajoie.com), I spent 10 minutes laughing at the home page. After discovering the videos, I watched all sixteen in order. From High as F@#k to Brent Horst: Politician, Lajoie had me in tears because I was laughing so hard.

Lojoie's brilliance comes from his ability to create comedy out of essentially nothing. Using only one camera and his uncanny ability to shock the viewer, Lojoie takes "YouTube comedy" to a new plateau. Jonlajoie.com is a great site that is perfect for anyone that enjoys random and somewhat obscene comedy.

Alpha Dog

2007-11-18T22:27:00.000-05:00

Alpha Dog is a powerful film based on the true story of the kidnapping and murder of 15-year-old Nicholas Markowitz and the alleged involvement of drug dealer Jesse James Hollywood, the youngest men ever to be on the FBI’s most wanted list.

The movie opens with Sonny Truelove (played by Bruce Willis), Johnny’s father as well as drug supplier, being interviewed about good parenting. Sonny is a major scumbag with links to organized crime who is using his son as the front for his own business. It is unclear who is interviewing him, or for what purpose. As the movie progresses we witness how Johnny and his father work their deals and move large amounts of marijuana worth thousands of dollars.

At one of his many parties, Johnny meets with Jake Mazursky, one of Johnny’s part-time distributors. When Jake fails to collect a drug debt for Johnny, they begin to fight and Johnny pulls a gun on him. Later, in retaliation Jake and some friends break in to vandalize Johnny’s house.

During all of these crazy events we are introduced to Jake’s 15-year-old half-brother Zach. Zach is going through some rough times of his own. Since his older brother is such a screw-up, his mother (Sharon Stone) smothers him and treats him like a child. When his parents confront him about a bong they found in Zach’s room, he decides to run away from home.

After Johnny cleans up his house, he and his friends Frankie (Justin Timberlake) and “TKO” set out to get kill Jake. After the task proves to be unsuccessful they come across Zach walking along a country road, so they pull over and kidnap him, throwing him into the back of the van, hoping to use him as leverage to make Jake pay his debt. They take him to Frankie's house in Palm Springs, California. Zach begins to feel he is amongst friends and enjoys the break from home life with his over-protective mother. He is given alcohol and drugs and loses his virginity. He is confident that Jake will soon pay his debt, and that he will then be released. Through all of this the movie continually lists the amount of witnesses there were to this random, out-of control crime.

Things quickly move from bad to worse and when Johnny finds out that he may serve a serious amount of jail time for kidnapping, he instructs his friends to kill Zach.

This movie is harsh and realistic but extremely sad. The story is told semi-documentary style and interviews the witnesses and participants as the story is being told. The storyline is a powerful, very realistic look at the account of a young boy who had the misfortune of being caught up in a web of murder, drugs, and sex. It is both maddening and tragic. The writing was lacking cohesion; it became choppy and failed to keep my attention at points. It may be worth seeing one time, but I would not watch it again.

For Voyeurs Only

2007-11-18T21:28:00.000-05:00

In between watching copious amounts of YouTube videos involving Rollercoaster Tycoon terrorists, jazz players dancing to a dub over of Daft Punk, and charging an Ipod with an onion and Gatorade, I found myself watching a video that I hadn't seen in ages.

"The Mission" by a closet creative genius that goes by the user name, MickB0529 is one of three episodes in the "For Voyeurs Only" trilogy. The video is a montage of various movie clips, television snippets, and news footage with different voice clips and sound bites interspersed throughout.

His utilization of the Kuleshov effect, an observed effect during an experiment that shows the fact that "it is therefore not the content of the images in a film which is important, but their combination," is crucial to the piece. None of the video footage is his. None of the audio clips are his. But, in light of the Kuleshov effect, it is worthy to note that "the raw materials of such an art work need not be original, but are pre-fabricated elements which can be deconstructed and re-assembled by the artist into new juxtapositions." Nevertheless, the juxtaposition, sequencing, and editing make this a truly original work of art.

The video is gripping, raw, disturbing yet undeniably real. It takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions from disgusted and hopeless, feeling fearful but ultimately ending with a hopeful, uplifting and reflective tone. On the surface, the video may appear to be random video clips that have no bearing on the next set of random video clips. But each and every clip, regardless of length and content, is in there for a specific reason and they all work together systematically to make this video unique.

This is a perfect example of an artist who creates something for his own enjoyment, fulfillment and enlightenment, not someone creating something just to please the masses. For every ten people that dislike and dismiss this movie basing their judgments on shallow appearances, there is a person who fully immerses himself or herself into the video, is deeply moved by the piece, reflects upon it, and ultimately, walks away enlightened and changed, much the same way people struggle with seeing the bigger picture when reading literature but to those who do understand the bigger picture are able to learn things.

Describing the footage and audio of the movie would do little justice to the piece because it is not any individual clip that make this, rather the conglomeration of everything, uniting in harmony like the hundreds of instruments coming together perfectly in an orchestra. What is more important is the theme and the big picture. The theme of the first half is apocolyptic and dark, containing many images that only serve to support this reality.

Images of dogs being put to sleep in a poison gas tank and children with guns fill the screen. A city burns in the twilight. The chaos and destruction that was 9/11 and its ensuing aftermath of war is remembered instantly. Foreign to our western eyes, clips from Al-Jazeera show the executions and killings of hostages. Islamic fundamentalists mock the cries of a man about to be executed. An iconic clip shows several worms consuming a leaf which they eventually devour and are left with nothing to hold onto but the stem. The music begins slowly, escalating in combination with the footage, from slow and chilling to fast and jarring.

Suddenly, everything slows down and the screen is filled with a variety of movie footage showing great power and destruction from individuals. A man stands in front of a speeding bus and destroys it with his steadfastness, unwaivering, as if to say, "Enough, this must stop!"

In harmony with this, a mellow piano cues in and the video takes a turn towards a lighter tone. The viewer begins to see the destruction that was seen in the first half being reversed. The dust and debris disappear and the Twin Towers rise from their fiery graves. The plane flies out of the Tower and they stand tall and strong again. Clips from "United 93" and actual 911 calls from that day play. The viewer then hears the voice of someone ask George Bush, "Do you believe this, that the war in Iraq and the rise of terrorism are signs of the apocolypse?" to which he replies with a laugh and a befuddled "umm." The viewer then sees the dogs being taken out of the gas tank, living, a man freeing a wolf from a trap, compassion and conviction in his eyes, soldiers playing soccer with young Iraqis, connected by humanity. The worm clip plays in reverse revealing an abundant, healthy leaf. The sun dawns on the burning city as the flames die down and life is brought back. A soothing voice floods from the speakers,

"Everything we've done is forgiven. Everything."

Fades to black.

Fin.

Have hope.

Into the Room

2007-11-18T20:50:00.000-05:00

If you read these directions you will end up in a different room than the one you are looking for, figuratively. This is my disclaimer that what you will find here, will not satisfy your two-and-a-half-hour trip. After I took this trip three years ago I found Wilmington is a place growing substantially in many aspects of city culture. With this in mind, the town is filled with older establishments; such as, the University of North Carolina. The college is having trouble keeping up with the large population increase and its impacts. An educational institution that should prides itself on fairness. I believe I might go as far as saying they are having trouble keeping promises. When all is said and done I guess it's all the same, but this is not why you are here. Your directions to room 206.

Find I-40 east in your city, prepared to drive for an unusually long two hours, there will be no sense of road trippin on this road. The interstate will be lined with the fields that are in turn lined with large pine trees. No getting lost here, you simply continue on the road I-40 when you will literally run into Wilmington. For less confusion I'll remind you that I-40 connects to South College, this is the road which connects you to the University of North Carolina at Wilmington college campus.

It's about a five minute commute once you are on South College before you reach the first turn, New Center this will in turn connect you onto Racine. Turn left off South College on to New Center for a brief moment, then take you will make a right onto Racine. It should be known that if you were to continue down South College you would be driving along what is referred to as the front of campus; however, for the purpose of making it to room 206 in Morton then New Center to Racine is the quickest way.

Once you are on Racine continue straight, and you will come up to the University. Welcome to your first encounter with Uncw. A four-way-stop light marks an intersection which Randall drive crosses Racine and can be considered as the "loop" for getting around the campus. You must drive straight through this intersection for the destination.

When you make it to a cul de sac-esque-car loop at the end of Raine drive. Realize that on your left there are two buildings, one of which is Morton, the building on the right of these two buildings.

You may park shortly at the island in the middle of the cul de sac. Take note: there is parking lot on the right, but you cannot park here unless you are faculty. Click on the cars four ways and everything is handy dandy.

Walk through the side doors and climb the stair case. They will lead you to the second floor, where you first walk through a lobby filled by the faculty offices on both sides of the hallway. Continue this walk and open the two doors which will lead you into a student waiting area or lounge with Pepsi and a Dasni refreshment machines are on your left. Continue until you are able to make a right where hallways intersect. After you turn right the room you are searching for will be found here. Room 206 will be on your left, two doors down from the intersection.

The Mother of all Pregnancy Movies

2007-11-18T19:38:00.000-05:00

The movie’s title alone was enough to support my impulse buy. I am a big fan of random buys, especially when it comes to movies. I always make my way to Wal-Mart on Tuesday to see the new releases. I walked to the movie area, and my attention was quickly caught by the yellow case adorned with a smirking young man’s face. I had heard people talking about the movie Knocked Up before, so I figured that it could be worth checking out.

I couldn’t watch it that night, because my favorite TV show, House, comes on, but I did watch it on Wednesday night. As the movie started, I quickly realized that was not just about some girl getting pregnant. It is a true outright comedic adventure documenting the ins and outs of dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. I was doubtful of even watching this with my girlfriend because of my fear of commitment and her yearning for it. The movie stars Seth Rogen as the slacker, Ben, who participate in a night of debauchery with extremely successful career girl Alison, played by Katherine Heigl. I of course have seen the beautiful Katherine Heigl from her stint on the television show Grey’s Anatomy, but I was interested to see how Rogen played a high stakes role such as this one.

The two main characters meet at a bar where they are both going to celebrate completely different things. This one intoxicating evening highlighted by one unprotected sex act causes career girl Alison to get pregnant. Two months later Ben has the news broken to him by the extremely distraught Alison. Alison and Ben come to the conclusion that keeping the baby is the best thing. The two of them try to make things work out, more or less because Ben realizes that he is an extremely unattractive loser who has won an awesome chance with a great girl.

As their journey goes through many ups and downs, we witness the heartwarming representation of how love can grow and what we as human beings can do if we only believe. Of course I laughed my head off at the many hysterical moments fueled by Ben and Alison’s interaction with their co-stars and each other. This B-list All Star team shows that you don't have to have fart jokes, sex talk, nudity, extreme drug use and basic acts of debauchery to have a great comedy. So my suggestion is that if you haven’t seen this movie, run out and buy it. But I do give you a precautionary measure to take when you might watch this movie with someone who is opinionated and a little prudish. The movie does use explicit language and has scenes not appropriate for young viewers. So viewer discretion is advised. But if you are still interested in the movie, run out and buy it right now because you will laugh, you’ll cry and you’ll cherish this movie for years to come!

Children of Men

2007-11-18T16:48:00.000-05:00

If you haven’t seen Alfonso Cuaron’s Children of Men, you’re missing out. The film is set in London, in the year 2027. No child has been born since 2009 due to certain illnesses and epidemics that plagued the world. A breakdown of societal functions across the globe leaves London the last refuge for the citizens of the world. The surge in refugees causes chaos in London and it isn’t long before war breaks out there too.

The government of London battles with media-labeled terrorists called the “Fishes.” The Fishes represent an underground movement to restore order to the society. Theo, played by Clive Owen, struggles to help a pregnant woman get out of the country. Their destination…a boat called the Tomorrow. The boat houses "The Human Project," a plan to rebuild the structure of modern society. The Fishes first house Theo and the pregnant women, but their plan to use the baby strictly as a propaganda tool to support their cause sends Theo on a wild ride with fate. With a little help from his friend, Jasper, played by Michael Caine, Theo works his way through a series of setbacks and becomes mankind’s one last chance for redemption. Michael Caine could form an onscreen chemistry with a brick wall. He adds a hint of amusement in this suspenseful film. Owen and Caine draw you into this film and make you wish they had more screen time with each other.
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The cinematography is brilliantly risky. Some shots were filmed for as long as six minutes without a cut away. The live action not only works to the film’s advantage but also displays the versatile abilities of the actors as well as the off screen special effects crew. The technology displayed is believable and realistic. As opposed to many futuristic movies, you will not see flying cars or laser operated weapons. The dialogue does seem to lack substance during a few scenes, but for the most part, holds an interest with the viewer.

Like any good film, this movie will keep you asking questions until the very end. Hollywood has a tendency to make the same movies over and over. Their idea is to keep on going with what works and not to complicate matters with farfetched ideas. However, it is the originality of this film that makes it stand out. If you’re looking for something different for night, Children of Men won’t disappoint. But make sure the kiddies are content with something else. Wait until they’re asleep or thrown on a Disney movie in a different room. Despite the R rating for violence, language, and some sexuality, the movie goes to the extreme, and makes a firm political statement, to show the possible outcome of a world without children. After all, if we can’t learn to take care of each other, how can mankind ever expect to survive into the next century?

The Weakerthans - Reunion Tour

2007-11-18T16:40:00.001-05:00

With four years since their last release, I began scribbling down ideas for a eulogy. “When I first met The Weakerthans,” I would say to a flower-filled room full of mourners, chins quivering, hands consoling other hands, “they were such a talented group of young knucks. There is nothing more tragic than an untimely death.”

But alas, the good word was out.

I was driving home. It was late summer, the windows were down. Robert Siegel was on the radio interviewing some guru about the economy, or the job market, or something, when he announced the next segment: his plans to talk to John Samson, songwriter and front man for a band called The Weakerthans... Wait. What?

Could this be?

Did I hear him correctly?

Was All Things Considered really going to interview John Samson from The Weakerthans? Why would they do that? They’re just a little band from Canada. What do they have to do with Darfur or net neutrality? And they haven’t put out a c.d. in years… wait a minute. I rolled the windows up and turned up the volume to ensure maximum audibility.

I’m sure the interview was great. I’m sure Siegel asked some thought-provoking, Siegelesque questions (although I can’t actually picture him preparing for the interview, which would inevitably entail actually listening to The Weakerthans). I didn’t hear anything past Robert Siegel’s introduction, during which he (triumphantly, before a roaring crowd – in my mind) announced The Weakerthans’ status as a conscious, functioning entity whose latest creation would be available to the public (me) for purchase on September 25^th – less than a week before my birthday. And oh what a gift it would make.

