A Square of Gold

By Shirene Soleiman

University of Washington  

Hi, fellow readers!

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for…The moment for me to open up to you about literally the best dessert I have ever tasted.

It’s probably strange that I’m about to spend many paragraphs in the midst of nostalgia about something I ate; but at the same time, I’m sure that some of you reading this are foodies who also believe it’s almost a crime not to share those little moments of eating something delicious.

I’m going to start by saying I honestly can’t draw out the exact name of the dessert. Every time I’ve tried to remember it, I would end up embellishing the supposed name with words that overflow like a fountain to describe the heavenly taste, and so the title becomes too much to take at one read. Thus, I restrained myself with the utmost effort to make the name of the treat as simple as possible–”Chocolate Pudding Tart” I decided, yet I must tell you once again that this dessert was SO much more than that.

This delicate square of pure deliciousness first touched my lips when I visited a cafe called Sweet Butter in LA last month. I had heard so many good things about the place, such as how amazing its handcrafted pastries and desserts were and how it was frequently visited by celebrities, that I couldn’t resist dragging my family there when I had the chance. And as we walked through the furniture-decorated hallway dividing the separate worlds of the kitchen and marketplace/cafe, and entered through the doors to the cafe world, I decided that whatever I order will not only complement the rich, bitter taste of my iced latte, but that it will also be new and exciting to me as to let me escape from the smoldering hot weather of LA.

And boy was the chocolate pudding tart an escape!

As I sat on the lovingly decorated cushions of the outdoor seating area and watched the bustling streets of Sherman Oaks fill the blue sky, I allowed my spoon to interrupt the perfect unity between pudding and crust. My silver weapon cut discretely through the mass of chocolate, as it was then taken by surprise by the hard, flat crust, which prompted it to push just a bit harder through to give me the first bite of the treat.
The dense yet pillow-soft pudding and the solid crust were the ying and yang of dessert. This perfect unity of contrasts also came from the way that the richness of the dark chocolate, intermingling with the pure sweetness of the recognizable pudding flavor, complemented the mild saltiness and rough texture of the bottom barrier that held everything together.

That was what especially intrigued me about the tart: It was filled with bits and pieces that could not be more opposite, and yet that paired together perfectly…if that makes any sense.

This exhilarating revelation became my escape from the melt-ensuing hot weather. Not only that, but the feeling of escapism also came from the way the cafe had kept the pudding cool enough before serving the dessert, so that I could distinguish that refreshing feeling from the humid air surrounding me…And so as I took in each and every bite of the square of gold, I could feel the pudding melt on my tongue as quickly as a fragile ice cube, while my taste buds enjoyed the slight tang of the cocoa powder that had been perfectly dusted on the tart.

I was very impressed by the way the “Chocolate Pudding Tart” was crafted—So much so that it’s impossible for me to see it merely as a dessert; I have to claim it rather as a piece of artwork never to be ignored, as something that should be displayed through all of LA and in every publication involving food!
I hope that if you ever crave an escape, you will find it in something as indulging and simply-put as this heaven that’s shaped like a deeply chocolate-hued square.

 

Filed under: Autobiographical, Summer 2011, Shirene Soleiman, Slice of Life, University of Washington

San Francisco Rompings and the Visa Application Process: The Visa Requirement Gives Me an Excuse to Explore a New City

By Bryan T. Robinson

University of Oregon

 As all of my friends and family know, and what you probably don’t, is that I am studying abroad next year in Lyon, France. I’ve taken French classes throughout my school career with the hope that one day I would become fluent. I haven’t reached that point yet, but when I heard that the University of Oregon offered multiple opportunities for studying abroad in France, I applied earnestly, and, to my surprise, was admitted. I was then one step closer to my goal of fluency.

That was back in November of 2010, and I was a sophomore stumbling my way through journalism back-credit classes. In the months following I received updates to my application. It was in May that I found out I had to apply in person for my student visa in San Francisco.

I was excited because my friends’ initial reaction was, “road trip!” Brett, Sam and Schwartz were pumped to get on the road and eat all the In and Out they could find. I, however, was frightened by the prospect of sharing a room three college-aged guys who were all on the fast-food diet.

