I have always looked up to Roger Ebert as a hero of sorts. Among many things, his yearly Overlooked Film Festivals held at the Virginia Theatre may be the most well known and have had the most impact on me.
The event features films that have not been shown to their full potential. I’ve attended a few screenings in the past years, accompanied by my dad, who does some research on film.
This year marked the ninth so-called “Ebertfest,” perhaps the most awe-inspiring of them all.
Since last July, Ebert has been unable to speak after a tracheotomy and multiple surgeries to his jaw and throat due to cancer. Nonetheless, he was still able to attend his sold-out festival and communicated by paper and a computer-assisted voice generator.
Unfortunately I was unable to take part in this year’s event, but I heard many fascinating stories from people who go regularly. According to them, the atmosphere was extremely energetic and touching. In past Ebertfests, this has often been the case as well, as various directors and actors tell heartfelt tales of their “overlooked” careers.
These festivals have greatly catapulted the careers of filmmakers, such as fellow U of I alum Ang Lee, director of “Brokeback Mountain.”
Really, the event should not be dubbed the Overlooked Film Festival, since “Overlooked” is sometimes confused as whether it is modifying “film” or “film festival.” OFF certainly could not be the latter, as it steadily gains a larger audience year in and year out. Which is probably why it has been decided that it will officially be called Ebertfest next year, as it is now widely known as.
And you can bet next year is going to be big, too, given that Ebert most likely will be able speak in his ever-popular Q&A sessions.
I’ve always thought Paris Hilton to be one of the most amusing celebrities. On my bedroom wall, there’s a magazine clipping of Paris with a quote from her saying, “I’m smarter than most people.” This is coming from the girl who asked, “Wal-Mart … do they like, make walls?” She seems to be so out of touch with the real world that it’s almost cute.
I recalled hearing about Paris publishing a book some time ago, but I never thought about checking it out. I told myself that since I’ve been reading so many “smart” books for school, it’s time I give my brain a break and read this “not so smart” book. No offense to Paris, but I doubted that she’s much of a scholar.
Her book proved me right. In chapter one, “How to be an Heiress,” Paris offered 23 “wise” tips on how every girl can feel and act like an heiress.
“1. Be born into the right family. Choose your chromosomes wisely. … If an heiress is in control of everything, why shouldn’t she be in control of who she’s born to?” OK …
“6. Never, ever wake up before 10; never go to bed before 3. Normal hours are for normal people. You never want to be normal. Anyone can be normal. How boring, I’m yawning.”
Her other rules include: Have many cell phones and lose them often so you’ll have an excuse to not call someone back, never wear the same thing twice, and act ditzy and lose things.
OK, so her tips aren’t exactly practical. I mean no matter what she says, you really can’t choose who you’re born to. And she may never have to get up before 10, but for those aspiring Paris wannabes — they’ll probably lose their jobs if they did that.
In the beginning, Paris says that this book will allow readers to know the “real me.” However, after reading the book, I didn’t learn anything about Paris that I haven’t heard on TV before, except that she’s obsessed with Vitamin Water and that she wrote a diary pretending to be her Chihuahua, Tinkerbell.
So “Confessions of an Heiress” wasn’t exactly a thought-provoking book. Nevertheless, it was extremely amusing. It was also a very fast read (since there are so many pictures of Paris), and there were absolutely no big words.
So whether you’re a guy or a girl, a Paris-hater or Paris-lover, check out this book. Guys can look at pictures of Paris in skimpy clothing, fans can idolize her words, and haters can make fun of her pictures in the chapter “My Fashion Don’ts.”
“Confessions of an Heiress” will definitely clear your mind and release some of the stress that’s been building up for the final month of school.
I was in the Mac lab earlier today and randomly came across a few screenshots of what, at first glance, would appear to just be your typical 3D computer game. The person who sat next to me, who was somewhat of a gamer himself, asked me what these were screenshots of — and I told him, “Second Life.”
To my surprise, he didn’t know what that was. And a few seconds later, I realized that I didn’t really know what it was, either. All I knew about this “Second Life” thing was that it’s a virtual online world where users create avatars and then go around and do stuff. That’s right, stuff. If I had to explain “Second Life” to someone at that time, I couldn’t have been any more specific.
So I proceeded to scour the Internets for more specific information regarding “Second Life.” After a few clicks here and there, I got to an official-looking “Product Fact Sheet” (warning, PDF link) and was pleased to find that it was basically just what I was looking for. The three-page document started with the big question in big, bold, all-caps Verdana: WHAT IS SECOND LIFE?