“Reunion Tour” is the fourth full-length from the Winnipeg foursome – their second release on the independent-punk-rock-goliath Epitaph Records. Songwriter John Samson abandons his traditional personal narratives, and instead sings mainly in the first person from invented, yet very human, characters (save the return of his favorite feline friend).

The first track, "Civil Twilight," begins with an afflicted three-chord guitar riff, sounding like it’s been churned through the recently widowed machines of Robert Moog. But without fail, the straightforward, beautifully stripped-down sound of The Weakerthans comes pushing through. The lyrics begin with a frenzy of alliteration sung in a catchy, staggering melody: “My Confusion Corner commuters are cursing the cold away / as December tries to dissemble the length of their working day.” As the story unfolds, we learn of a brokenhearted bus driver who can usually keep his mind on his work, except during the time “between the sunset and certified darkness.” The driver’s ploys to forget his loss are foiled every day at “civil twilight,” despite his attempts to “calculate all the seconds left in the minutes” and “recite the names of provinces and Hollywood actors.” The lyrics tend to weave their way through the verses and choruses with some overlap that works to keep you listening in a strange the-next-line-has-started-before-I-have-comrehended-the-last-line kind of way. The bus driver’s thoughts somehow can’t keep up with the musical changes. But eventually he realizes he truly had time to keep up with his relationship, but let it slip away one day as the sun was setting – hence the vivid memories at dusk.

Samson’s lyrics are not only specific and calculated, but they rarely repeat themselves like the typical pop song, returning again and again to its catchy one-liner. His lyrics read more like a poem -- ever-evolving. He describes a room down to its most seemingly insignificant details, but will only reveal certain emotions of his characters. In this way adhering to Hemmingway’s iceberg theory, allowing you and me to fill in the 90 percent that lies below the surface. The cover of the album is an illustrated portrayal of a frozen lake with cracked blocks of ice floating along the surface. The lives of the characters within seem to imitate the disconnected nature of the ice, each with his or her own missing connections, alluding to an increasingly fractured and detached (perhaps post-modern) humanity.

Another standout song marks the return (and tragic departure) of Virtute the cat. On The Weakerthans previous album, Reconstruction Site, the song, "Plea From a Cat Named Virtute," tells the tale of a cat who has become fed up with her owner’s depression, anxiety and lack of motivation. It is told in the first person from the cat’s point of view (I know, isn’t that great?). By the end of the song, her relentless positive attitude presumably motivates her friend to change his life. Virtute’s song on the new album, "Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure," is no less exhilarating than her first. Although, it’s ending is nothing short of devastating.

Overtop of a quiet, soft drumbeat and minimal guitar and bass, Virtute explains how the moon beckoned her away from home, and how she eventually lost her way. She reminisces about the times when she would “wait for you to arrive with kibble and a box full of beer,” and how “I’d kneed into your chest while you were sleeping.” Virtute admits that she would always return home because of a certain call, a tone, or as she puts it, “the song that you found for me.” But in the end, when she makes her way far away from home, left with only the memories of a life with her friend, the human, she sings over an increasingly climactic musical coda, heartbroken and lost… “But now I can’t remember the sound that you found for me.”

With a song about a man who sees Bigfoot, and is publicly shunned because of it; another about a farmer drinking away his time in a bar, pondering his broken marriage; and another about a lonely traveling businessman who hates his job, The Weakerthans' newest release allows us a glimpse into the lives of richly developed characters in the midst of their sorrow and pity. Some will make a turn for the better, others will not. To say the least – this album is not to be missed.

If their next release takes four years to materialize, I will wait patiently and keep my premature-eulogy-drafting materials at bay. It will be well worth the wait.

For anyone interested: www.theweakerthans.org

Now I Get It: It's Porky - And It's Also a Pine Tree; If Only I Could Visualize This Oddity.

2007-11-18T01:39:00.000-05:00

I’ve been waiting for this. Fear Of A Blank Planet is not just a concept album, it is also a mind reading device that I feel completely justified in comparing to the one used in the video game Destroy All Humans; another possession of mine which is almost as “hip” and “jiving” as the subject of this review. Porcupine Tree's (PT's) newest release plays like a fifty-one minute composition comprised of six well transitioned movements, and I feel like anyone who has ever felt isolated can immediately relate to the first song (the title track).

The album’s title is inspired by Public Enemy’s album, Fear of a Black Planet. Instead of stressing bigotry and crackers and white cheddar cheesiness, the lyrics target all the most modern aspects of society including TV, MTV culture, prescription drugs, videogames and, of course, internet porno. These opiates numb the brains of the masses into inactivity and apathy, in a manner that is quite Marxian in nature. With their communist txt messaging and internet "BLOGS", the youth keep getting lazier and dumber, hence the “blank planet.” Like in the video game Destroy All Humans, assimilation is the current and primary goal, and while the future agenda is hidden, domination will probably transpire.

“Anaesthetize” is the strongest part of the album and features a guest solo from Rush guitarist Alex Lifeson. This eighteen minute epic builds in intensity until it peaks at about eleven minutes with double bass drumming and one of the crunchiest/most frenzied metal riffs on a PT song to date. It then dwindles back down into brooding vocals and sedative keyboard and guitar verses. Like when the credits are rolling in Destroy All Humans, this ending theme is totally “shweeet,” it just goes on too long, but not in a Brian Eno shoot-me-in-the-head-there's-nothing-happening kind of way, its really that i'm an anxious person, which makes the beginning of "Sentimental" that much more appreciated. It's not distasteful, it's tantric, like Destroy All Humans.

Although there are some great solos such as the aforementioned on “Anaesthetize,” and the one on “Way Out of Here” played by Robert Fripp of King Crimson, there could always be more. This is my only real criticism, that and I wish there had been some louder bass lines like they had in their last album, Deadwing. But this is still one of their best releases, and prog' greatness, indubitably; it takes at least 6+ times of thorough listening to fully absorb and notice everything. This is a creeper: it'll keep growin' on you.

The tone of this album is constantly depressing and dark. Upon first listen there are a few spots that don’t sound so dismal, like the slow down track “My Ashes,” but the lyrics prove otherwise. While this is not exactly uplifting it is appropriate for the theme of the album. In the last song “Sleep Together,” depraved mastermind Steve Wilson uses sex as a metaphor to describe the main character’s suicidal tendencies. The surreal rhythmic delay and wah effect on the guitar melody played throughout the whole song is well delivered and avoids redundancy; when in combination with just the drums and keyboard, it almost sounds like a fat slab of groove from a traditional but succulent techno dish. This song also contains the album’s best bass line, and the hypnotic violins are both powerful and calming.

Those who are just looking for the satisfaction obtained from loud distortion may be disappointed that they have to wait around for so long to reach that gratification. Ironically this idea fits in pretty well with the concept of the album: instant gratification; but I don’t think Wilson would object to responsible use of Destroy All Humans, or technical death metal, or the occasional pornographic masturbation session. I think its one of those moderation thingamajigs, which this album certainly is not; so in a way, its self-proclaimed catharsis. If forced by gunpoint or slingshot to compare this album to other band’s albums, I’d say its Lateralus meets Kid A. However PT has more studio albums than both Tool and Radiohead, and in my opinion has crossed more genres.

By the way, “dude,” if you’re a “hardcore” fan you might want to wait until they release this as a double disc, one of which will be a surround sound DVD most likely loaded with juicy bonus material. Wilson is notorious for his sound-mixing, guru-tripster "street creds," and the fact that my copy has not been truly crossfaded is somewhat depressing, not “Sleep Together” depressing; but still, I know it could be better, like Dark Side Of Oz at the Imax. I saw them in Raleigh recently, they put on a great show and the new music video’s are pretty "cool." If you’re throwing around mad bling like a true baller you might consider purchasing the PS2 video game Destroy All Humans while you are buying this double disc and pimping your way through Best Buy. Or you could purchase it all online while watching porn or Mtv.

Back to the ’80s with "Blade Runner"

2007-11-17T18:03:00.000-05:00

Blade Runner, directed by Ridley Scott, is a cult blend of science fiction, post-modernism, and film noir. Harrison Ford plays Deckard, an assassin-cop who tracks down and terminates trespassing humanoid robots in the smog-thick city of Los Angeles, circa 2019. Because the robots, known as replicants, have killed humans in the past, their presence on Earth is outlawed. After a band of highly-advanced Nexus-6 replicants escape from an off-world colony and migrate to Earth, Deckard is called out of retirement and put to work, ridding the streets of “skin jobs,” as Deckard’s boss puts it. What follows is a mysterious, violent chase through Scott’s techno-infused cityscape, which leaves the audience questioning whether or not the protagonist himself is a made of machine.

The film intrigued me because of its clever portrayal of Deckard, who is possibly a replicant, and the compelling plight of the Darwinistic robots, whose only concern is lengthening their own life spans, or evolving to the next level of technological well-being. In a philosophical way, the robots are simply humans with shorter life spans. Both entities are made of flesh, breathe the same air, feel the same emotions, and die with the same abruptness. Thus, when the replicants fight so hard to live, even though they aren’t real human beings, I still feel a twinge of sadness because they’re so human-like in their miserable desperation to keep pressing on despite the inevitable.

In Blade Runner, Ridley Scott uses stunning visuals and futuristic set designs. The most obvious examples of stunning visuals are the dreamlike hover-car sequences in which Deckard soars past TV billboards, glowing neon, brooding starships, and glittering super-structures. By combining fluid camerawork and special effects, Scott produces unforgettable images. The scene in which the replicant Roy crushes the eyeballs of Dr. Tyrell, the man who designed the replicant-technology, is powerful. The blood dripping from crushed eye sockets and spectacles is something I won’t forget.

The set designs in Blade Runner are exquisite, from the Oriental billboards to the vehicles to the skyscrapers. Los Angeles, and presumably the rest of the world, is dark, rainy, and dominated by incomprehensible technology. Pollution is rampant, with monstrous fires erupting from the smokestacks of buildings. In all the interior sets, heavy shadows and probing shafts of bluish light give the movie a futuristic film-noir flavor, and many times I found myself drinking in the rich backgrounds and cool hard lines of technology.

After seeing the film for the first time several months ago, I was impressed. I didn’t know movies were this good back in ’82. Ford’s performance was convincing, of course, and Rutger Hauer played the role of Roy with intensity. I loved the set designs and all the futuristic costumes and vehicles that say so much about what America’s viewpoint on technology was back in the ’80s. Also, subtle hints about Deckard’s own identity—whether he is a replicant or not—were intriguing. What I like about this film the most, however, was that it gave me a glimpse of a world that I’d never seen, a time I’d never imagine on my own. Blade Runner gets my stamp of approval, and I recommend it to everyone.

This Is Sparta!

2007-11-17T18:02:00.000-05:00

Visualize back to 480 BC. Thermopylae in central Greece, is where it all happened: invasion, defending, bloodshed, and courage. It was a very narrow mountain pass surrounded by cliffs and sea. Known as the Battle of Thermopylae, this historical conflict involved merely hundreds of Spartan men against the massive hundreds of thousands of Persians. King Leonidas of Sparta led his small force to the invading army of Persians led by emperor Xeres. While outnumbered, the Spartans still consistently slaughtered numerous Persians through their spirited and skillful abilities in attitude and battle technique.

Covered in heavy armor, with spear and shield always in hand, they fought like the warriors they were raised to be. Spartans are known for their expertise in skills of discipline, fighting, and strength. With absolute devotion, they dedicate their lives to and for their country. Young boys are taken into training at the age of seven to practice and build their body and character. Spartan women are much the same in their attitudes and abilities. Although some of the most beautiful, the women were also the toughest in spirit. Mothers often stated to their sons before battle, “Come back with you shield, or on it.”

When the movie 300 was introduced into theatres March of 2007, I wasn’t intrigued; I merely assumed it to be a violent history lesson on screen. I agreed to go see it after hearing the positive feedback from guy and girl friends. This movie changed my whole perspective on movies which remake significant historical events. 300 is a perfect balance of facts and knowledge with entertainment and action. The cast did an amazing job of creating the Spartan feeling and character.

The movie 300, based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller, captures all of these elements. The first five minutes of the movie, my eyes were fixated on the screen. The beginning scenes illustrate the Spartan values and lifestyles. The men, women, and children all take great pride in not just themselves but their country. King Leonidas portrays everything a leader should, and is also a wonderful husband and father. His interaction with his army is stern yet committed. The Spartan army is not just fellow soldiers but loyal friends. The dedication to both their homeland and to each other shows their character and culture.

Not only does it involve a thrilling clash in Greece, but the purpose of the battle instills lessons about dedication and persistence. Watching such few men fight with such great passion filled my heart with admiration. The movie shows specific examples of the advanced skill and intelligence the Spartans used in their tactics. Humor is tied in to many of their comments about the Persians and even death. Their bulging muscles and stomachs resembling washboards show off a lifetime of practice and training. The spears' penetration into various parts of the Persians flesh wasn’t repulsive but gratifying to watch. Usually I am sensitive to violence and bloodshed, but 300 made me want to see more. If it wasn’t for such an amazing story behind their purpose of fighting, it wouldn’t have been intriguing and exciting to watch.

While the men were at battle, the movie does not neglect what is happening back home in Sparta. The women’s outlook and actions towards the war and lifestyle were amazing and it made me admire their courage and involvement. You will find yourself feeling as if you are a Spartan yourself, yearning for victory in their pursuits for a greater Greece. With a touch of fantastical occurrences, the movie could appear fictional for some. However, this made it much clearer for the viewers to realize to what extent the army of 300 had to encounter. Not only was this enjoyable to watch as the story unfolds, but it builds the importance of this battle.

I would recommend this movie for any girl or guy from teens to adults. An entertaining story of an important period in history will engage you throughout the entire film. You won’t simply receive a Greek history lesson or watch men on men bloodshed. This movie is much deeper with astonishing acting and events. You will gain a new respect for Sparta and enjoy the fascinating techniques and characteristics they utilize as a way of life. It will also teach you it’s not about quantity, but quality.

Sources:

http://www.usatoday.com/tech/science/columnist/vergano/2007-03-05-300-history_N.htm

http://library.flawlesslogic.com/leonidas.htm

A Phantom Brings Broadway to Hollywood

2007-11-17T15:52:00.000-05:00

A beautiful naïve young girl in need of rescue, a hero on a white horse, a villain with a hideous face, all the perfect fodder for a fairy tale – or movie. Diverse adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s gothic novel, The Phantom of the Opera, have been around since the early 1900s. In 1986 Andrew Lloyd Webber brought his variation of the story to the Broadway stage and then in 2005 his musical movie creation hit the big screen.

The rivalry between Hollywood and Broadway is as old as the movie business. When acting jumped from the stage to the set, the actors were caught up in a nasty divorce between the theater and movie business. There have been some attempts at reconciliation. Movies have been converted to plays and more commonly, plays have been brought to the big screen. Most of these attempts have fallen flat and left the audiences disappointed. Knowing this problematic history, Andrew Lloyd Webber took a chance and spent over ten years to bring Phantom of the Opera, his most successful stage production, to the big screen.