 With my appointment on Monday, July 11, my friends and I left early on Friday, July 8, for a three-day romp through San Francisco. After a high-speed burn through Medford, Redding, and San Rafael, we rolled over a fog-shrouded Golden Gate Bridge and I caught my first glance at San Francisco. The bridge itself was larger than I imagined, and I thought all the pictures, movies and TV shows had never done it justice. 

We stayed at a place called the Inn on Broadway, which was on Van Ness Avenue. It was a quiet part of town, as quiet as a city of 7.4 million people can get. In comparison to Oakland, which is a notorious crime-laden city, San Francisco seemed mild. However, with bums lining the street San Francisco has problems of its own.

The next few days were spent sightseeing. We went to Haight-Ashbury where even now, in the pre-teens of the 21^st century, a select few brave individuals keep the simple yet formidable mindset that was conceived there 50 years ago. These aging hippies, with long stringy hair and unwashed clothes, are paying the price for all those nights spent searching for consciousness expansion in a pill. Their faces are warped and disfigured, telling of the harshest struggle they fight day after day in an attempt to keep their incompatible philosophy. A philosophy many in Eugene still carry, but one that’s been lost by most other cities.

We went to Fisherman’s Warf on Sunday and spent $8.25 on a world famous Boudin Bakery sourdough bread bowls. It was at the behest of Brett, who told us, “you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this.” We believed him, but had to fight the crowds of tourists and locals to get in. Once we finally sat down, we all agreed it was a meal well earned and worth every penny.

Ghirardelli Square served the largest sundae I’ve ever eaten. The place was so packed we had a hard time finding seats, but we ate quickly and left before claustrophobia could set in. Afterwards we perused the Pier 39 shopping mall, which included both a keychain and magnet store. My friend Sam said, “Only at Fisherman’s Warf would a keychain and magnet store actually turn a profit.”

Monday morning I went to my appointment, where the entire purpose of the trip was distilled down a short conversation with a 20-something year-old French girl.She took my passport, money, and fingerprints before waving me out the door saying, “all done.” At that moment I realized, I was going to France, I was going to become fluent, and I was going to be away from family and friends for a whole year. The feeling was bittersweet, a mixture of excitement and fear, similar to the first day of school.

All in all it was a great trip. If I had the chance, I would visit again in a heartbeat. San Francisco’s variety is unmatched by any city, except New York City maybe. However, San Franciscoianstend to be more upbeat and interested and helpful to newcomers than their New York counterparts tend to be.

 As for the visa application process, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It gave me a reason to explore a new city, and enjoy the company of my friends. It also taught me that the way to approach a new culture is similar to the way you would approach a new person. You need to be outgoing but patient, interested but polite. Lyon will be the same way, and with San Francisco under my belt, I think I’m finallly ready.

Filed under: Autobiographical, Summer 2011, Bryan T. Robinson, Slice of Life, University of Oregon

Reflection of American Society via Horror Films

By Andres Jose Nevarez

California State University at Fresno

Writing an essay concerning the word ‘horror’ needs to have a definition for the word. A definition that isn’t subject to change individual to individual, but not a definition that is as corny as the phrase “the things that go bump in the night”; no horror needs an eloquent and precise definition. Horror is the psychic violation and manipulation of the human mind. An idea or feeling that penetrates the mind and manifests to our deepest areas, that even when we think we are safe, we know we are not. A definition of horror which isn’t stringent upon sub-genre or who the main antagonist is, rather, only the rape of the mind by fear will be used in this essay.

Now as to what I mean by the connection of the state of society and its connection and reflection as shown in horror films. By state of America I mean that America could be dealing with violence or socio economic issues.This is something very fascinating and important because of its reflective properties. If one evaluates the horror films itself, one can see the reflection of society. This property has been overlooked in society and the analysis could prove to quite interesting.  My specific aim is to explore my hypothesis of correlation between horror movie and state of society and report my findings.