And underneath it was a paragraph, which read:
Second Life is a burgeoning new online society, shaped entirely by its residents. Participants join a world full of people, activity, and fun — a constantly-changing shared reality where they can choose their own goals — travel and explore, claim and build on virtual land, make friends and socialize, or vie for status and wealth. In Second Life, residents can:
… “residents” can, in short, tour places and meet/connect with other people. The social aspect seems to be one of (if not the single) most important theme of this game, which is nice. In fact, one Georgia Tech student that I know of once Twittered that his class was going to meet in “Second Life” for that day, instead of a lecture hall or whatever. “My major rocks,” he added in his 18-word post.
So basically, if you regularly played “Second Life,” it really would be your second life. I love it when things are aptly named.
I also love it when things look nice. The Product Fact Sheet I linked to a few paragraphs ago also notes that the game’s 3D graphics are streamed to players in real time. In these reduced-size versions of (probably already downsized) “official” screenshots of gameplay — Copyright 2007, Linden Research, Inc. All Rights Reserved. — you can see that for something streamed, the graphics are pretty great.
Unfortunately, when you view most SL screenshots at their original sizes, the visuals aren’t so crystal clear; they’re not bad per se, and luckily still retain a pleasing sense of virtualness. But the graphics are certainly a far cry from the 3D graphics that hardcore gamers would be used to. Then again, good luck getting those games in a 31MB download. (Double the size for Macs probably because of the universal binary goodness.)
OK, well I guess that’s enough … if you’re interested, get yourself a free account over at the Teen Second Life. The regular SL is for adults only, probably because there’s a prevalence of sex.
Search for recent news articles containing “second life” to see what’s in store for the future. Here’s a hint: It’s got to do with businesses. And marketing.
Seeing all the tiny kids running around Uni this week reminds me of way, way back in the day when I was a “prospective student” visiting Uni. At that time, I had no idea what to expect from University Laboratory High School. The experience was pretty intense. In retrospect, I have to say that it was one of the greatest adventures I’ve had so far.
First, picture me five inches shorter and sporting a haircut reminiscent of this cool dude. I was just another Asian boy who was prepared to experience Uni for the first time.
I have to say, Sam Klein (who was my subfreshman buddy), made my day at Uni special. Before I actually went to any actual classes at Uni, I had my first extraordinary experience nearby.
It was lunchtime, and since I didn’t bring a lunch, Sam took me to a place called Derald’s. To be honest, I was skeptical at first about food prepared by some guy in his truck. I mean, how good could his double cheeseburger get?
Well, you can say that it was love at first bite. And if you know me, then you probably know that I still enjoy Derald’s once in a while.
Anyway, after that, Sam took me to his Japanese class. On the way to class, the messy hallways and the open lockers at Uni surprised me. It was totally different from the more structured scene at Urbana Middle School.
In Japanese class, it was nice to see the openness and the enthusiasm in the students. I liked the casual atmosphere.
I also remember seeing other little kids my height tagging along with their buddies, afraid to lose sight of them in this wild jungle. I was nervous at first, but I felt welcomed, and Sam showed me a good time.
Overall, it was a pretty cool experience. Although I was slightly nervous at first, I felt more and more comfortable as the day went on. And like I said earlier, it was one of the greatest adventures of my life.
Ray, who I would first like to point out is the best physics teacher ever (brownie points?), recently commented on Sarah Pfander’s column “The future freaks me out.”
“The reason we have so many ‘overachievers’ is not because we demand so much of students but because — ironically, or not — our standards are so low,” Ray wrote. “Kids today do everything! But they don’t do any of it terribly well. Meanwhile, they get no sleep, make themselves sick and stressed out, waste time and money chasing college admissions strategies, and — worst of all — miss the most important lesson: doing one thing well is the key to success, whereas doing dozens of things at minimal competence gets you nowhere.”
This comment is, well, blunt.
But scarier than the lack of sugar-coated fluff is that this comment is extremely true.
I know very, very few students who put their heart and soul into one activity, or, better said, one passion. As a result, I don’t know very many students who are phenomenal at what they do.
I don’t know anyone who is as intense as my mom was. As a high school student she drove an hour to spend every weekend, and some weeknights, at Julliard with a fat, mean piano teacher who would slap her hands if she fumbled on Liszt’s “Grandes Etudes de Paganini, La Campanella.” The ebony wood on her old piano, which stands in our living room, is worn and scratched from the constant striking. I don’t know someone like my swim coach, who, at the age of 11, began waking up at 4 a.m. in order to reach her dream of making the Olympic Trials.
However, my mom and my swim coach are anomalies. They are a part of the special few who were blessed at birth with a raw talent. The problem is that the majority of us don’t have such talent.