His efforts paid off in a big way. Not only did the movie gross well at the box office, it spun off a large merchandising market that has covered its pricey production expenditures, the highest ever for an independent film. More importantly the story transitioned beautifully from stage to screen because of its experienced production crew and talented actors.

Andrew Lloyd Webber personally selected Joel Schumacher to direct his film. The veteran director of such hits as The Lost Boys, Batman and Robin, A Time to Kill and Phone Booth also co-wrote the screenplay with Webber. It is this collaboration that created the perfect environment to make a successful movie.

Schumacher knew the opening scene was crucial in creating the same rich, visually sensual mood for the movie as is felt with the stage production. From the opening credits, the viewer is swept into the backstage story of the French theater of the late 1800’s. The soundtrack is what carries the film. The heavy rock beat interlaced with classical opera provides the backdrop for most of the dialog. The actor’s voices are perfectly suited for the parts they play.

Gerard Butler, recently seen in the movie adaptation of the graphic novel 300, plays the title character with finesse and sensuality. His unrequited love for Christine drives him to madness which eventually destroys the theater. Butler presents these complicated emotions convincingly, stirring the conflict for the viewers as they simultaneously both sympathize with him and hate him.

Equally as strong in performance is Patrick Wilson who made the leap from Broadway after being nominated for a Tony Award for his role in The Full Monty. A classically trained vocalist, he shows his talent in the love scene with a flawless performance of the song "All I Ask of You."

Conveying emotion convincingly is pivotal to the film and the ability to do this is the only flaw in Emmy Rossum’s performance as the heroine Christine. The actress, just fifteen at the beginning of the filming, truly is the “voice of an angel,” but she struggles to deliver the conflicted emotions of a woman torn between two men. The scenes where she must speak lines and act out emotion without musical accompaniment fall a bit flat and drag. When the music begins again, as it does frequently throughout the movie, Rossum takes back her presence.

A wonderful cast of supporting characters adds color and spice to the storyline. The only well-known actor in the movie is Mimmie Driver and she gives a humorous and outstanding performance as the aging opera diva. She also voices the only song created just for this movie.

The storyline is a simple which is what makes the music such a powerful part of this movie. Set as an operetta, with over eighty percent of the script sung instead of spoken, the musical score had to be clear and understandable. The technical direction in this area is essential and hits the mark. The plot is so finely tuned with the lyrics that the viewer often forgets they are listening to everything being sung instead of spoken. The movie is unique in its ability to expose an audience probably unfamiliar with the particular genre of opera in such a way that it is understandable and accessible.

The one big disappointment was that of the Masquerade scene. In the play the costumes were breathtaking taking in every color in the spectrum. Instead the movie played the scene in gold, black and white scene. Technically it worked but it failed to present the pivotal highlight that was needed to transition the conflict.

For a screen adaptation, this was the best that could be done. While there is not a movie made that can bring the feeling of the theater to the screen, this version of the Phantom of the Opera came close. The powerful music stirred the soul and brought the emotion forward. When the screen darkened and the credits rolled the audience was still and quiet for a moment and then broke out in applause. While Phantom of the Opera might not go down as a blockbuster hit, it deserves praise as one of the best transitions from Broadway to Hollywood.

Sources:

internet movie database

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0293508/

Phantom of the Opera -- Warner Brother's Offical Site

http://phantomthemovie.warnerbros.com/

Twilight

2007-11-17T11:48:00.000-05:00

Twilight is the best book I have read this year. It keeps you enthralled with its surprising twists and suspense. Each page is better is than the last. The book starts off with Bella, a city girl, who is deciding to move to Forks, Washington to live with her dad. When she arrives, she takes a while before she fits in with the other students and the town. The first chapter gets you hooked because Bella is so relatable. You can put yourself in her place. As you keep reading, the tone of the book changes unexpectedly and you realize there is more to Forks then Bella realized.

One day while she is in the cafeteria at school, she notices a table with the most beautiful humans she has ever seen. Their skin is pale but they carry almost an angelic look about them. She is particular engrossed with the one called Edward. Here the book picks up pace and curiosity starts flowing. Who are these humans? The author provides just the right amount of details to capture your interest. Later in the week, a tragic accident occurs which leaves Bella in a frantic state of mind. She suspects Edward is a vampire. After hours of Edward's denial about his secret, he finally confesses that he is in fact a vampire.

Despite Edward’s longing for Bella’s blood, they become friends. The plot thickens as Bella realizes that she is in love with Edward. It seems impossible for them to be together since her life would always be in danger. Bella chooses to ignore her danger and trust him. Everything seems to be going well until a group of foreign vampires arrive in town. Edward and his family have a made a pact not to feed on humans, but the other vampires have not. The foreign vampires catch the scent of Bella and immediately want to hunt her. Edward’s sister takes Bella and flees the town to run from them, while Edward is left to fight them off. The foreign vampires swear to never stop hunting Bella. So what will happen to Bella and Edward? Will they survive?

Well, you must read the book yourself to find out. Twilight contains the perfect blend of suspense, romance, and comedy. Once you start reading it, it is impossible to put it down. I found the book so intriguing that I read it again the very next day. It gives a new meaning to originality. The secrecy of the vampires, the hopeless love, and the hidden danger makes this book a must-read. The descriptions of the vampires are unbelievable. The author does an incredible job of creating details that allows the reader to picture the scenes. You will not be sorry. So ladies, grab a cup of hot cocoa and a warm blanket--men, go get comfortable in your favorite recliner, and get ready for a suspenseful journey with Twilight.

Relationships...

2007-11-14T09:59:00.000-05:00

Relationships are easily made but hard to keep. Many types of relationships engulf many aspects of our lives. Whether or not we think we are social butterflies, the never-ending circle of relationships that we make and break in our life rules our lives. Through these lives that we live, we meet many people. Some of these people quickly earn that relationships status. Some of these relationships that we faction are there from the beginning (i.e. parents, grandparents, and siblings).

I am finally getting back to my house this morning. One of my most prized relationships ended early Sunday morning. My grandfather, aka ‘Papa’ has passed away. I was awakened early Sunday morning by a phone call from my father who was requesting me to hurry to my grandparents’ house. We had all been taking turns staying there to help him in the night. He was bed ridden and needed help feeding himself and other things that it takes a man to completely humble himself to ask help for. But on this morning my dad needed me to help pick my grandfather up in the bed, because he felt like he was choking.

When I walked into the house I feared the worse, but I was trying to remain optimistic. I couldn’t hide my fear after I saw my five-foot-tall grandmother crying at the hospital bed that we had shipped to his house. We did our best to help him get straight in bed, but it was too late. I watched as my best friend and grandfather left our earthly realm. As the varying collection of people who stopped at my grandparents’ house yesterday, I noticed a trend. I saw that it's not how many relationships that you get in your life, but the quality of the relationships that you have.

My grandfather was obviously a loved man, because of the vast variety of people who visited him during his sickness and the family afterwards. The majority of the people who stopped to offer their condolences today were not just family. They were people whom my grandfather had formed varying relationships with over the years. Whether these relationships were constant, or merely just an influence that has lasted throughout the ages, story after story was told.

This makes me wonder how and why certain relationships last. These relationships are probably continued because both person’s lives keep them intertwining throughout the years. So how do we make the relationships we have better? One thing that you can do to continue a relationship of any kind, is to act unto that person the way that you would want to be treated. I know that the Golden Rule has become a cliche, but it has aspects of truthfulness. If you want someone to treat you a certain way, your best bet is to treat him or her in that way.

I know that my grandfather was a good man, and by the many stories that I heard yesterday, I know that he treated people with kindness. He gave and gave and didn’t expect anything in return. This love of people has carried over to his children. It will carried on from his children to their children. And I hope that through observing the way a relationship should be, that I go through my life producing the best relationships that I can because of the example that I had set forth for me.

A Piece of My Relationsihp with Writing

2007-11-11T23:52:00.001-05:00

If I try to analyze relationships as a novice writer is the same as a baby talking about the theory of relativity. I'm not a doctor, but I might consider my self a writer. Successful, probably not. I enjoy it and this is all that matters for me. I can sit down and have a conversation with a hidden alter ego then watch it come alive on paper (Does that mean because my thoughts aren't on paper or screen that they're dead?). Some of the biggest hurdles in writing are overcome by constant practice, as they are in most aspects of life. For myself the problem lies in lack of motivation about certain subject matter. I also feel the subjective attitude in writing is an issue, who is to assume the position of expertise in writing. Just two things I have trouble agreeing with, but I respect a good piece like anybody else.

When I write I sit my room facing a window, it's where I look when I try to focus and catch some of the "interesting" thoughts in the inside. I translate them into my hand which does the majority of the writers grunt work.

Writing's great because its free, free in the sense that I never have to get anything from somebody else to do the act. Like the saying goes freedom does comes with a price. The pressure of trying to create these interesting and creatively unique prose, well its not exactly easy. Figuring out what sets you apart and what makes me realize if I should have the wits for creativity is a muck-stuck trap. I often times find it hard to squeeze out of that trap of autonomy which writing puts me in.

Side note on the reality of writing:
The creation that comes from sitting back, recounting the steps, visualizing the final content, it's all part of it. Well I wonder what actually goes into these thoughts: a few like, where they come from, and how I'm thinking about such ideas and why. Real deep introspective kind of stuff, right? What constitutes the actual reality of what writing things down and if I mean them to be true.

Note on research of introspection:
Insight bred by research into these alternate tangent thoughts sometimes shows something new. While I am wondering or researching events or conceptual ideas that will illuminate some low lit dungeon of individualism where the idea rest- up there, this is where the knights in shinning armor are constantly searching for their princess.

Note on topic areas:
They're are supposed to be the brain children of unique and individual creativity muse; unfortunately, these little balls of topic light usually don't contain what I'm looking for.

Wishful thoughts for a flawless style create an interesting motivation. When I feel like writing I'm tragically distraught, it's really damn subjective. The pieces I write usually aren't part of some sort of meaningful puzzle, there's no sense of oneness intertwined between these topic areas. Best put, I'm definitely not always writing at my fullest potential, my mind could be heavily weighing in on bigger problematic issues I might be going through at the time. These issues do what stress is best at, cloaking. The cloaks created by stress dampen the muse attitude.

With out the worry about the technical process' in writing interaction. During the process I am allowed a break to utter my indifference's. This the healing power in writing gives me positive vibes, that's cliche?

Writing in turn offers me an ambitious attainable outlet where I can shovel the shit I think of out of my brain onto blank space. Life would be good to have a secure place in the world of writing. Assuming it I could come up with the patience to survive the writing process all the time. One last thing, the philosophical undertones in my prose don't yet offer insight for the educated.

Too Busy

2007-11-11T23:39:00.000-05:00

Wind. Moonlight. Stars blink. A wave marks its path along the silent beach, leaving sea foam and shells in its wake, changing but constant. I sit quietly, contemplating why I sit here alone and think how my relationship has come to this point. The first date was marked with a quick meeting and then a drive to the beach, laughing, talking. I shift uncomfortably, reseating myself on the dune, the sand contouring to my jeans, reminded that there used to be someone sitting next to me when I would come to the beach. I got up, walked parallel to the water, baby waves teasing my naked feet, jeans rolled up now to escape the clutching fingers of the water. Not too long ago, I had walked in the company of someone else.

The first date or the beginning of the end?

No matter how hard I may have tried, I cannot escape the memory of what once was. The first date, the angst, the excitement, the adrenaline, all came rushing back to me when I walked along the beach alone that night, thinking, where could it have gone wrong? Everything seemed perfect, too perfect, setting the stage for the second date. I stood there and listened, hearing every word that was said and taking the bad and things that made me uncomfortably as sternly as possible. In retrospect, I settle a lot. Why do I do that?

Compromise only goes so far in a relationship. Non-negotiable items are put on the table whereas before, I would never give them a second thought. Now they are at the forefront. In the final throes of a divorce? No way. Have kids, a 2-year-old? Possibly. I do want kids of my own, but not right now. Here I am at square one, letting someone walk into my life that has all the things I did not want to deal with right now. After all, I still need to finish school and I have a possible military career I need to worry about. I can’t age prematurely worrying about someone else’s baggage right? Or is that part of growing up? Is that something that should be compromised on? Odds are, probably not. It’s called settling.

Despite only being 25, I have learned a healthy amount about relationships. I’ve been told to save the passion and the love for when I get older and I need someone to fill that void. One night stands only go so far to fill that void, as does a friend with benefits. Those are for people who don’t want to invest the time and energy into something real, who haven’t quite gotten over their selfish bit yet. I know because I am one of them. As a result, I often settle for trying to date someone who causes me to compromise or sacrifice more than is necessary and fair to me. Yes, I say that I am selfish, but in reality, I am the one who gives up the most. All of this happens because my desire to be happy overshadows any fair logic. I settle, once again.

The final question is - when is it time to step out of the mundane and break the mold? Before I deploy might be a good time, but then again, I have too much going on in my life to worry about something serious.

Make yourself

2007-11-11T23:24:00.000-05:00

One day, you'll wake up and it will all make sense to you. I've been absolutely tormented in the relationship department for the past two years. It's ranged from insecurity to anger and disappointment. I spent hours wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why wouldn't it work? What was I doing wrong?

Turns out what was wrong with me ... was what was wrong with me. The constant negative thoughts and self-doubt never gave me a chance.

I adopted the law of attraction about a year ago, which is basically that a positive attitude brings more good things to you and negativity breeds misfortune. To achieve positive results, you have to ‘get clear.’ Getting clear is defining your goals and beliefs while being completely honest with yourself. The problem with getting clear is that deep down in your brain, you’ve taken record of all of the positives and negatives that have ever come from relationships you’ve been in. Though you may say you’re over those things, your mind will subconsciously cause you to sabotage yourself in order to keep life simple.

The roadblock that I created for myself in relationships was based on the fact that my biological parents had the worst relationship on the planet. Their nightly domestic violence ended in a messy divorce and my mom leaving with me. Deep down in my mid, I knew all of the things that happened. I didn't want to give myself a chance to end up in that situation.

It happens all the time, when you don’t even realize it. You can be on a perfect date with someone you’re very interested in, when suddenly, subconscious fear says ‘Hey buddy, it’s time for me to screw this one up for you.’ Three seconds later, you find the story of how you got drunk and hooked up with three girls in one night rolling out.

As she stares back at you with her mouth gaping open, subconscious desire is having a victory parade around your head and screaming, “Wooo! Listen to how much of an intolerable asshole you are! Pour it on, baby. Talk about your resume. Comment on her cleavage. We’re not even giving this girl a chance to rip your heart out. You’ll thank me later when you’re at home alone playing Playstation.”