To focus my paper and not simply ramble about obscure horror films, I will first introduce the creation of the niche of horror films and then focus on three notable horror films: Rosemary’s Baby, Scream and Saw. These are films about which are highly publicized, thus will be familiar with the general population. As an author this is important to have instead of indie horror films which are explicit (it is noted that some of the aforementioned films started out as indie) about their reflection, rather, of now mainstream horror movies that have subtle reflection and are noteworthy.

Horror films were breed on foreign ground mainly in France and Germany. These old and able countries were pioneers in pushing filmography for their time and creating a niche in the film industry for horror films. The early films dealt with gothic and macabre themes. Creating eerie scenes mixed with gothic music laid down such films as 1896 Le Manoir du diable (aka “The House of the Devil”) which help make a special and exciting niche in the film industry (2).

Films penetration into society’s lives is dependent on the state of mind of society. For early films much focus was placed on the monster, a single sinister soul who had insidious intent. During the teens and twenties American film was influenced by German expressionism, this expressionism means to evoke a response from the audience, something 20s horror movies were very good. For instance The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923), one early French horror film, whose antagonist was simply a man with a deformity (2). Subtlety, use of gothic music, with the simple use of fright made the early films effective. Not much was needed to scare the audience, since films of this nature hadn’t been seen in masses much before. The mass audience had been more exposed to macabre not films depicting gruesome monsters. This foundation of film, are which modern films based themselves.

In the late 60s and early 70s satanic cults were dominating the counter culture of America. After the spiritual explorations of the 60s had dwindled, still some were still searching, and among those were people ready to accept answers to their questions whilst exploring the other side not just the Judeo-Christian side. This rebellion of normal society was explore oneself and not be hindered by conservatism of the Judeo-Christian beliefs. Now during this time (late 60s- early 70s) Satanism wasn’t at its all-time high, rather the American people were just beginning to be exposed to the demonism of the counter culture (3). Not coincidentally, Rosemary’s Baby was released during this time of Satanic Cults. The plot of the movie is a young married couple, trying unsuccessfully to conceive, finally has it happen when the husband strikes a deal with the devil worshippers next door. All of this is unbeknownst to the poor wife/mother who soon realizes she could be having Satan’s child (7).This movie reflected the horror of satanic cults and its rise in America.Not only was that but the couple in the film relatively middle class and living in a relatively nice area. But the penetration of Satanism into the ‘protected’ middle class again reflected the state of the society at the time. Because at the time many Satanic brutalities were occurring in seemingly quiet and nice California towns (2). But the crucial analyzation and importance is that Rosemary’s Baby brought the small seemingly isolated incidents of the Satanism to the silver screen, and thus to the masses. The horror of the film was the realization that such events could occur in one’s own home.

Enter the 90s, the electronic decade, the decade in which America greatly increased. During the 90s the economy America saw a huge economic boom(4). Major developments occurred in electronic device development including the computer, cell phone, and mp3 players. Albeit major developments occurred during the 90s, something much deadlier occurred: teen violence. During the early 1980s, about a thousand murders were committed by teens each year in the United States. By the middle of the 1990s, that had grown to over three thousand per year, or almost 10 percent of all murders. Such numbers like that make it sound like teen violence is a growing epidemic, an impression that is given further validity by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention which now identify teen violence as a major public health problem (1). As the numbers increased of teen violence, horror films took notice and advantage of such issues to reflect onto the silver screen of the state of America. The epitome of teen violence movies is that of Scream.

Aquiet, peaceful town in California becomes dangerous after the raping and slaying of Mrs. Prescott, mother of teenage daughter Sidney Prescott, occurs. Almost a year later, 2 of Sidney’s classmates are found dead and gutted where everybody in the town is a suspect. After Sidney is attacked and manages to escape, Sidney’s boyfriend Billy seems to have the red paint on his hands. But when he’s proven innocent, a confused and upset Sidney tries to find who really is causing all the past murders and soon to come murders.