Although I’m not saying one needs talent to fuel passion, realistically one needs talent to successfully pursue that passion (which is vitally important in the context of college admissions).
For example, I can have a passion for volleyball. However, with my short stature and extreme bulk, I just won’t cut it in the real world as a real-time volleyball player. I can practice for hours on end, I can certainly be passionate about the sport, but how does that help me if I can’t even make the high school team? All those grueling hours of practice, and I’ve got nothing.
So instead of pouring all my time into my passion, doesn’t it make sense to dip my feet into everything? Shouldn’t I audition for the school play, run on the track team, and participate in a protest on the Quad? That seems, to me, a better use of my time. Maybe after I’ve tried everything out, after I’ve spread myself out way too thin, I can figure out what my talent is, and hope that a passion can grow from those roots.
Furthermore, isn’t part of the point of high school to try everything? Sure, Suzie may realize that she is a gifted potter, but she would learn so much about team spirit and team bonding from being on the Uni High girls swim team.
While I agree with Ray that high schoolers spread themselves out too thin to impress college admissions officers, specializing in one area is a harsh demand. First off, how does one know what to pursue? Is it worth it? Maybe at the end of four years one will realize that they’ve been pouring their heart into the wrong thing. Then what?
Secondly, pursuing one passion, I can guess, could easily lead to boredom and a feeling of emptiness. While solving Calculus 14 math problems is impressive, and most of the time satisfying, doing it all the time can be repetitive, maybe even suppressing. After all, isn’t variety the spice of life?
But, a feeling of loss will creep into little Max’s heart when, driving home from school to crack that difficult problem, he sees all of his laughing buds board a bus for the basketball game in Monticello.
So maybe the thing to do, though naive and easy to say, is not to worry about looking good on paper. If you’re happy and you like playing three varsity sports at Uni, do it. If you like practicing your flute until your throat goes dry, then do it, too.
But the cruel reality is that there is no formula to get into college. Whether it’s being a humanitarian/entrepreneur/nationally ranked golfer/actress/math whiz/poet/12-varsity athlete/activist or a hardcore, seriously talented beat-boxer (who goes to the nightclubs not to shack up with a fine female, but to establish connections so his basement-recorded album can sell), no one can be 100 percent sure.
So, it’s unrealistic for me to say, “Don’t worry about impressing the admissions officer,” because that’s what the reality of high school is — trying to crack the admissions formula. Trying to play the game. The goal of high school today is to become someone and something that looks good, sounds good, reads good, and fits inside a manila envelope.
So what am I trying to say? I don’t really know myself. But, I don’t think pursuing one thing is the answer, either. It’s too hard to first find something that you really want to pour your heart and soul into, and on top of that be talented enough to find success.
On the other hand, we shouldn’t spread ourselves out too thin. Ray’s right when he says students do everything and nothing at the same time. It’s a pointless waste of time to be a varsity athlete, actress, and budding philosopher when you’re not that good at any of these things.
Last night I decided to go to a concert with my parents instead of working on my English paper as I had been planning to do. The concert was of Rajasthani folk music, a type of music that I haven’t had much exposure to, and since it was free, I didn’t mind changing my mind at the last minute
The concert was at the Spurlock Museum in a small auditorium that seated about 200 people. Even though we got there half an hour before the concert was supposed to start, it was pretty crowded.
Most of the people were senior citizens so I felt a little awkward as I sat down. But after quickly scanning the audience I saw that there were some young children and a few who looked like they were about my age.
When the MC went on stage to introduce the artists, the performers, showing true Indian pride, were not backstage. It is standard for Indians to show up for parties and functions at least 20 minutes late, which we call Indian Standard Time. A man sitting in front of me joked in Hindi that they must have gone out for tea.
But the artists only kept us waiting for five minutes. They sat down cross-legged on a mat that had been laid out for them. When I looked at their names on the program I was surprised to find most of them had the same last name. My mother later explained that they all probably came from the same tribe.
All seven of the artists were men, and they all were wearing brightly colored turbans. They each had shawls on with intricate patterns on them. Three of the artists were vocalists, one was on the dholak, a type of drum, another was playing the khadtal — two clappers which are held in each hand — and the other two played string instruments for the most part, although one of these also had a variety of other instruments, such as a double flute called the satara.
The concert was rather slow to start. But once it did it engaged me very much. The vocalists had strong, powerful voices that reverberated throughout the hall, and I enjoyed watching their wide arm movements, which made it look as though they were giving a speech.