Another of my old favorites was to find a girl who is genuinely interested, then analyze until you find a flaw that makes her undateable.

Realizing that you’ve been sabotaging yourself isn’t an easy thing to do. You have to sit down and open up those boxes that you tucked deep within your mind, full of all the negative stuff, and find which box is holding the fears. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that you’re unable to grasp a concept that billions of other people apparently have no problem with. When you finally do find that box of terror, usually located around other boxes of terror that you hadn’t even considered, you have to analyze yourself.

What I found was pretty interesting. I found that the person that I was when I arrived at college has long since been hidden behind a wall of bullshit. After getting in and out of a terrible relationship within my dorm freshman year, I had to change for my own sanity. Having many mutual friends, I knew that every time I walked by someone in the dorm they had judged me based on my situation with the ex-girlfriend. Then came times where I’d feel completely isolated because I knew that those same ‘friends’ didn’t believe my side of the story. There were times that I had to hold in a lot of my emotions because I knew that some of those people would reveal secrets no less than two minutes after I told them.

That led me to where I was -- afraid of revealing my emotions because I had an irrational fear that they’d use it against me when our relationship ended. Another problem lies within that, because I went into every relationship with the idea that it would end on bad terms. I’m not saying that I want to get married -- but how are things supposed to go if you’re thinking about the end before it’s started?

I’ve made some big changes in my life recently. I’ve cut out some people that I didn’t think were fitting in well anymore and I’ve taken the time to finally get clear with myself. I’ve pushed aside all of those things and I’ve taken down the walls.

I’m ready to feel all of those things again, finally. I’ve come to realize that a relationship won’t make or break you. Only you can make or break yourself.

The not-so-secret way to keep a long distance relationship going

2007-11-11T21:36:00.000-05:00

I am currently in a long distance relationship. I'm not talking the next city over or the next state over. I mean a hard-core-thousands-of-miles-away-in-a-whole-other-country kind of distance. This past year, I lived in London, England. It was an amazing experience that I'll never forget. Because of this, I have full intention of reliving it over and over again. After graduation I plan on moving to England for the culture, the jobs, and, most of all, my boyfriend.

I haven't been in many relationships, but they were strong and long. People seem to have a relationship personality that they repeat every time they enter into one. There are the types that see each other on the weekends because they're so busy. There are types that hang out every once in a while pretty consistently. And there are the types that practically move in with one another. That would be me. So one can imagine how hard it is to go from being with someone all the time to just talking the phone when our time zones allow it.

When it came time for me to come home from my year abroad, relationships all around me were falling apart. I knew many other exchange students that had fallen for an English man or woman and decided keeping it going would be too much work. For me and Matthew, however, that was out of the question. This begs the question: do long distance relationships really work? I believe that they can work only if visitations are possible. It is too much a strain on the heart and mind to go longer than five or six months apart, especially if the relationship is still new. Matthew and I had been dating for seven months when I had to move back to America. I visited him for ten days in October, most of which were spend with a writing class. Then I'm staying with him for almost a month in December. He will visit during his spring break (England gets a month off) and I'm moving to England in June.

It's planning like this that makes a successful long distance relationship. Communication is the key aspect of keeping the love between two people. Talking once a day or more than once a day is a must and it's easily possible with programs such as Skype. This is a free program where anyone can call anywhere in the world for almost nothing or free if the other person has Skype.
If there isn't enough trust in the relationship it will fail. When it's so difficult to know what my significant other is doing, it would easy to be paranoid. But I have to tell myself and Mathew that I trust him 100%. If it were any less than it wouldn't be worth doing.

When I talk to Mathew I always feel better about myself, about us, and about my life. Everything looks a little brighter and I’ll always be in a better mood. He’s witty and light, but knows how to challenge me and have fiery discussions. He’s made it clear that academics come before having an all-night chat, so our relationship is healthy and forgiving.

I've been hurt in the past, so I surprised myself when I decided to keep going. I don't regret getting into something that had the potential to hurt me. I'm lucky that it didn't and I feel that even if it did, it was, as they say; better to have loved than never to have loved at all.

Eyes Wide Shut: No dream is ever just a dream

2007-11-11T20:45:00.000-05:00

A film is - or should be - more like music than like fiction. It should be a progression of moods and feelings. The theme, what's behind the emotion, the meaning, all that comes later. – Stanley Kubrick

What is more frightening, having to wear a mask or what is indeed under that mask? Eyes Wide Shut, Kubrick’s final and most haunting film is a journey into the mind of a Bill Harford, played by Tom Cruise, who after hearing his wife’s fantasy of being with another man sends him into a journey to cheat on her. He roams the streets to escape from his fear being undesirable to his wife and along his path is offered sex by a prostitute whom Bill considers in order to get even. There are masks on the wall of her apartment – maybe to show she is more honest about her sexual exploits than the affairs of married couples. She is shown in full view. Most striking is Tom Cruise’s transformation into the classic character Dante as he journeys into hell with the aid of Virgil (Sydney Pollack). Kubrick’s use of lighting and cinematography is impeccable as many of the shots are done with a dolly which is one of the hardest to perfect.

What separates this film from so many others is its realistic characters. None are overpoweringly heroic or clear protagonists or antagonists. One might view Cruise’s Bill Harford as a protagonist and Sydney Pollack’s character Victor Ziegler who represents Virgil as the antagonist but that would deny their developed and rounded characters. No one is particularly virtuous or morally deficient. It is more of a difference of levels of morality than simple on and off switches between who is virtuous and who is immoral. The dialogue is pleasantly restrained from pretension and theatrics. No snappy one-liners or eloquent speeches are used here. Instead we get real people who talk like we all do. There problems are much deeper and, painful, though they stem from moral decay.

Bill Harford, although a successful doctor is bored with routine, his wife and lifestyle. Anything different would open his life up. Alice Harford played by Nicole Kidman goes through this tormentous affair as well; she takes care of the kid, cooks dinner and fixes the house. They are comatose in an existence where they both are successful and suppose to be happy. After meeting an old friend from medical school who is now a pianist Bill sees him write a password for a gig he will play at. Intrigued, Bill gets where the location is being played from his weak friend.

The next scene has Bill enter a mansion that holds a secret ritualistic orgy to initiate new women and entertain the onlookers. Everyone is masked including the sexual participants. The sex scenes in the film are detached, impersonal, cold and clinical. The famous orgy sequence features all masked guests at their party to protect their identities. These men are powerful including politicians, doctors and elite aristocrats. The guests arrive in limos and gain entry to the giant mansion, the password – “Fidelio.”

This scene can be seen as the second layer of hell designated for the lustful according to Dante’s Inferno. Virgil (Sydney Pollack) sees him and a woman escorts him and tries to get him to leave because he is in danger. After leaving the mansion by being discovered as an uninvited guest he is called by Victor Ziegler (Sydney Pollack) mysteriously. He tells Bill that he saw him at the party and the whole thing was a charade.

Eyes Wide Shut has Christmas trees in almost every scene. This may be since the Illuminati use a symbol similar to it as seen in the dinner party. It is an eight pointed star with a triangle and circle in the middle that is suppose to be an “eye.” Christmas is hardly mentioned in the film and it really serves no purpose as a plot point so the Christmas tree is most likely occult symbolism.

The main conflict that arises in the film is that of intent and action. Harford intends to cheat on his wife and goes as far as entering a prostitute’s room to get even but chance strikes as he suddenly gets a phone call from his wife. Does he not have sex with the prostitute because he genuinely loves his wife or because fear shakes him in this awkward situation? Alice Harford intended to cheat on the marine at the dinner where she and her husband were but didn’t. Are they both repulsive for wanting something but not going through with it? That is up to one’s own moral compass. The film is about morality and the sex, power and trust are just tests of how strong one’s morality is.

The ending shows that after Bill confesses to Alice of where he went and what were his intentions that there relationship was reduced being just sexual after the trust was gone. This is Kubrick’s most haunting film that is expertly crafted and deeply layered. It is one of his best films along with 2001: A Space Odyssey.

10/10

Works Cited

Stanley Kubrick: A Life in Pictures

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtZLPwWt_IM

http://www.visual-memory.co.uk/amk/doc/0096.html

Don't Take My Wife - Please

2007-11-11T20:33:00.000-05:00

I will never forget the summer of 2007.

She wore a simple white gown and a glow like the moon – soft, illuminating the night. We were married beneath two magnolia tress by a reverend named Fish who wore shoes adorned with colorful flames. We had dinner with all of our friends and family in the entire world; everyone we knew and cared about was under one summer sky. We left six hours later for Mexico, Belize and Grand Cayman. The jungles of mountainous bamboo, the beaches clear and vast, and the busy markets all breezed past – clear and remarkable, yet intangible like a puff of smoke.

We returned home and went about our lives as newlyweds – staying in on Friday nights, the baby-talk, the quick trips to the store that we took together because neither wanted to be without the other.

With a new consciousness of marriage and its role in society and how we would arrange ourselves within that mysterious world, I began to notice things. Something strange had burrowed its way into the DNA of American culture. We returned to a home that was surprisingly cynical toward our new life.

The sitcom has been around as long as television and has carried with it the same jokes from a half a century ago. In the ‘50s, Ralph wanted to send Alice “to the moon.” Haven’t we grown up since then? Tune in to an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond or The King of Queens to find out. The sad answer: no. Fictional men are complaining about their fictional wives more now than ever. The “ball-and-chain” joke is a staple on many television shows. Hasn’t our humor evolved? I assume the sad crew of so-called “redneck” comedians has their share of material on the matter.

One black-and-white comedian supported an entire career on one line – “Take my wife—please.” It’s unfortunate that his jokes didn’t die when he did.

Bumper stickers claim to know a lot about marriage: men don’t like listening to their wives talk, men prefer their dogs over their wives, men often trade their wives for guns and boats and fast cars, men stay married because it’s too expensive to get divorced, men offer rewards for missing dogs but not for missing wives, and on and on and on. These stickers are usually wedged delicately between a flapping confederate flag and a cartoon character urinating on something.

As men across America roll around in their favorite chairs, basking in the glow of their televisions and laughing at the prospect of punching out their wives, or giving them away to some mysterious charity, their wives try to remember the moment when they were turned against.

“You’re a newlywed,” they might say. “Just wait – give it a couple of years and you’ll be laughing with the rest of us.” “It’s just a joke,” others might say. “Lighten up.”

I guess I just don’t get it. Passive-aggressive people make jokes about truly deeper issues. This must be the case with bumper stickers and sitcoms and movies and any other platform for these thoughtless jokes. I think we need to peel the stickers off our cars, cut the cable wires and spend a little more time with each other. And if that doesn’t work just call a divorce lawyer.

Across the Universe

2007-11-11T20:08:00.000-05:00

There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.
- Dante

Why is it that the people closest to our lives can bring us both pain and happiness? As adults, we all have the same capabilities to make the decisions in our own lives. Why then, do we subject ourselves to even the possibility of suffering by allowing other human beings to infiltrate our lives? This is a question with many answers. Perhaps it is simply the notion of living in the realm of loneliness, or maybe we don't consider ourselves "complete" without the companionship of another. Whatever the answer may be, there is little doubt that even deep within the heart of the most isolated being, the flame for belonging burns tirelessly.

I tell myself that times have changed, that everyone is lost; we're all searching for a person who could add meaning to it all. I tell myself these things every day but I know that if I can't find meaning within my own life then nobody could ever make me whole. And maybe we are all lost. We're drifting through space on a rock that, from the larger picture, is no bigger than one fish in the sea. We cling to others to help us find the answers, to sort through the rubble of whatever wars have ravaged the landscape our soul.

The world is a confusing place. Millions have been slaughtered because of differences in religion, and the truth is that nobody ever finds out who's right until it's too late. The wealthy in society flourish, while the lower classes struggle to breathe. Children are dying as we speak. Everybody is faced with the challenge of finding their own way to cope with the utter chaos. So we build relationships. We find people who can listen to us, who can understand us. It is through these people that we draw our conclusions about the mysteries of the generations. These people, whether husbands, wives, friends, or neighbors, play the part of the shadow characters in our lives. Without them, our lives are empty and our views dark and icy.

My nights are sleepless. It doesn't matter if my girlfriend is lying next to me or not. I find myself outside at 3 a.m., smoking a cigarette and staring at the stars with a wondrous eye. It's been like this for years. Despite my emotional attachments and despite the people who have helped shape my life, the questions I have about my existence can never and will never be answered by anyone but myself. So why do I need other people in my life? I need them there because they can offer things that I can't obtain by myself. They make me smile; they can take my cynicism and turn it to hope. We all draw our own conclusions based on our own experiences. And while religion and ethics will be debated forever, we as members of the human race, have the power to choose our own destinies by deciding what it is we perceive as the truth. It's because of our relationships that we have these powers.

Give The Kind of Love You Want to Get

2007-11-11T19:02:00.000-05:00

Being in a relationship, be it romantic or just friend/family-based, is like taking a journey with another person. Growing up, I remember always hearing the phrase "doing life together," and it serves as a perfectly simple definition of what a healthy relationship should be. Personally, I have several standards--keys if you will--to guide me in doing my best in avoiding missteps along the path of life I travel with another.

Honesty, obviously, should permeate ever inch of a relationship. How can you really love someone, truly find happiness, if you can't look the person you care about in the eyes and say, "You're being selfish," or "I don't like it when you treat me this way"? Honesty isn't easy because you want the person you're involved with to know you on a deeper level than most others know you. You want to feel that you can count on that person to be supportive, to respect you despite the stupid things you do when you've had too much to drink or had a bad day at work. While honesty is important throughout a relationship, it is essential at the beginning. The start is such a thrilling yet vulnerable time and there are so many instances in which I've completely ignored issues that were apparent from the start--mysteries about the other person that I marked as intriguing rather than troubling--but that, in time, began to eat away at our bond from the inside out. I've found it's best to just be upfront about the things that bother you. If you "can't stand superficial people," don't start dating someone notorious for saying "This conversation is waaaay too deep for me," or "I think I'm a Democrat. Wait a minute, let me call my dad."

But even in the right relationship, the person you love will say things and do things that drive you up the wall. I am most guilty of doing this. I often speak and act without thinking. I am selfish with my own opinion, feelings. Just because something sparks a sudden surge of emotion within me doesn't give me the right to interrupt or to offend someone else. I possess an impulsive personality that gets me in trouble on a daily basis--at home, in class, at work. I'm working on these things, but as I struggle I am desperate for forgiveness. And the willingness to forgive and forget are two primary elements of a healthy relationship. Accepting that everyone makes mistakes and in turn deserves a second, a third, a twentieth chance is the only way to survive one of the countless arguments that take place in any relationship. It's easy to let resentment build within you and fester until it becomes a hateful bitterness that will destroy a relationship. That's why it's essential to learn to let things go. Show others the grace that you would want to be shown to you. That kind of love is the purest possible.