After finding out it is indeed her boyfriend and close friend, they reveal that they have no motive because it is the new millennium and no motive is needed. Such chilling words reverberate and give shape to the teenage state during the 90s; no need for motive, just the need for chaos. The brilliant reflection of the growing problem in America concerning teen violence and (one could go as far as saying) apathy, was successful in doing such. The movie portrayed young psychotic killers, who simply wanted to kill (it was revealed they had a loose motive, but since it is loose it will be disregarded). They had a fool-proof plan which was to indicate they were mentally insane and blame media for the perverse actions. This again reflects the state of America because the 90s were a time of debate which questioned the role of media on the maturation of teenagers in America; Scream pokes fun at this and shows America that this isn’t necessarily true because teens are aware of their actions and will use the media to get out of trouble.

Now in the modern days 2000s we have much more impending doom. Since 9/11 terrorism has been a main concern for the American people. People are terrified of faraway groups who want to bring America to its knees. From the beginning the American retaliation has been highly covered in the media. America has been privy of the real time happenings in the war, including the obscenities. Media has covered mass killings in the Middle East, and torture by the enemy and by us. We have seen pictures, and videos of riots in the Middle East which show people being brutally murdered with all of the gore and intensity. To add, the American people have been highly involved in the media coverage (5) of the war and all of its happenings, thus meaning the masses are consuming the brutal information. This relates to the intensely graphic horror films during the 2000s most notably the Saw franchise. These movies depict grotesque and intense torture scenes in which viewers see people being sadistically cut, and put in elaborate entrapments with impending death; scenes which were never available in mass consumption. These movies focus on the torture and the justice that comes from such torture. Horror became defined as torture and grotesquely, rather than a supernatural monster chasing and killing. Horror was elevated from the seemingly impossible supernatural sinister soul to the very real idea of torture. This obvious connection between the media coverage and consumption by the American people of the war and the new definition of horror by the American people is clear and concrete evidence that indeed there is a connection between the state of the American mind and horror film. And the obvious relation of the state of America being in to torture and experience and hearing about torture often through media, to the enhanced elevation of torture in horror films.

This essay isn’t one to dispute the media’s relation with societal development and actions. This essay isn’t one to critique the horror film niche in America. Nor is this essay to glorify a misunderstood sub-culture (i.e. horror film buffs). Rather this essay is meant to explore the connection between society state in America and the reflection of said state in America. From the examples give it is shown that there is a great reflection of horror films in concern of the state of America. And also since proving there is a critical reflection between horror films and state of America, I dub the horror films relevant and necessary for America. The reason is some horror films are able to show Americans that there are scary problems with the state of the country, they show this with metaphor and use fear to bring awareness to some overlooked and underappreciated problems in America. Now I understand many films regardless of genre, do such a task. But the horror film genre isn’t regarded as such, rather as a low wit and gore-fright movies; a consensus hopefully that will change. It is important for communities to see such relevance, and to draw upon their understandings of society and compare to the reflections horror films are trying to show. Much can be deduced and learned from horror films, if one takes the time to appreciate this overlooked art form. I call to Stephen King, the master of horror, to give a closing note about horror films, “sure it makes you uncomfortable, but good art should make you uncomfortable.”

 

Filed under: Popular Culture, Summer 2011, Andres Jose Nevarez, California State University at Fresno

An Excerpt of a Possible Novelization Prompted by Jan Svankmajer’s film Alice

By Evalyn Siggelko
The University of Kentucky

…She sat alone on the cold wooden staircase, peering below at her father. He was rocking steadily back and forth in a worn recliner. He wasn’t much different than the recliner itself—battered, aged, and relentless. The dated red fabric covering the chair hung loosely, close to the floor and was frequently knocked by passersby’s. The staples must have been ripped out in the back during one of the family tiffs. Alice wasn’t sure; she rarely went past the bottom stair. The arms were blistered with a constellation of deep cigarette burns and heavy with bodily impressions.  It sat at a permanent slant only more exaggerated when the hefty grump fell into it. He sat upon it as if it were his thrown, and ruled as if it were his kingdom. Of course, absent the grace one would normally attach to this scene.

Alice could see smoke slowly starting to rise from one of the arms now: he must have fallen unconscious again. Alice could never be sure though. It was never safe. The freshly opened bottle of whiskey, mostly empty, dangled from his immobile hand just above the floor. Her mother must have felt generous tonight supplying such a large bottle.

“Perhaps it was an anniversary of some sort,” Alice thought.