The dholak and the stringed instruments provided background music, while the khadtal occasionally added an interesting rhythm to the piece and kept my foot tapping in time to the music. Often the musicians looked at each other to mutely communicate when to speed up and when to stop as all of this was improvisational.
My only complaint was that the program was very short. In all it lasted for a little over an hour, and they only played one song that included everyone. But still, I enjoyed it to the last note, and when I got home I looked up some of the instruments on the Internet. I had never heard of half of them, even though my parents like to take us to Indian concerts whenever we can go.
I’ve officially decided to stop goofing off, and I will give you a reason why.
Last night, I was working on a paper for Poetry about the poet E. E. Cummings. About all that I had left to do was write my bibliography, so I went to the Uni library home page and went to the bibliography format section. I went to the MLA format, then to the “print materials” section, and then I remembered that I hadn’t checked my e-mail at all that day.
Wanting desperately to fix that situation, I opened a new tab in Firefox and checked my e-mail. There wasn’t anything major, so I logged off and prepared to go back to my bibliography. But then it hit me — I hadn’t checked my gmail account!
When I opened that up, I saw a message saying that someone had written on my wall on Facebook — how exciting! I opened up Facebook and read the fairly inconsequential message. Then I edited my “favorite music” section. Then I looked at some other people’s photos that looked entertaining. They weren’t.
But then I got bored with the music I was listening to (which is never good). To remedy that situation, I put “Somebody Put Something in my Drink” by Children of Bodom on. I was immediately amazed with Alexi Laiho’s guitar playing, to the point that I had to find a transcription for the song.
About 45 minutes after I had started, my bibliography wasn’t anywhere near done, so I shut all my other programs, looked up the publishing city and copyright date for a few books, and got to work. Fifteen minutes later, I was finally done. But the bottom line is that it definitely shouldn’t have taken so long.
Hence my dedication to never slacking off again … as soon as I check my e-mail.
Yes, all right, I’ll admit it: I complain about lack of sleep almost constantly. I have written a column about lack of sleep before. But I never seem to get enough of it; sometimes I’ll wake up on a Saturday morning after 10 hours of sleep, and still feel exhausted.
Lately, though, something terrible has been happening night after night after night.
This is how it’s been: at about 10:30, I climb into bed. I turn on the lamp next to my bed and read for a while until my eyes start to blur and my brain refuses to absorb any more information. Then I put down whatever book/magazine I have in my hands, switch off my light, snuggle into my covers, tuck one arm under my pillow, close my eyes, and prepare to fall sleep.
Unfortunately, my eyes eventually open again and I stare at the ceiling. After what seems like an age, I turn on some music. But unfortunately again, the music only serves as a distraction, and I have to turn it off.
I slip back into bed and glance at my clock. The glowing red numbers read 11:50. I am frustrated. I want to talk to someone. I feel very alone in my dark room, and my old fear that there is a monster waiting under the bed to grab me resurfaces.
I pull the blankets tight around me and squeeze my eyes shut again. Eventually, I fall asleep.
Insomnia, quite frankly, sucks. Because through all of this, I know that I am exhausted. I would love nothing better than to fall asleep, but it proves to be impossible. At other times, I fall asleep very quickly initially but then wake up again in the wee hours of morning.
It scares me a little, though, that insomnia is a disease with a fancy name. Doctors can prescribe pills for it. There are different forms of “therapy.” There are all sorts of suggestions: Don’t eat within two to three hours of going to bed, don’t use your bed for anything but sleeping (or sex, according to the Web site that I’m looking at), follow a routine to go to bed …
Jeesh. All I want to do is be able to sleep without feeling like I have an awful mental problem.
It goes away, though. I have time periods like this when I can’t sleep, but suddenly I will be able to fall asleep right away one night. I am waiting desperately for that to happen.
Just one more thought: putting in Avenue Q to help you sleep is a bad, bad idea.
I went to the UFU movie night this evening, partially to enjoy pizza, cookies, and popcorn, partially to hang out with cool people, but mostly to watch the movie being shown, “The Last King of Scotland.”
The movie, starring Forest Whitaker, who won an Oscar for his role as the president of Uganda, General Idi Amin Dada, follows a young Scottish doctor, Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy), who travels to Uganda to help poor Africans at a mission hospital and winds up as Amin’s personal physician.
The movie, which is based upon a true story, was very good, very engaging, and very interesting. However, it was also disturbing and scary (I hate suspense and even remotely frightening movies, so I am not a good judge of this I suppose).
One of the great things about the movie is the sympathetic portrayal of Garrigan. If you were reading about this guy, you would totally judge him. He was responsible for at least two peoples’ deaths in the movie, he was aware of the extreme corruption and awful, murderous regime and did nothing about it, and he remains Amin’s physician for an incredible, ridiculous amount of time.