The feeling you get when that love is given to you is indescribable. Having to put up with me on a daily basis, my boyfriend is one of the most understanding and caring people I have ever met. I look at him sometimes after I've done something careless, and I am overwhelmed by his ability to just smile-- to laugh off the awkwardness and the frustration that we've probably created out of stress, or misunderstanding. He has taught me that a sense of humor is the only way to get by. You can refuse to give in and be upset until everyone you care about has left you--or you can accept that, most of the time, you can't control the situation. If it's not up to you--what else is there to do than laugh about it with someone you care about?

So I've learned to smile with contentment when things are good. To laugh when they're not so great. And to be thankful, each day, to be breathing alongside someone who, even in my messiest moments, loves me simply because of who I am.

Red Flags

2007-11-11T17:22:00.000-05:00

“Do you promise that you are telling me the truth?” I whispered. He stared into my tear-filled eyes and stated, “I promise! I love you! I want to be with you! Why would I mess that up?” My heart jerked as I saw his face contorted with heartfelt pain. Maybe he is not lying. He loves me. He wouldn’t cheat on me. After a minute of silence, I hesitantly replied, “Okay, I believe you.” His smile lit up his face as he reached forward to hug me. I thought that the situation was done. I thought I could trust him.

A week later, the truth came out. My boyfriend of a year had been lying to me our entire relationship. I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, but I never thought that someone could be so dishonest. I shouldn’t have ignored the red flags. They would pop up in my mind throughout our relationship questioning his actions or words. One night he told me that he would call me after work which was 10:00 pm. He did not call me until 3:00 the next morning. I was sick with worry thinking that he had gotten into an accident because He wasn't answering his phone. His excuse was that he was stressed and went running. Red Flag. Even though situations would occur where his honesty was questioned, I swallowed it or just chose to believe him. Even if what he was saying did not make any sense at all. The trust in our relationship was never a sure thing but it should have been.

A relationship can not grow without a foundation of trust. Not trusting someone allows doubts and uncertainties to fill your mind. You are constantly wondering if that person is doing what they say. You want to believe them because you think that they love you but deep down you realize that you don’t trust them. I really loved my boyfriend which is why I chose to ignore my doubts. But the reality is people can’t expect to communicate efficiently or learn about each other unless they do have a level of trust. The level of trust only grows deeper as time passes. If you start a relationship off without a base of trust then where can your relationship go?

Trust allows you to feel secure with the knowledge that no matter what happens, you will know the truth. You can be free to be yourself. You can be free to go throughout your day without having doubts and fears flow through your mind. That is not to say that they won’t because we are all human and we all doubt. But you can counteract them with the fact that you do trust the person you’re with and it helps your doubts disappear. Since I didn't have that type of relationship with my boyfriend, I was miserable. I would constantly stay up late at night and worry that he was being dishonest. I knew deep down that something was wrong, but I loved him and didn't want to confront it.

After finding out about all the lies, I broke up with my boyfriend. I was tired of feeling betrayed and anxious all the time. Through that experience I’ve learned that if I don’t trust someone then there is no point to having a relationship. I don't know why people lie but I do know that I don't want a relationship with someone who does. There are plenty of people in the world that value trust and honesty as much as I do so I shouldn't waste time on those who don’t. Trust is the foundation of every relationship so make sure that you have it from the beginning. Also, don't ignore the red flags.

Therapeutic Advice And Exciting Stories With Dr. John

2007-11-11T15:34:00.000-05:00

I am not good with relationships, and the longest relationship I have been in only lasted about three months, but I will share what I have learned anyway. Girls make life a lot more interesting, the highs are more intense and the lows are that kind of crawl-in-a-hole-and-cry kind of mess that you hear about in emo songs. Maybe I’m “whipped,” but I never plan anything so girls always seem to put structure in my life; in the same way an extracurricular activity would, except with more benefits.

One thing I have noticed to be fairly universal amongst the female population is that you should not always buy things for them, never buy all their drinks or pick up their tabs. Not only is this expensive, they assume that you are so desperate for a connection that you think you can buy it. You are not obligated, so don’t: chivalry died around the same time that Elvis did. Some things are just curteous, like opening the door for someone, but paying for a girl's shit is just stupid. Women will lose respect for you while taking your money mercilessly, and what’s worse is that they begin to take it for granted.

The same goes for compliments. The compliment is a double edged sword, it can brighten a woman’s day and put a smile on her face, or it can be meaningless and have adverse effects for you. Don’t necessarily bite when she fishes for compliments. You must smile whenever you give a compliment and speak with confidence or else it is not taken seriously, and you can’t always compliment a girl. Only if she really deserves to be complimented, for example, if she’s obviously spent a long time getting ready, or if she’s done something new with her hair, and you like it. If you give too many compliments they start to lose their value, and they will not take your opinion as seriously, its inflation. Also I believe that most women are socially (or maybe genetically) programmed to please men. Not that everything women do is to please men, I am not really that deluded or chauvinistic, but if you are always complimenting them on the things they do or the way they look, even when they don’t deserve it, then it satisfies their man-pleasing quota for the day or week and you lose influence in the invisible balance of power. For example if she always thinks she looks good, then she won’t try as hard to look good or please you.

One thing that is really annoying is that girls never understand how much I care. I can understand that they probably assume that just because I don’t always show my emotions as much as they do, that I must not have any. So if you really do care you have to let them know, over and over again. If they’re just play things, the trick is to not really say but make them think that you might like them. Same thing if you’re not really sure what you want, and you’re just playing it by ear, but this is really dangerous because you might end up getting attached. If she thinks that you’re just in it for sex then the whole time she’ll be purposely looking for things she really dislikes about you because she assumes you’re going to leave her and she wants it to hurt less when you do. If you change your mind too late and decide you want more than sex, she will be less attached and ironically, you will be the one who gets hurt. If you are treating her like your girlfriend the whole time, and then leave when something better comes along, then you either don't realize how much pain your causing, or you have no ethics.

I really think the best part of a relationship is that first month or so when there are still tons of things you haven’t done, conversations you haven’t had, and that almost comedic butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of sexual tension. But sex changes everything, sometimes I find myself less attracted to a woman after sex, sometimes more. Some women really are nymphos, and they are always one step ahead of you. As a man, it is assumed that I always want sex, but one thing I have noticed is that it is not good to always have sex just because you can. Its exhausting, and also if you start doing this on a regular basis, everyday or several times a day, then the sex gets old really fast, and it becomes more about a compulsive and depersonalized release rather than a truly intimate experience. I know this sounds ridiculous, but in my experience, (which i admit is limited...) it is actually counterproductive to take the "easy outs" so to speak, it feels better to work for it and set the mood, because it creates sexual tension which makes the sex better. If things still feel boring, there are always handcuffs.

Cuddling is awesome, but I can't cuddle all night. I already have insomniac tendencies and girls normally make it worse. Even if I fall asleep on my side, I dont hit REM. I sleep best on my back, with my legs straight out (not interlocking with hers), and my hands crossed against my chest, coffin style. I usually cuddle for an hour tops, then sleep, or else I am a zombie and I try to eat brains in the morning. Remember, all night cuddling is not worth life in jail for first degree cannibalism.

Its frustrating and difficult to walk the line between an emotional guy and a whiny bitch, because you do have to speak your mind and be honest about the way you feel. The last girl I was with was too loud and domineering and was always putting words in my mouth, which is one of the reasons I left. Part of the reason this happened was because i did not voice my opinion enough. She was blind to even the most obvious of my emotions, for example, she was still best friends with her ex boyfriend, and they were always hugging which made me really jealous. I knew they were just hugs, but I still felt like I was competing for her attention. She did not realize how much I hated him as a person, and after I told her, she avoided the two of us seeing each other, and when we did, she was not very nice to either of us. This was actually a great solution, and led to the two of us having a mutual understanding as we saw that neither of us were getting what we thought was too much or treatment, and eventually we became friends. If I had not told her, it would have festered inside and I would have taken it out on her. Also a fight really could have broken out between me and him, and I probably would have died.

They always say the determining factor is the first big fight, which I never survive. Almost every relationship I’ve ever been in, I ended because I didn’t want to get dumped myself. Every relationship I’ve ended has left me bitter and resentful for at least a week. Girls always seem to cause a lot of emotional pain for me, but I would not take any of it back, and I know I’ll feel like crap again, but it’s worth it. That’s just life.

Staying in Like is the Hard Part

2007-11-10T13:31:00.000-05:00

When people find out that I have been married for over twenty-five years, one question usually comes up: how do you stay in love with the same person for all that time? My answer is always the same: staying in love isn't the problem at all, it is the staying in like that is the killer. Understanding that you might not always like the person you are married to and realizing that you will always have to work at loving each other is the way to make marriage fulfilling and long lasting.

I have been in love with my husband since a particular day twenty-seven years ago when he sat across from me in Taco Bell and stumbled over his words trying to explain his feelings for me. I knew then and there that my heart belonged to him and it always would. I have never once doubted that love, not on the day he asked me to marry him, not on our wedding day, not five years, ten years, even twenty-five years later. What is more, I never doubted that love when we experienced the hard times, the times where we could barely look at each other.

Ask me have I always liked this man and I will tell you absolutely, undoubtedly and with utter conviction "NO." In fact, the very first time I remember not liking him was shortly after the lunch at Taco Bell. We got into some stupid fight about an ex-boyfriend and I thought he was acting like the biggest jerk possible. I wondered how in the world I could like a man that was acting like a twelve-year-old. I didn't, but I still loved him.

Understanding in a marriage that things will not always be smooth and that you might not always be blissfully happy with your mate is probably the most fundamental advice any person contemplating the big step could get. Loving each other is required, liking each all the time is not. To love each other the entire time, you have to fight for your relationship. You commit yourself totally to never forgetting, even in the bad times, the special feelings you hold for that other person. Remembering what caused you to fall in love and building on that love is the glue that cements it all together. The memories you make, both good and bad, are how you bond and blend two people into a single marriage. My husband alone knows the feeling in my heart the day I first held our children. He knows, like no other, the happiness I felt when I was accepted into school. And he shares the pain of the memory of the seven months we spent separated, unable to work out our stubborn differences as we contemplated throwing in the towel on our marriage. It is those shared feelings that bond our continual love.

So, while I might tell someone who asks me how I feel about my husband, that I am so mad at him I could spit, or that we aren't speaking because of a fight we are waging over the electric bill, I will quickly follow with the fact that I really do love the man. And I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't and couldn't have spent the last twenty-five years with him.

The Best Roommates Are No Roommates

2007-11-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

I have come to the realization over the years that roommates serve no purpose other than to test your boundaries, patience and will to live. I have had the worst: the slovenly slobs, the neat freaks, queens, druggies, ghetto trash, dorks, overconfident idiots and CIA/NSA operatives. What all of these scum have in common is that they are impossible to negotiate with. Their job is to make your life a living hell. From demanding standards to having petty differences such as the “perfect” temperature setting they all thrive on your anguish and suffering.

First are the dorks. These I almost feel sorry for since everyone deep down has a dork inside themselves that they are hiding from the world. I don’t have sympathy for them because when they play video games especially Guitar Hero six hours a day you wonder what happened in their childhood that made them give up on themselves. These guys dance to Jay-Z being played and can’t play more than a handful of overly popular rock bands from the seventies. They worship Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and Deep Purple because it is safe, lazy and requires no effort to branch out and find out what they truly like. These are sadly the future music journalists of tomorrow who hold no respect for challenging the status quo.

They also take pictures of themselves constantly and short of making a scrapbook that would cement their latent femininity they are always talking about their relationship problems or lack thereof. You should keep that stuff to yourself. Would Humphrey Bogart ever complain about a lack of game or inferior women? No, because he didn’t care about the present or future. With these people you have to keep a distance since you don’t want to become like them. You start adopting the habits of any person who you hang around with too much, so be weary. They might mean well but they don’t challenge themselves to be better people, plain and simple. They are the kings of mediocrity, and they are happy being that way.

The overconfident idiot is another type that will destroy your will to live. This is the guy who knows the back-story, answer and reasons to why anything is why it is. They are the kings of bullshit artists because they delude themselves into thinking they know everything about everything. You can’t have a conversation with one of these people without them trying to one-up you and prove they know more than you in any area of expertise. You like film? They know everything about film and such classics to them include Rush Hour, Happy Gilmore and Spaceballs. These are the people that watch Jeopardy and take notes.

I had one idiot always telling me B.S. stories about his days as an EMT. He always had close calls with dying people and unexciting tales that seemed to really interest him and no one else. These people are usually friendly and upbeat at first but quickly get on your nerves so bad that you just want to split their head open. Another trait of these people is that they act as if they have had over 1,000 conquests. They talk and talk of the women they have been with but you never see any around. Then when you yourself bring one to the room, if you share a room, they get jealous and still try to act superior to you. Pathetic. I have learned to deal with this type you ignore them plain and simple since they thrive on attention. Anything they say and do, act unimpressed. You really don’t have to pretend in most or all cases. These people have nothing to offer the world and deserve to be executed, mafia style.

No matter who you have you most likely lose. I have had a few good roommates but that was out of over 20. Sometimes you win most times you don’t. All in all the best roommates keep to themselves, are not obnoxious and can be your friends. As long as you know yourself and what you hate, you will know pretty quickly when to stay and when to leave. All roommates have something about them that will piss you off so the best roommates are no roommates.

Friendship is the Foundation

2007-11-07T17:30:00.000-05:00

The best friend is likely to acquire the best wife, because a good marriage is based on the talent for friendship. - Friedrich Nietzsche

Through our lives we develop many different relationships with others, from friendship to romance. Some relations will only remain a friendship, while others grow to be much more. Some will become a romantic partner, but never a friend. Whatever the connection, this bond is strongest if based upon friendship.

A friend is someone you can rely on for anything, despite how inconvenient or complicated your needs may be. You would hope that your significant other would have the same qualities as your friends, but that is not always the case. I see it all the time—boyfriends and girlfriends treating their friends better than they treat each other. Why do people often treat others, even complete strangers, better than their partner? It all ties back to the foundation of their relationship.

Serious relationships I have experienced have all been different; all the guys were distinct in characteristics and values. I have seen the effects of dating a close friend and dating someone I knew only as a boyfriend. From both experiences, there was an immense difference not only in the relationship, but the aftermath. An exsisting friendship made one relationship genuine and fulfilling, while the other felt empty and fake.