But no matter the size, he still managed to gulp down most of the dark liquid. Alice’s mother was nowhere to be seen. This wasn’t unusual. She often worked late shifts at her second job to support the filthy habit. Alice didn’t understand why. But it wasn’t her age that hid her from the truth, it was her older sister. Her sister constantly dreamt up a twisted reality through which to attain some comfortable life for herself and her little sister, like a blanket of protection. The reality came to life through stories of wonder and promise, but usually was decimated by the grimacing howl of her father. Her sister, scared too, must have been hidden somewhere else in the house. Alice would have to make the journey alone.

Alice systematically placed her left foot onto the next stair below. She had learned to cut out the bottom toe portion of her socks to give her more grip in her dissent. Alice lifted her bottom up, using both hands to hold her steady. So far so good. She carefully made her way down three more steps until she was abruptly stopped by a carefully moving shadow. Fearful of the shadow’s inception, Alice’s body became frozen upon the steps. Her breathing came to an abrupt halt. Her lips were tightly pursed. Her still, blue eyes widened. The familiar jingle of her cat’s collar suddenly became distinct, and Alice was able to exhale with a sense of relaxation and ease.

The cat’s similar constant worry was apparent itself: the left side of his body was entirely nude from vigorous plucking and over-bathing. The orange in his eyes grew smaller as he stared at Alice from below. It was as if she was looking into the depths of his soul—almost completely black. He had his right paw lifted up off the ground. He had had severe nerve damage in that paw, Alice just didn’t know how or when it occurred. She wanted to assume it was from surgery to remove his front claws, but Alice knew it was probably from a different, unwanted scenario. The cat was skittish. He always wore a full tail and embarked on a sprint at the slightest sudden movement.

The cat ran suddenly up to the second floor.

“Strange…” Alice thought.

At that moment the realization that something must have frightened the cat hit her. The panic ensued once again. Her small, delicate hands gripped the edge of the stairs tightly. She was shaking and her fingers were losing grip from furious perspiration. Alice felt a splinter being lodged into her right thumb, but knew she couldn’t cry out in any pain. She would have to wait, wonder.

The bottle of whiskey clanked on the dusty wooden floor below, rolled slowly across the room, and came to a stop at the edge of the stone fireplace. Her father threw down the foot recliner at the sudden recognition of the smoke smoldering the fabric of the chair.

“The smoke must have gotten in his nose in one of his bear-like snorts,” Alice assumed.

He jumped to his feet violently in panic. After flagrantly beating a torn pillow upon the burning section to distinguish the fire, Alice’s father rose to an erect position and scratched his almost completely bald head. The flickering fan, turned on high, shook above; the metal chain annoyingly clanked on ever blade as it passed. The small amount of hair he did have stood in the constant waft of air as if a little devilish horn. At least that’s what Alice always imagined it to be. He was dirty. His disproportionate gut hung below his thin white undershirt painted with stains. He looked around curiously and then rubbed both hands against his cut-off shorts to clean whatever crumbs resided on his glove-like weapons.

Alice knew what was about to happen. Her father was going to tear through the house slurring smutty declarations of aggressive behavior and endless threats. If he found her sitting on the stairs disobeying his orders in his dismal kingdom, she would be done for.

Alice flew backwards up the stairs, not realizing the noises that she would send echoing down the staircase and into the kitchen where her father now stood looking for another bottle of Jack. Now enticed by unknown company, her father ejected himself out of the kitchen and into a mad dash upwards beyond the first flight of stairs and into the dark hallway.

He slowed his pace.

He progressed down the hallway, one step at a time, clinching his yellow-stained teeth together in a crooked smile. An unwavering laugh flowed down the hallway, his excitement only too noticeable. Alice sat quivering in her drab room. She found a small space under her white-brushed dresser to duck under in the hopes of remaining unseen. Grasping to the back leg of the furniture, Alice patiently waited for what she already knew was inevitable.

Her father had to know she was the one on the stairs. Her sister was much more inclined to follow the rules. She was, in a way, less capable of dealing with the pain. Her days of crying helplessly to her father were gone. She had given up trying to escape the solitude of her room, unlike Alice.

Alice’s father was now in front of the door. She could see his bare feet in front of the crack of space between the door and the floor, the bottom of which was torn up from daily slamming. Alice hoped he would run his foot into it and cut himself. She could hear his heavy foul laughter and smell his pungent and unforgettable odor.

The silver doorknob turned slowly counterclockwise, and the door creaked ever-so-slightly in its opening. Her father shuffled into the room. He staggered slowly against the wall, too incoherent to switch on a light. He dangled his arm out in front of him with little control to guide him throughout the room. He slammed into a lamp, which at first he thought his daughter, and growled at it with a distinct low pitch.

Alice curled her head into her lap, holding her legs tightly together with both arms.

Her father continued around the room. He felt the soft fur of a plush bear upon his leg as he neared Alice’s closet. In the moment he must have thought that it was Alice as well, for he immediately ripped its head off in a jerking motion releasing stuffing into the room all at once. The cloud of stuffing turned to almost an opaque cloud as it engulfed the area around him. The large particles began sticking to his sweaty body one at a time. His frustration grew.

Alice closed her eyes desperately wanting to dream of the reality her sister imagined. She was looking for her escape…

Filed under: Short Stories, Summer 2011, Alice, Evalyn Siggelko, exerpt, University of Kentucky

Caring for Our Collective Alma Mater

By Jock Gilchrist

University of Delaware

Having just completed my summer’s work, I can recline into one of those rare periods where I’m not saddled with homework or responsibility. Two weeks remain in 2011’s summer before the fall term begins; sunny August roars in force around me; I can sit on my front porch in the comfort of family and relax.

Or so I thought. Some of the feelings that my partially wooded front yard arouses are sadly of worry, of urgency. These green trees are in danger and the innocent cicadas don’t suspect the beast that hunts them. That beast is man’s (lack of) regard for our collective alma mater, our nourishing mother, the Earth.

I spent much of my childhood tromping through the woods with my younger brothers. We were ebullient explorers of a natural setting that enthralled and centered us, bonded us; maybe that’s why I feel so connected to, and protective of, nature. It saddens me deeply to survey the attitude of our people towards the Earth. I don’t presume that all or even most hold this disregard and disrespect towards Nature, but many that do have two things that man doesn’t seem to know how to handle – money and power. The most I can try to do is delineate the reasons why I believe we must care for our Earth, although it confounds me that the presentation of logic is necessary – I would think it instinct, common sense.

In our fast-paced, technology-driven, short attention-spanned lives, we rarely if ever take the step back to refocus ourselves and feel the peace and solitude that modernity doesn’t afford us. My house on South College Avenue is subject to a night-and-day cacophony of motorcycles and 18-wheelers that frankly drives me crazy. One of the few places I can go to escape the external, as well as my internal noise, is the nearby White Clay Nature Preserve. Many of us are never out of earshot of the nearest roadway or the chatter of the TV. But when I enter the park, all of this is gone. I can feel the song of my soul, I can run, shout, kick, and let out my inner Neanderthal (who, by the way, we are only a short evolutionary leap away from). A return to Nature is a return to our origins and an escape from the artificial world we’ve built and the artificial control we have over it. It feels real.

Moreover, Nature is the closest thing in our near reach to immortal (unless man continues his current trends). We are most frequently in physical contact only with ephemera. Cars may last ten years, an iPod five if you’re lucky, and cell phones no more than a few (unless it breaks, which is likely). These life-spans don’t even have much relevance because of built-in obsolescence – even if it still functions down the road, it won’t work fast or smart enough to compare to the latest product. Instant gratification decreases our attention spans and patience.

This all changes when you’re standing next to a tree older than your father’s fathers. Even more astounding are geological structures. The Grand Canyon began its formation 17 million years ago (WIlford). The Appalachian Mountains, running down America’s east coast, began formation 480 million years ago (“USGS: science for a changing world”). They were here before us, and will remain long after we go. This has a strange humbling effect. It counteracts the ego-inflating message typically broadcasted to American youth and adults alike: you can be a rockstar, you can get rich, you can spend more, have more, eat more, do more! Advertisements, music videos, and news reels discount or forget completely the value of simply being. Rather than focusing on making a living and achieving success, why not focus on being yourself to the fullest extent? Success will then come of its own accord. Listen to your own inner symphony and follow where it leads you. Nature inherently promotes this inner harmony because it is aligned with a peaceful, natural goodness that is all around us if we pay attention to it. It says, Yes, you should follow your heart, and in the meantime I’m just going to continue existing.