My first boyfriend was a guy I had only met twice during middle school. Our relationship sprung on the factor of mutual attraction. We started dating after only one week; we barely knew one another. All that mattered to me was the basics: nice, funny, and cute. As our relationship progressed, I started to realize how empty most of our conversations were. Sure, we agreed on many things such as what the best Will Ferrell movie of all time is, but nothing deeper. Where was the connection? I thought over time we’d become closer. It turns out we only became each other’s company: someone to prevent boredom. My assumption was this is what relationships were—hanging out after school, holding hands, and writing “I love Chris” everyday on my right hand. Although I didn’t know any different, I did notice something was missing. Something important.

Daniel was one of my best friends from 9^th grade on. Every aspect of high school we experienced together. He was the type of friend I could trust with absolutely anything. I admired his kindness; he was always smiling and never selfish. Sophomore year of college, Daniel expressed his feelings for me, and right then I knew there was much more to our friendship. We were already close, yet we still took our time dating to see how things went—nobody wants to jeopardize a friendship. Soon after, we were officially “together.” The relationship was based on all the right things: honesty, caring, understanding, and most importantly friendship. This relationship was completely different than any other I had before. The fact that we had such a strong friendship made our relationship genuine. Of course you act differently when someone becomes your boyfriend; however the bond we had was indestructible. Our feelings were not only passionate but intimate. I didn’t just rely on him for taking me out to dinner, but for someone to listen and relate to. He wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was my best friend.

A year later we decided to break up after we began to drift apart, but there were no hard feelings. Some people might believe the “we could never be friends” notion would apply here, but it doesn’t. Our friendship is more important than any problem we had as boyfriend and girlfriend. Daniel and I took the time to let ourselves be distant; this way our future encounters wouldn’t be awkward. He is still one of my best friends, and that is a bond that will never break up.

Happiness

2007-11-04T23:57:00.000-05:00

Happiness has no universal meaning. Everyone has a different definition. I know so few people who are truly happy, including myself, so I'm not sure I'd be qualified to give the keys to happiness. Don't get me wrong, I'm not miserable. I am happy. But for me there's always something missing, always something that could make my life better. I can't seem to figure out where complacency ends and contentment begins. For much of my life, when it came time to making sacrifices happiness was the first to go. I've always had the "win at all cost" mentality. But I had to ask myself, is a miserable success even a success at all. If you can't enjoy the victory and your journey there, what's it really worth. Despite my shortcomings in finding true happiness, I have been able to define a few factors that are going to be essential if I ever hope to get there.

I believe the journey to happiness begins with realizing that my life is finite and that every day counts for something. Every day has the potential for greatness. Why waste one day of your life doing what you "should" be doing. If you live your life with that mentality (doing what you should) than your script has already been written. X leads to Y leads to Z and you know how it ends. It seems all too common that people are so eager to give their lives limits, to define and align themselves with a predetermined destiny.

Step Two...Have the presence of mind to enjoy the seemingly meaningless. The Sundays huddled around a TV with your closest friends watching football, the smell of gasoline while you pump your gas, the sound of your mothers voice calling you for dinner, car wheels turning over gravel. All beautiful things. It pains me to think of all of the incredible moments I've missed in my life while I dwelled on the past or labored over the future. How many moments that passed as I waited for the next best thing?

Finally, pursue whatever it is that you feel will make you happy. If its money, so be it. If its promiscuous sex with women you had to pay for, right on. Happiness is happiness, it has no boundaries. There is no excuse for waking up everyday living a life that you don't want. Life is about more than just survival and subsistence. Merely surviving is not truly thriving. I don't want to survive life, I want to live it.

The Modern Day Serf

2007-11-04T22:29:00.000-05:00

Many share the plight of the modern day serf. They pledge monthly dues to an institution that could care less about them. They work tirelessly to pay off their debt. The institution makes huge profits off their underlings while the poor serfs toil in squalor and poverty. The modern serf is the college graduate smothered by huge college loan payments.

Much like people were born into serfdom in the past, modern serfs get their start early. Students are conditioned from a young age that “successful” people go to college. With this mindset ingrained, students plan on attending college well before they actually go. The problem is that many Americans cannot afford college without substantial loans. These loans become a burden on college graduates who have to make loan payments rather than save money.

The problem is hardest on middle class families, those who can’t fully afford to send their children to college but make too much to qualify for federal aid. Therefore, it is the students’ responsibility to find a way to put themselves through school, which usually means taking out loans. College prices are astonishingly high, and according to CNN.com are increasing at a rate faster than inflation. The US Department of Education estimates that in 2001 the average price of attending college in America was roughly $10,000 a year. That means someone receiving no financial assistance would have to borrow at least $40,000 just to attend a university. Factor in other costs, such as books and meal plans, and its safe to say that a student can face upwards of $45,000 in loans before starting a career, and that was over six years ago.

These loans weigh heavily on graduates. A graduate with a degree in education, according to the Nation Educational Association, can expect to make about $27,500 a year in North Carolina. That equals a monthly income of about $2,300. On top of other expenses, graduates can expect to spend between $200 and $300 a month in loan payments. Paying back loans delays any significant savings that should take place in the first few years after graduating from college. This keeps house ownership out of the question. Conversely, students from wealthy families who don’t take out loans will be able to save money immediately.

This perpetuates the situation which led to serfdom in the first place. While the privileged keep prospering, the serfs toil. Serfs have little professional freedom, while the graduate that isn’t in debt has some financial freedom to explore occupational options. The graduate in debt is forced to stay in a position that guarantees a steady paycheck so their current debt doesn’t balloon astronomically.

In the past, being a serf was a social condition and was dependent on birth. Now serfdom is a lifestyle that many are forced into. The best jobs go to people with college degrees so, in an attempt to ascend to a higher level in the social structure, people take out loans to pay for school. Sadly, this financial burden becomes an extra obstacle in being financially secure and independent.

To work hard and get nowhere, such is the plight of the modern day serf.

One Night Stand Etiquette

2007-11-04T22:18:00.000-05:00

Admit it. You've been there once or twice. Not quite knowing whether you should spend the night or leave with a curt kiss on the cheek and an "I'll call you". These are common questions that plague the lust-filled world of one night stands. One night stands, while often full of excitement and passion, often leave you awkward and unsure of proper etiquette. Here are a few ground rules that one should take into consideration before diving head-first into the tangled web of sheets, sweat, and one-time sex.

First and foremost, be prepared. No one wants to wake up regretful and covered in a rash. That would just prove to be debilitating for following one night stands. However, know that if your possible-partner is actually prepared, that they probably do this often. Regardless, as telling as it may be to carry a condom, tuck it in your wallet or bra and feel better knowing that anti-itch medicine will not be on next weeks grocery list.

Second, don't get too personal. Do you really need to know their favorite movie or even their last name for that matter? By keeping your distance, no one gets hurt. Such things as hand-holding, pet names, and conversation are faux paus in the world of one night stands. If necessary develop a pseudo name, such as "Ginger" or "Ken", to keep your anonymity for this purely physical act. Stay away from emotional topics, such as the popular, feeling-invoking question "Are you single?" . Irrelevant information in the realm of one night stands.

Third, never approach a one night stand potential that you will run into on a regular basis, such as a co-worker or classmate. Awkwardness will ultimately ensue, resulting in stiff sideways hugs and empty promises of getting together soon. If such a situation becomes unavoidable, pull the "I blacked out, what happened?" card immediately and be on your way with a heavy heart and a lesson learned.

The fourth rule is to never leave your number. One night stands are by definition, one night. Fulfill the obligatory cuddle rule by counting to fifteen, then clearing your throat, and getting up for a drink of water. Get out fast with tales of your dog at home or an early work meeting. If your partner is a well-rehearsed one night stander as well, your quick exit will be followed with a "Thanks for the fun" and a locked door. But if you are unable to escape that night, it's always great to have a back up plan for emergencies the next morning. A simply sigh of, "Our children will be so cute..." or a mention of how they remind you of your mother will send them running and leave you with a smile and a great story for the grand kids.

The fifth, and final rule to keep in mind is an often talked about phenomenon that occurs the morning after. The "Walk of Shame" is an inevitable consequence of the one night stand lifestyle. Ideally, you are able to make it out before daylight, free from the harsh stares and whispers of roommates. But one must plan accordingly in the instance that you wake up to the warm, mid-morning sunlight bathing your liquor soaked body. Keep your eyes on the sidewalk and if possible, engage yourself in an intense cellphone conversation as you make your way past the judging eyes of church goers and neighbors. Ladies have it a bit worse in regards to the walk of shame. Saturday night stilettos and glitter do not translate well on Sunday mornings. Plan ahead by wearing light colors and carrying eye make-up remover.

While the one night stand lifestyle can often become tiresome and overrated, keep things new and exciting by mixing it up with new locations and colorful prophylactics. By following the rules and knowing proper etiquette, you can help avoid a sticky situation and be able to hold your head up high for that long walk back to your car. Happy humping!

Ghosts and Colorblindness

2007-11-04T22:12:00.000-05:00

In 2002, an invisible ghost took control of a 74-year-old woman’s hand. As she was examined in a Chinese hospital, the mischievous spirit would manipulate her entire left arm, causing it to levitate and thrash about without the woman’s consent. Disturbed and fearful, she explained to the doctors that a sudden feeling of weakness numbed her left side when the ghost first took possession of her hand, leaving her unable to perform tasks that required two cooperative hands, such as lighting matches or tying shoes. Also, the ghost changed her perception of colors. When placed in front of a plain grey wall, the woman’s eyes registered six colors that weren’t there. After taking a series of magnetic resonance images (MRIs), however, perplexed doctors in the Chinese hospital discovered that brain legions, not ghosts, were to blame for her rogue appendage. Soon afterward, the elderly woman was diagnosed with alien hand syndrome (AHS), a condition in which the patient’s limb has an uncontrollable will of its own.

Since alien hand syndrome was first identified in 1972 by Brion and Jedynak, huge strides have been made in classifying various modes of the rare motor-skill syndrome, and now psychiatrists divide the cases into four categories: intermanual conflict syndrome, alien hand sign, anarchic or way-ward hand syndrome, and supernumerary hands. In a case of intermanual conflict syndrome, a patient’s affected hand interferes with the actions of the normal hand, causing severe difficulties in performing daily routines. For example, a person may not be able to put on a shirt because the affected hand attempts to take off the shirt at the same time that the normal hand is attempting to put it on. Opening doors, eating, drinking, smoking, writing, and teeth-brushing are only a handful of activities in which intermanual conflict syndrome persuades its victims to engage in a bodily civil war. The next category of AHS is called alien hand sign, and it is characterized by the sensation that the left hand (in right-handed subjects) does not belong to the patient. For example, one 50-year-old woman said this about her left arm: “I felt it belonged to someone else and wanted to hurt me because it moved towards me; I saw it quite big and distorted like a monster; I was terrified.”

While alien hand sign and intermanual conflict syndrome are both strange conditions, anarchic hand syndrome and supernumerary hands are equally bizarre categories of AHS. Anarchic hand, sometimes called the way-ward hand, is diagnosed when the patient’s arm completes seemingly purposeful and sometimes violent actions at random intervals. In Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, the post-Nazi scientist character, played by the late Peter Sellars, has an anarchic hand that attempts to strangle him and frequently explodes into proud Nazi salutes. In real-life, however, most actions of the anarchic hand are not subconscious slips of desire; rather, they are glitches in the brain that cause daily routines, such as unzipping a fly or waving goodbye, to occur at random times and locations. One sufferer of alien hand sign “would attempt to restrain the unwanted movements of the left hand by keeping her hands folded together or by gripping an object in the left hand.” The last and most strange category of AHS is called supernumerary hands, and it is characterized by the subjective sensation of having three or more hands. The extra hands are peculiar objects, since they don’t actually exist, but still itch, burn, and feel much like ordinary hands. Unlike anarchic hands, supernumerary hands usually don’t perform random uncontrollable acts.

A myriad of factors, virtually all of which involve lesions, determine which form of AHS a patient will experience; and they range from minor brain illnesses, such as migraines, to severe brain diseases, such as Creutzfeldt-Jakob’s. Certain diseases—chronic beryllium disease, acute cerebral vascular diseases, herpes viral encephalitis, Alzheimer’s, progressive supranuclear palsy, and epilepsies, among others—result in brain lesions, which are tissue abnormalities that cause AHS. The location of the legions on the brain’s lobes is what usually determines what variety of AHS the patient will experience. For example, legions in the frontal lobe (which controls motor skills) could cause anarchic hand or supernumerary hands, and legions in the posterior corpus callosum (which connects right and left hemispheres of the brain) could cause intermanual conflict or alien hand sign. Because the diseases that lead to AHS are clinically incurable, with the exception of migraines, AHS is incurable as well. However, some cases of alien hand sign have showed improvement with vestibular stimulation, which is a treatment that involves the patient spinning around in circles until inner-ear fluid has been distributed equally throughout the brain’s system of balance. Unfortunately, there are no known treatments for the other categories of AHS, except for invasive surgeries that attempt to cut off the troublesome legions from the brain itself. Needless to say most patients reject this option.

Even with all the knowledge scientists had collected on alien hand syndrome, the case of the 74-year-old woman in China remained puzzling because of her mysterious inability to properly discriminate between certain colors. Upon further examination of her MRIs, three neuroscientists—X. P. Wang, C. B. Fan, and J. N. Zhou—discovered only a small cluster of legions on her occipital lobe. The neuroscientists proposed that her color misperceptions were caused by the occipital legions, which is logical since the occipital lobe is the visual processing center of the brain. However, this theory has one problem: anarchic hand syndrome is caused by legions in the frontal corpus callosum, not the occipital lobe. Baffled, Wang and associates realized that they had stumbled upon a never-before-seen form of alien hand syndrome. In 2004, their findings were published in Neurology India in article titled, “Alien hand syndrome: Contradictive movement and disorder of color discrimination.” Since the publication of Wang’s article, no other cases of the rare colorblind strain of alien hand syndrome have been reported. However, as scientists make new breakthroughs in the field of neuroscience, fresh reports of cases similar to Wang’s will inevitably chase away all the ghosts of doubt that haunt his skeptics.

NOTE: See comments for bibliography.

Marriage essay = Badly written essay

2007-11-04T21:55:00.000-05:00

“Marriage is a wonderful institution...but who wants to live in an institution?”
-Groucho Marx

Marriage is one of the oldest institutions known to man. If you believe in the Judeo-Christian bible, you can reference the fact that God sanctioned marriage after he created man and woman. For hundreds of years, the couple’s parents picked marriage partners for their children. So why is something that is such and immensely popular fact of life shown in such a negative light?

In the media, via the mouths of men, and from the occasional woman marriage is not lifted to be all that it is cracked up to be. Most young men cringe at the mere utterance of the word "marriage". You can hear some proclaim it at the top of their lungs. Musicians write songs about never getting married. Poets write long sonnets announcing their disgust with this beloved institution. So why do men keep following the traditions set forth by their ancestors?