And then there’s the practical issue of resources and destruction. It’s no secret that the world’s springs of petroleum are depleting, but there are other equally important issues that don’t garner the headlines. One of the most disturbing, and untold, is the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch.” Plastic does not break down naturally, and almost every scrap of it ever produced eventually reaches and accumulates en masse in the oceans. According to the corresponding website, the biggest collection “is roughly the size of Texas, containing approximately 3.5 million tons of trash. Shoes, toys, bags, pacifiers, wrappers, toothbrushes, and bottles too numerous to count are only part of what can be found in this accidental dump floating midway between Hawaii and San Francisco” (“Great Garbage Patch”). This kills marine life, which some may still not care about, but it also contaminates fish with toxins, making them unsafe to eat – maybe now they’ll tune in. There are new plans for an oil pipeline and tanker route through and along Canada’s wild and beautiful western coast (Kaufman). The Amazon rainforest continues to shrink due to destruction by profit-seeking industries (Butler). Last year’s British Petroleum oil spill threatened 400 species in the Gulf of Mexico, many of which are endangered (Gerstein). These examples are the tip of the iceberg, symbolizing man’s tendency to recklessly take without due respect to his gracious benefactor.

The wonder and excitement at the sight of New York City at night is a unique feeling, and one to be cherished. The resplendent view from Algonquin Peak in New York’s Adirondack Park is wholly different: lush, expansive, empowering, and indicative of the rich possibility contained in the wild and free. You need not summit a mountain to enjoy nature though – just adventure into the woods. You’ll be surprised where you end up.

Sources

Butler, Rhett. “Deforestation in the Amazon.”Mongabay. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 Aug 2011. <http://www.mongabay.com/brazil.html&gt;.

“Garbage Pacth.” Great Garbage Patch. Garbage Patch, n.d. Web. 12 Aug 2011. <http://www.greatgarbagepatch.org/&gt;.

“Geologic Provinces of the United States: Appalachian Highlands Province.” USGS: science for a changing world. USGS Geology & Geophysics Science Center, 13 Jan 2004. Web. 12 Aug 2011. <http://geomaps.wr.usgs.gov/parks/province/appalach.html&gt;.

Gerstein, Julie. “The Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill by the Numbers.” Daily Green 14 Jun 2010: n. pag. Web. 12 Aug 2011. <http://www.thedailygreen.com/environmental-news/latest/gulf-of-mexico-oil-spill-facts&gt;.

Kaufman, Rachel. “Crucial Waters.” National Geographic 07 Oct 2010: n. pag. Web. 12 Aug 2011.

Wilford, John. “Grand Canyon Still Grand but Older.”New York Times 07 Mar 2008: n. pag. Web. 12 Aug 2011

Filed under: College Life, Summer 2011, Alma Mater, Jock Gilchrist, University of Delaware

Who Will You Be?

By Shelby Williams

The University of Texas at San Antonio

As I entered college, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life; all I knew is that I wanted to make my family proud and be someone important.  Many students who have just graduated high school not only have worries about college but they worry about if they are destined to do something meaningful in their life.

In high school many teachers tell you that you can do anything you want to in life as long as you set your mind to it.  Well, what if you don’t know what to do? What if you aren’t a prodigy? How do you decide what to do with your life?  All I can say is to STOP asking these questions, you will only end up being stressed and feeling hopeless if you don’t find the answer.  Take classes that interest you and from there you will find what you are meant to do.  Everyone has worries unless they have known what they have wanted since they were in elementary school.

It’s normal for students to change their major because they are feeling unsteady about their decision but don’t let a few insecurities get you off track.  If you aren’t confident in what profession you want then pick a broad major so you have many options when you graduate, but throughout school I’m sure it will become obvious what you are and are not attracted to. If you are set on making a difference then MAKE one!

Do community service; find out what you can do to help in your community and the state.  Join a club that looks cool even if it has nothing to do with what you want in life because chances are you will find out something about yourself that you never knew.  Take risks, no I’m not talking about dangerous ones, but push your bubble a little further and push yourself to try new things.  Forty years down the road you don’t want to be saying “I wish”… say “I DID”.

Be proud with your life and with your success; don’t fret if something doesn’t go your way just see it as an opportunity to go in another direction.  Most of all be true yourself and to your dreams.  Don’t give up because you will only be giving into the fears you had once before.  Find your motivation that makes you excited to go to school and your passion that keeps you going when the times get hard and through that you will find what you are meant to do in life.  Just remember there is no difference that is too small or will go unnoticed, someone is affected by every impact you make. You are someone so do something GREAT.

Filed under: College Life, Summer 2011, Shelby Williams, Texas at San Antonia, Who will you be

My Slice of Life

By Wendy Kimbrough
Kaplan University

I was tired of the rat race, the fast paced sometimes boring life of being a nurse when I decided to change my career. Most people have enough sense to go straight to college in today’s world and stick with what they chose. I waited another 20 years to start a new one with one child off to college and another still in elementary school. Life has a weird way of sometimes coming around and hitting you full blast in the face with the most unexpected things. The year of 2011 started out as any normal year would start and when February got here things took a huge turn for me. I was a full time student in school, a full time single mom, and worked a full time job, I still hold those 3 at the top of my get done list. In the middle of the quarter my dad was diagnosed with cancer, the Dr. assured us it was curable with treatment and he would live a long life still. Six weeks later at the end of that quarter my dad passed away. The next four weeks were really a blur for me; I could not get my head into my studies and was having a rough time holding my sanity down.

One month and one day later on April 27, 2011 is another day I will never forget as long as I live; it was the day an EF5 tornado hit my town. I drive a school bus and was out in the area the tornado tore up taking kids home and I only missed it by 4 minutes. How I missed it is a pure miracle because there was nothing left when it was gone but concrete slabs. By this time of course I am saying what in the world can happen next, besides having a mother dependent on oxygen and a nephew that has to have an apnea monitor we have no power for a week. This left me struggling to find a store that had a generator to get gas for the camper which by God’s grace I did find one.

As I said before life can deal you some unexpected things, the day my dad was put on life support I came home to find my letter from the NSCS in my mailbox. I will never know if he heard me tell him about it but I know that he was always telling me how smart I am and that I could do anything I set my mind to. My mom is always telling me how proud my dad was for me going back to college so late in life and I believe her, she knew him better than anyone else. I was ready to quit college at this time; I even went as far as calling my counselor and requesting some time off till I could get it together. Thanks to two very understanding professors at Kaplan they were able to help me to overcome that thought and to get my work done and caught up so I could go on and overcome that overwhelming desire to quit everything and go hide away from the world.

This story is not about sympathy or sorrow, it is about how the unexpected can become a driving force in your life to make you reach harder for those goals you set for yourself. To dig deep within you to accept and overcome some of the darker aspects, pick yourself up and use the knowledge and wisdom that you learned from your parents no matter what age you are and realize that things could always be worse. My motto has always been “what does not kill me makes me a stronger person and I will succeed”. The last six months have had a major impact on my outlook on life; I push myself harder than before and take time out to smell the roses because one needs the balance of both to make it a long and happy life.

Filed under: Autobiographical, Summer 2011, Kaplan, My Slice of Life, Wendy Kimbrough

Holding Hands

By Jessica Mangin
The University of Pennsylvania

Filed under: Art, Summer 2011, holding hands, Jessica Mangin, UPenn

A Fine American Dinner

By Jasmine Goggins
California State Fullerton

Filed under: Art, Summer 2011, California State Fullerton, California State University Fullerton, diner, Jasmine Goggins

Perspective

By Lakshmi Meyyappan
George Mason University

Filed under: Art, Summer 2011, George Mason, Lakshmi Meyyappan, Perspective