In America, some of the blame can be placed on society. The forced opinion of marriage being the next inevitable step after dating is putting thoughts into the minds of young men and women everywhere. But more than the fact that society does seem to lean towards this institution, women seem to be even more motivated to get married. So is it because women will love to show off the diamond ring that their future husband will buy for them? Do women force-feed the picture-perfect wedding into their minds so much as they are watching Cinderella for the 9800th time as a child that they honestly lose the confides of what reality actually is? What exact part does this influence play in the mind making experience of finding ones mate?

As these women grow older and that lucky man that they meet comes to think that his life will just be better if he marries this woman that he thinks he loves. Even though this man doesn't truly know what love is, he buys a ring. With this ring he embarrassingly goes to her parents and mumbles through a spiel about how much he loves their daughter. The majority of the time, the parents agree to this union. The man pays bill after bill to fulfill his future wife’s fantasy. Hopefully this comes to fruition so his life can be happy.

But what happens when it doesn't? What happens when the storybook ending isn't working quite the way they wanted it? Well as stated earlier the divorce rate is at 50%. Marriage clinics are popping up all across America, in churches, and within communities. So why even risk it if there is even a possibility of ending up in that marriage that you always here about on TV?

How to Pick Up Chicks in a Club

2007-11-04T21:40:00.000-05:00

~Foreword~

What you have magically stumbled upon is the ultimate guide to picking up chicks in a club. Shrouded by anonymity and sworn to secrecy, I am giving you the secrets that will have you picking up chicks in a club more easily than any man before you. You will be a force to be reckoned with. One read of this and you will be granted forbidden powers. By following these scenarios exactly, you will be granted an eternal spot in pick up Valhalla. This is the magic pill.

~Introduction~

My World of Warcraft friends and I have broken the club down into three strategic zones for picking up chicks which include the entrance area, the bar, and the dance floor. These are the best areas to pick up the hot chicks with our magic powers. Choose your battleground.

~The Entrance Area~

Make your way past the doorman and spot the cute cashier. She is probably dying of boredom and loneliness because not a single guy has approached her yet. Hit on her. She's practically asking for it. Tell her, I hope all the girls in the club are as pretty as you. When she asks for your cover charge, give her a big wink, maybe even an airkiss and ask, You're going to make ME pay? Repeat the words, c'mon, and continue winking. Then, bring out the big guns, the deadliest three questions a chick magnet like yourself asks chicks back to back to back. They practically melt. What's your name? Where ya from? What do you do for fun? After she hears these questions and knows that you are genuinely interested in her, it's time to get her number. Say in your meekest, nerdiest voice like in the movies, So, can I call ya sometime? Should be a done deal. Movies are just like real life. She definitely likes you. Give her a seductive one liner, maybe some Shakespeare. Kiss her on the hand and make your way to the dance floor. Score one for the home team.

~The Dance Floor~

Upon entering the club, take a look around. Stare even. Do not smile or look like you're having fun. Remember, you're too cool for this. Bad asses don't smile. Give the club your best I'm horny face. Make your way through the dance floor and give every girl your doggy eyes. Then, find a comfortable wall to stand against. As you stand against the wall, try your hardest to look cool. Look around and just wait for the chicks to flock to your aura of coolness. Stay on the wall. If tons of attractive women haven't asked you to dance, you probably didn't wear enough cologne. Nonetheless, it is time to make your move. Find a girl who is dancing with her girlfriends and sneak up from behind her. Chicks dig this. Proceed to grind "all up on that." She will swoon at your incredible and unique dance style. Clutch her hips tightly. This will convey all the right things like, I want you so bad it's creepy and I'm desperate. Chicks dig this, too. To quote Chris Farley in Billy Madison, I know from experience. Next, ask for her number in the same fashion as the cashier girl and make your way to the bar. Score Two.

~The Bar~

Make your way to the bar. In your most ostentatious voice say to the bartender, I'll have a glass of your most expensive champagne. After thoroughly impressing the entire bar with your "balla" status, creep up to the closest group of hot chicks. I now introduce another deadly piece in your arsenal, the hand on the lower back. Throw both your hands on the lower back's of the two chicks facing away from you and smugly ask, Can I buy you lovely ladies something to drink? They will be taken off of their feet by your gentlemanly ways. Guys never do this stuff. They will practically be ready for you to take them home with you right now but for logistic's sake, order a round of appletinis for them. To truly seal the deal, drop the chick pick up cluster bombs. What are your names? Where ya girls from? What do you all do for fun? Kaboooooom. They'll feel the rapport. Close in on the ugliest one and say, I feel a real connection with you, it's funny. Ya know, I don't find myself feeling these feelings for just anyone. Can I call ya sometime? She'll feel it too. Trust me. Score three.

~Closing~

What I have shown you is some extremely powerful stuff. Please use wisely. If you throw caution to the wind and abuse your new powers, you will have chicks following you home or begging you in the club to take them home with you. Use your powers wisely. Now, go my friend, pick up chicks.

*Disclaimer*

Satire warning, do not actually do this stuff. Intended for comedic purposes only.

My Heroes

2007-11-04T21:05:00.000-05:00

According to Stephen Brookfield, the author of The Skillful Teacher, a book about teacher effectiveness, a teacher is simply a “helper of learning”. Therefore, the sole purpose of a teacher is to foster learning and care for the holistic growth of students. There a few people in a child’s life whose only job is to be concerned with their well-being and growth, other than their parents. This makes the job of teachers highly important and difficult. Even with the difficulties associated with teaching, it is still one of the largest and oldest professions in the world. However, today it is also one of the most controversial and under appreciated. Today, the issues surrounding teaching and education range from low teacher salaries to the teacher shortages. These issues are leading to problems with teacher stress and burnout.

In a projection in The Crisis in Education by Barry Farber, it was estimated that in 1992 the number of teachers that would be needed annually would be 215,000, but there would be only 137,000 graduates ready to teach annually. Farber feels that there has been an increase in teacher shortages because of the lack of respect attached to the profession. One would think that the profession that molds the minds of those that will go on to all other professions would be the most admired and revered, yet it only seems to warrant disrespect and low pay. Teachers should to be respected and admired for their courage, selflessness, and integrity in spite of controversy.

Courage is often a word that is tossed around about people who face their fears or failure once in their lifetime, but teachers face this everyday when they enter the classroom. A teacher must stand in front of a group of disinterested young students, who are all poised and ready to question and contradict everything the teacher says, everyday. Thomas Lickona, author of Educating for Character, says that “Courage enables us to take bold, positive action on the behalf of others.” This means that teachers must face opposition in order to better their students. Teachers must have the courage to pose the questions that will shake the foundations of their students’ beliefs and be prepared to take the back-lash of their disbelief.

Teachers must also have the courage to face failure, not only by themselves but by their students, which is the most painful failure for them of all. To see a student struggle on a test that they should have been more prepared for and then to have to give them the grade that will seal their disappointment is heart-wrenching for every concerned teacher. However, they come back everyday with the determination to make that student better prepared for the next exam.

Selflessness is not a virtue that is much sought after in today’s society, but great teachers have it in abundance. Teachers are smart and well-educated people that all probably could have chosen another profession and certainly one that would have been more financially rewarding, but they chose to work for less then they are worth. Teachers who are concerned about their students’ performance will give tutoring after school for no additional pay. Some teachers will also buy supplies for their classrooms with their own money and the only compensation they need is to see it enhancing their students’ education.

Integrity is one of the highest virtues, but one of the hardest to maintain. It is constantly tested and strained, especially for teachers. They are faced with many opportunities to take the easy, lazy, or more socially acceptable route, but they cannot because their lives are constantly on display for their students, even outside of the classroom. They are role models and heroes so they have to strive for integrity in all things or they will teach that it is unimportant in life. To teach integrity and honesty to their students they cannot allow any form of dishonesty or cheating in their classroom. In the book The Moral Dimensions of Teaching, by John Goodlad et al, it is said that “dishonesty and deceptiveness are despised among the powerless and the powerful alike.” The lesson of integrity is one of the most important in life and it is taught by example and the precedent that is set in the classroom.

Courage, selflessness, and integrity are not virtues that are generally embodied in a single person, but great teachers are a rare breed that possesses them all. They are heroes not only for their students, but for the parents of their students and the people of the community they work in. Teaching is an honorable and noble profession laced with difficulty and controversy. However, teachers should always be viewed as heroes.

Not Another Teen Movie

2007-11-04T20:48:00.000-05:00

Everyone has seen the movies with the unattractive, unpopular, acne-ridden fat kid getting put into the garbage can in the hallway by the high school quarterback. Is it right? Depends on who you ask. What is playing out is social Darwinism in the high schools across America. Odds are, that football player is dating the captain of the cheerleading squad. Each one of those students described belongs to a group, their own niche within the school hierarchy. Sadly, it plays out in every different high school across the US everyday and it continues unabated.

The jocks. Often one of the most common and talked about groups, they are the ones who bring the heat on the lower forms of life (according to them) on campuses across the country. Usually preppy, attractive, muscular, and popular are just a few things to describe them. They pick on and ridicule the lower classmen, the nerdy, basically anyone not like them. They have their own ideas as far as how the pecking order in their school should work. Like the predators in the wild, they prey on the social misfits, bullying them around to do their work for them; if not, then they pay the consequences, which just end up in some silly adolescent spoof for the masses to view.

The misfits. The students who don’t fit into the mainstream crowds fit this category (Goths, geeks, poor and unstylish). They are often the objects of disdain for the students on the upper end of the social ladder. The only thing that makes them unworthy is social class, ideas, and taste in clothing. To the jocks, their girlfriends, and their minions, that is enough of a stigma to warrant the constant bullying, name-calling, and mistreatment that ensues whenever an encounter arises.

The mix. Then there is the rest of the student body that serves as a silent witness to the unraveling of social Darwinism on an adolescent scale. No matter how miniscule the smallest slight seems, it is enough to send some students over the edge. The cliques that form in high school can be a dangerous contributor to a student’s already lonesome and inferior feelings, no matter who or what is the cause. While the development of groups within the high school setting seems a natural part of growing up, they are fueling a dangerous phenomenon in America.

Overall, though, while the scenarios where a lonely, disturbed student takes out his frustrations on the student body, they are rare occurrences. The formation of cliques and the resultant bullying is character building and forces students to deal with the harsh reality that may face them upon graduation from high school. Instead of letting the dumb jocks and their bimbo girlfriends get to you, go to college, graduate, get a good job. Then remind them when they apply for a job with your company that you started, who you were in high school.

Don’t get mad, get even.

Flight is for the Birds

2007-11-04T19:35:00.000-05:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Little did he know the events that would take place later on that warm July evening. At first he wondered if the LSD tabs he purchased from Mike were real or just real fake. Ben took his in the car on the way out to the freeway exit where they had spent so many nights drinking booze and consuming ungodly amounts of various pharmaceuticals. Cocaine and Marijuana were usually the chemicals of choice, but on that day they felt like trying something new. Neither had ever taken acid before but were reassured by everyone they questioned that it was definitely a good idea and something they would never forget. Whether or not it was going to become a fond memory was up to them.

Their friends had told them to make sure they were in a safe spot when the acid started to take effect. Standing forty feet off the ground on a billboard at midnight seemed like as safe a place as any. The first visual came fast and not much more than a few minutes after reaching the top of the ladder. Ben muttered something about being able to fly or at least safely glide to the ground. Joe disagreed but his mind was soon changed by the effects of the dangerous hallucinogen coursing through his body.

And then it happened. Ben jumped. He didn't as much jump or fall as he did just launch into a swan dive off of the Hooters billboard high off the ground. Watching Ben fall didn't register in Joe's mind as being the dangerous act that it was. After seeing Ben flail and scream all the way to the swamp below, he soon decided to give flight a try for himself. Being a little bit more sheepish than his crazy partner in crime. he opted to roll of the side instead of jump full on out into the night. The next few seconds were sure to be longest and most terrifying moments of his life.

When he described the fall later he was positive that he was in the air for no less than five minutes. The fall wasn't the scary part of the whole ordeal. It was the impact and the resulting bilateral forearm fractures that happened as a direct result. Both argued for a few minutes about whether or not his injuries were real or just another very powerful hallucination. After some heated discussion about the possible recourse of their actions if the police were to get involved, which was sure to happen upon their arrival at the hospital, they decided that trip to the emergency room was something that needed to happen.

They were met there by a few friends and the boys in blue, of course. Joe had only broken one arm while Ben had somehow survived the fall without injury. They were both administered Thorazine injections to reverse the effects of the LSD. After a thorough interrogation by the police and the sheriff they were found to only be guilty of trespassing. So, for the cost of a trespassing fine and one broken arm they had proved again that humans cannot fly and should stay on the ground with all other mammals.

Thanks, Drew

2007-11-04T19:16:00.001-05:00

Sunday – 3:45pm – August ‘96

The Vault was a small coffee shop on the corner. Its large windows looked out onto the wide sidewalk and parking meters of Highland Avenue and provided a ledge, a stoop for the kids to sit on. And they did. They were lined up flavoring the hot summer air with the unmistakable scent of cloves. Skateboards cracked against the curb and the metal benches. A few Mohawks denoted a significant, possibly embarrassing amount of time spent in front of a mirror with a few cans of hairspray. Patches and safety pins held together clothes subjected to mostly intentional degradation.

It started at 4p.m., the weekly affair organized by Andrew Chadwick. He had somehow arranged for a steady flow of good, mostly Florida bands to play Sunday afternoon shows at The Vault. Everyone complained about the small-town. “There’s never anything to do,” they would say. “This place sucks.” Andrew gave them something to do – every Sunday. It was church for those who might otherwise be tempted to conjure up something sordid.

Boxcar Records was the name of Andrew’s creation, his child, his way out of the strip-mall culture. It was his cure for the small town homesick feeling for somewhere else, somewhere new. The kids had a limited number of choices, none of which were of their own design. Cars tended to gather in parking lots; no one knew what to do or where to go. Parties down old dirt roads – kegs and bb guns – the meeting of the mindless. You could take a walk around the mall, consuming your way into an afternoon of memories. There were organized sports complete with rules and discipline. There was Denny’s at four in the morning, the baggy-eyed chain smoking widow with crossword puzzles scattered across the table, the 70-year-old former prom king and his leopard skin date-for-hire.

Kids needed something to do - something that wasn't handed to them by a coach or a member of the congregation or a clever advertising agency. They needed something of their own.

Andrew’s answer was a little independent record label and production company. He sold records out of the back of his VW bus. For the price of a sandwich, one could get the latest 7-inch from a slew of great bands and watch them play the very next week. The epitome of DIY.

The shows at The Vault started and soon Andrew was handing out fliers with the monthly schedule: Sunday afternoons at The Vault, September – $2 – all ages – 1^st Sunday: The Usuals, with special guests Baccone Dolce – 2^nd Sunday: Discount, Skif Dank, The Rug Cutters, and so on. There was a small train-car logo – Boxcar Records it said.

A girl in a checkerboard skirt cuffed her hands over her eyes, peering through the window as the buzz of an amp shot through the front door and out onto the street. Her boyfriend sat with his back against the building taking the final bites from a sub wrapped in deli paper. The warm hum of an organ tempted the kids like the scent of a cartoon apple pie, lifting them off their feet to float towards the source. It was their cue. The crowd moved inside and pushed up towards the front. The band stood in front of them, no stage, but ready.

It was Sunday, 4p.m.

Who's to say what is wrong?

2007-11-04T17:27:00.000-05:00

Dictionary.com has several definitions of “wrong,” but the number one definition is: Not in conformity with fact or truth; incorrect or erroneous. “Wrong” can be used to describe many different things, can be used as an adverb, a noun, and even a transitive verb. It is not how people use the word wrong that defines what it means; it is what people mean by it.

“Wrong” means different things in every aspect for diverse cultures everywhere. Also, “wrong” could mean certain things for families within one culture. When one family may see some things as the right way to do them; another might have different beliefs or morals that would lead them to think “wrong” means something completely different. When someone considers what is wrong with something, they must first decide what seems “right.” It is human nature to look at things as opposites, seeing things strictly as one way or another. This “black and white” world helps us determine what is right and wrong so we can easily apply it to our lifestyle. For example, when New York’s World Trade Centers went down, America saw the terrorists and what they did as wrong, however, in the eyes of the terrorists and their followers, it was very right. So, who’s to say what’s right and what’s wrong? If I said it was wrong that President George Bush won the presidency, many people would disagree with me and say it was clearly the right decision. How can we ever determine what’s right and what’s wrong, to separate all actions and beliefs into two categories? The answer is we may never do this, we may never all unite under one way of thinking. The “black and white” way we see the world is simply a product of our environment. It is because we come from different cultures that we decide what is right or wrong. If we all thought the same things were wrong, than we not only would have to come from the same culture, but free will wouldn’t exist. There would be no free will to commit wrongness and no free will to decide what is the right way of life.

Something to consider, then, is if there will never be a complete wrong or a complete right, than perhaps everything is neutral. Perhaps there is no black and white, but only gray. It might be possible that people have been putting so much time and energy trying to figure out what’s wrong with their lives, what they do, and what’s wrong with the world, that it didn’t occur to them there might be nothing wrong at all. If wrongness isn’t “inconformity with fact or truth” and anything that is wrong is defined differently all over the world, than fact has no truth and truth can never be really proven.

We use "wrong to describe what each of use individually think is wrong. Whether someone has been taught otherwise or not, everyone has free will and that keeps what is right at bay for different incidences. What is moral? What is just? Whatever you answer, it's still wrong, for someone.

Wimington's Underground Genius

2007-11-04T16:26:00.000-05:00

Violence, sex, drugs, gangs, money, ghetto. These are only some of the countless terms one would associate with the genre of Rap music and the basis of its appeal for it’s production. Videos and even lyrics have become exceedingly raunchy. Generally, the mainstream labels tolerate it as a part of the “game”; always about the flash, the “bling”. The mainstream Rap and R&B culture thrusts this motif into our eyes through television, radio, magazines, and national headlines involving shootouts and gang violence. They feel they are movin’ on up and throwing it in everyone’s faces. Many people do not like rap music mainly due to of the swearing or crass sexual references. No matter the listener’s age, background or beliefs it can border on unnecessary at times. However, as in any kind music, if you go beyond the hype into the soul of the music; the beats, the lyrics, what you will find there is very different from the typical rap artists and music that one watches in the mainstream.

DJ Noumenon, a successful New York City producer and DJ, and his fellow emcees feel they need to take their music to a new place. “If you really sit and absorb our sound, you don't get any images of us riding on 22's with a truck full of half naked girls rocking platinum chains and bulletproof vests. To be honest with you, we are against that. We are not trying to change anything; we are just trying to educate people on what this culture is really about,” explained Noumenon.

Luckily, the residents of Wilmington have a thriving “indie” rap community right here in town. We often see the term “indie” associated with movies or linked in the music scene with an alternative rock-n-roll or folk culture. However, “indie” is really any kind of artist or producer that is unaffiliated with a larger or more commercial organization.

Mussgroov Productions in association with Planet 6 records is a collective of producers, DJs, emcees and hip hop addicts originally based in Wilmington, NC. Bryan Musselwhite and Noumenon created this organization with hopes of reviving a dying and uneducated hip-hop scene in the Port City. “There was a lot of talent here,” explained Noumenon “but no real direction for it. There were producers and artists that had been unseen or overlooked for years and it was our goal to encourage them to get their music out.” DJ Nevada, resident of Wilmington and producer/DJ at Planet 6 and Mussgroov, believed that “our sound is completely different to the mainstream artists. The emcees and vocalists that we work with write about real experiences and feelings. They write about what moves them, what their dreams are, and where they are in life." They pursued a relationship with specific artists to help provide an outlet for them to hone their talents and gain experience, exposure and most importantly focus. After several years in Wilmington, there came an opportunity for a change. Mussgroov is now currently based in New York, North Carolina and Virginia.

Nicolay Here is one of the DJs on the label. Here is internationally recognized and respected for is beat work and assembly; he has a hand in many critically acclaimed albums that were released in the past 2 years. Originally hailing from the Netherlands, he had gotten in touch with Phonte Coleman of the successful underground hip-hop group, and local Durham favorite, “Little Brother.” Together they produced an album many are familiar with called the “Foreign Exchange.” Since coming to the United Stated he has had the opportunity to play in several Hip-Hop and R&B bands, opened up for legendary artists such as K-Ci & JoJo, Boyz II Men, MC Lyte and many others. He has write ups in Rolling Stone, and “The Foreign Exchange” quickly became a top album in “indie” circles.” Here also had the amazing honor of working with one of the most notable and talented producers, turning poetry into song, Jay Dilla. Most people think that DJing is playing good music in the right order, but it is more than that, Nicolay combines sounds and beats from everywhere.

Nicolay has since slowed the promotion of his album to back another incredibly talented artist on the label, Fuzz Jackson. Jackson is an incredibly talented rhymer and lyricist who has grown much in the past year. He opened for one of the most successful groups in hip-hop, “The Roots”. He originally played with the local band “Organix” with fellow label member, McClain Sullivan. “I do not dress like a thug; I do not act like a thug, because I am not a thug. I do not rap about being a thug in the ghetto, because I am not a thug in the ghetto”. His rhymes are soulful, quick, and creative. He touches on subjects ranging from politics, pop culture, and life experiences. His upcoming album was produced by Nicolay Here and another local production crew called “The Distinguished Gents.” “Nicolay Here is helping me promote my album, hopefully I can get the word out there and people will enjoy my music.”
McClain Sullivan has since moved to New York to pursue her career but she comes back occasionally to play shows with Fuzz. Sullivan is a vocalist, a tiny white girl with a strong, deep, emotional voice on the lines of Aretha Franklin or Mary J. Blige.

Other performers on the label include “Mind’s One”, a three person group of emcees; Tim Martell, a popular NYC DJ that spins in the most exclusive NYC nightclubs and lounges like "LimeLight." He has played with Jazzy Jeff, “Bone Thugz ~N-Harmony”, Slick Rick and various other artists; and The Distinguished Gents, local young producers of David Allen and Matt Newton; DJ Calico and Slim Deluxe too name a few.

“Our sound is unique and incomparable to any other” explained Noumenon, “We are by no means striving for ‘rap star’ status. Our production style, if you were too classify it, ranges from old school hip-hop, to soulful instrumentals, to gritty underground hip-hop.” When asked what influences the various sounds and music that influence them Nevada spoke up, “I have done a decent amount of traveling all over the world and I have been exposed to music that we in the States really aren’t exposed to. This is huge for a producer. It really pushes the boundaries in what is influencing his/her sound. There is so much other forms of music/expression in the world, why not listen to what they have to say.” “A lot of times you find some labels that have the same sound and they keep putting out the same sound and material” added Noumenon, “with us, we try multiple styles so that there is a little something for everyone. If it moves you, you gotta get it.”

Hopefully more people will look passed what they see on TV and in the radio and listen to the music that can really touch you. Take the beats of a meaningful Rap song and it can read like poetry. Rhyming with meaningful flow and sense is an art not many can master, and even more don’t understand. It can read like a powerfully political, loving, or angry poem with a tune to match. But hopefully, with artists like Noumenon, Martell, Nicolay, Fuzz and others, more people will have an opportunity to understand and enjoy it.

Misplaced crusading

2007-11-04T12:43:00.000-05:00

Another year at Cooperstown has passed and for at least another year, Pete Rose will have to wait for his rightful place in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Major League Baseball’s all-time hits leader, a 17-time All-Star, 1963 NL Rookie of the Year and 1973 Most Valuable Player is on the outside looking in at the Hall.

The only way a player with such credentials could be kept of the hall is the fact that he was banned from baseball in 1989 following a gambling scandal. He recently admitted that he did indeed bet on baseball, but never against his own team.

If Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire or Sammy Sosa even come close to sniffing the Hall of Fame, Rose should be walking through the hallowed halls a few steps ahead of them.

Where Rose may have broken the rules, he never compromised the integrity of the game unlike the new generation of baseball players which made a mockery of the game. Those players all have hall of fame numbers, but also are dealing with the stigma of performance enhancing drugs. Before the steroids issue was raised, it seemed as if Bonds was trying to knock a beach ball out of a playpen instead of baseball out of a ballpark.

Where Rose may have violated the rules, it’s a bit unfair to say that Rose put the integrity of the game in question. This is the same man who separated Ray Fosse’s shoulder in a home plate collision -- in the All-Star game. This Charlie Hustle, the man who popularized the head-first slide and rarely wasn’t covered in dirt. This is the same man who said he would “Walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball.”

Admittedly, Rose may not have the cleanest record in the world. He admitted to betting on baseball and he did time federal prison due to tax evasion. He waited 15 years to make his gambling admission in his book, ‘My Prison Without Bars.’

Before snobby baseball purists go on rants on how character should be part of the Hall of Fame equation, they need to take a walk around Cooperstown and see what’s already there.
Ty Cobb, one of the best players of all-time, once assaulted a man in a wheelchair, slapped a black elevator operator because he was ‘uppity,’ a black construction worker and a black groundskeeper. He also choked the groundskeeper's wife when she protested.

Next, let’s meet Cap Anson. In 1883, Anson refused to play in a game because a black player was on the field. After being told he would forfeit the game and gate receipts, he played the game against his will. Later that year, Anson again showed up to find black players on the field. Befor the game began, he yelled out, ‘ get that nigger off the field!’ He is almost single-handedly credited for drawing the color line in baseball until Jackie Robinson broke though.

While we’re weeding out the bad seeds, Mickey Mantle has to go as well. He was an alcoholic and set a bad example for the kids. Babe Ruth? A womanizer who went outside his marriage plenty of times and overall glutton who gorged himself on alcohol and fried chicken.

Apparently, character has nothing to do with it at all. What this has the most to do with is the crusading sportswriters who are on a moral quest to ‘protect’ the game. These are the same sportswriters who seemed to miss all of the steroid use though they had daily access to Major League clubhouses.

This is the Baseball Hall of Fame, not the character hall of fame. It’s time to let in the man who played every game like he was about to lose his roster spot.

Sex and the Sixth Grader

2007-11-03T18:30:00.000-05:00

LOS ANGELES -- An Orange middle school teacher accused of having sexual contact with two 13-year-old boys who were former students is scheduled to be arraigned Thursday.

Sarah Suzanne Bench-Salorio, 28, of Orange, is charged with "multiple" counts of lewd acts with a child, according to Orange police Sgt. Dave Hill....

URL Source: http://www.nbcsandiego.com/news/4055460/detail.html

NBCSanDiego.com January 6, 2005

In 1997 the arrest of elementary school teacher Mary Kay Letourneau for the statutory rape of her 13-year-old, sixth grade student shocked the nation. By 2005 incidents such as the one listed above had become all too common. It seems that a problem once believed to occur only with male teachers, was happening with women as well. No longer can society assume that the pedophile hiding in the teaching profession is a man. Add to that concern, the age of the students involved seem to be getting younger even as these situations become more publically known.

The problem has been around for years. Rumors often abound in high schools of romantic involvements with senior girls and a teacher or coach. It isn’t totally uncommon for a first year teacher to be linked to a recently graduated student with only a three or four year age difference between them. The predicament with this situation isn't so much the sexual or romantic relationship but the position of the teacher. Teachers are people in authority over students and this sort of involvement is a violation of boundaries. Just as a police officer shouldn't have a relationship an accused criminal, a doctor with someone in his care, or a psychiatrist with his patient, teachers shouldn't become involved with students because of the required boundaries of the position.

But this "trend" that the media is noting in the above article is unsettling at the very least. Students who haven’t even started high school now sexually involved with adults in their 30s – has this always gone on? It seems to be getting so much press because these cases are female teachers involved with 13-year-old boys. Surely the pattern has been there with male teachers also but, as society we are quick to jump in and label the man a pervert, quiet up the case and throw him in jail. Comments can often be heard such as "did you see the girl, there is no way she LOOKED thirteen." Implying that somehow gives a reason and/or justification to the situation. But with women and boys there is a question, a hesitation, a consideration of the sexual interest of the boy involved. Men often tell stories of a sexual romp with an older woman while still a teenager. Many an inexperienced, eager 16-year-old has managed a summer of sneaking off to see an older woman for a personal education of the sexual style. But the students in these cases are 13-year-old children. They are the same kids that should be spending hours in front of video games, worrying if they will be the one to pitch in their next little league game and stuffing cheeseburgers and Pepsi. Instead they are having sex with women in their 30s. And then you must consider the crazy woman - and yes, any thirty-something woman who desires sex with a pimple-faced, voice-cracking, pubescent 13-year-old is crazy – and you have a really sick situation!

What is wrong with these women? The attraction is too confusing to comprehend. Think about it, 13-year-old girls have a hard time liking the obnoxious, name calling, spitting and crude boys of their own age. Why would an adult woman even consider it? Truth is, these women are sick, just as sick as their male counterparts who commit crimes such as these. It just seems as a society we are slower to accept a woman as a sexual predator. But from the looks of the stories coming out, we need to accept this concept, and do it quickly. We also need to remember to teach our children, both female and male, the principles of boundaries with their bodies.

One only has to look at the mothers that saw these boundaries broken, not with their 18-year-old sons, but with their 13-year-old innocent children, to imagine the pain they must feel. Forget therapy with these women, put them where they deserve to be, where they would go if they were a man in the same position, in jail. Jail is the only place to keep children safe from predators.