However, while watching the movie, that thought never entered my head. I never really judged Garrigan, and all of his decisions seemed totally logical. Everything he did was a result of outside factors that he had no control over, and everything seemed turned against him.
I guess that is kind of a movie’s job, to tell a story about a sympathetic character whom the audience never judges. But I thought that “The Last King of Scotland” did an excellent job.
Plus, any movie like “The Last King of Scotland” which attempts to educate the audience about poorly known historical events is automatically very significant. I knew nothing about Amin’s rule in Uganda before I saw the movie.
I think that for most Americans, corrupt and violent regimes in different African countries kind of run together, until most can’t tell the difference between Amin and Meles Zenawi of Ethiopia, Paul Kagame of Rwanda, and Laurent Kabila of Congo.
Overall, I really liked this movie. I don’t think I was as impressed with Whitaker’s performance as the Academy apparently was, but I thought that “The Last King of Scotland” acted as a powerful statement about Uganda and the regimes that have shaped it.
The other day, in a discussion about immortality, an interesting story was brought up by a friend of mine about a seemingly immortal duck.
It has been reported that a hunter shot a duck and, thinking that he had killed it, put it in his fridge at home. Apparently, two days later when his wife opened the fridge the duck was no longer dead, and it managed to lift its head. The duck was then rushed to the local animal hospital and then to an animal sanctuary for more specialized treatment. During surgery to repair the gunshot wounds in its wing and leg, the duck once again flat-lined, only to spring back to life a second time.
While many might sit and think that having the ability to live for eternity and escape death would be the greatest gift of all time, I disagree.
The will to live is undeniably a strong one, as illustrated by this duck who was accordingly named Perky, but I can’t help but feel that immortality is not only overrated but actually is a fate worse than death.
To live forever — and assuming that you could still maintain your health — would in my mind be comparable to going weeks without sleep. The endlessness of life, and with it the knowledge that as time goes on the human race is only declining in so many ways, seems like a haunting and horrible existence.
To die after living a full life would be a splendid feat and certainly one not worth cheating yourself out of by discovering immortality. So let’s collectively as a society agree not to.
As the wise headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding once said, “After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
For years I’ve watched movie musicals. Many different musicals. And I can say with almost no exception, I’ve hated them all.
I have never really known why I hate them, but something about the constant singing and dancing in the movies really annoys me. I suppose it breaks my suspension of disbelief or something. It just seems too unrealistic. While I admit it would be sort of cool if people would randomly break into song from time to time and the entire school would join in, it just doesn’t happen in real life.
I’m sure by now you are all thinking that I have no soul, but bear with me.
Here’s the thing. I really hate the movies. I find I always enjoy seeing musicals performed live. I think the three musicals I’ve seen at Uni were really good, and I have enjoyed the handful I’ve seen at the Virginia. I enjoyed the first two musicals I saw at Uni (“Bye Bye Birdie” and “The Pajama Game”) enough to dare to watch the movies. And I have to say that those movies were two of the worst I’ve ever seen.
After being very disappointed two movies in a row, the thought struck me: Musicals really don’t translate well from the stage to the silver screen. In the “Bye Bye Birdie” production at Uni there was a funny scene where the title character, Conrad Birdie, an Elvis-like superstar, arrives in town and everyone is so infatuated by him that everyone in the scene faints. It was funny, and it worked.
But in the movie version, the same scene occurs, except in a large city park. To show everyone fainted there is a very wide shot looking over the entire park and there are hundreds of people lying unconscious — many of whom are no where near Birdie. At this point my suspension of disbelief had been totally killed, and the movie did not get any better.
Unlike a movie, which shows you everything in the scene, plays are much more minimalistic. On set there are only the props needed to make the scene move along, and the scenery which is just enough to set the mood and tell you where you are. Therefore, in a play there is a lot more room for imagination, which works really well for the kind of scene where everyone collapses.
So even though I really enjoyed “Anything Goes,” I don’t think I’ll be renting the movie any time soon.
Let’s think back to 1972 for a second here: the year of the Watergate scandal, the independence of Bangladesh, Bloody Friday, the Munich Olympics massacre, all in the midst of the Vietnam War.
Well, that’s all well and good, but do you know what was really important about that year? Video games.
That was the year when a little game called PONG was released. What could possibly be more fun than spending hours on end manipulating a pixel back and forth across a television screen? Apparently, in 1972, no one had an answer.
From PONG-mania rose the entire video game industry, from the cumbersome consoles of the ’90s to today’s sleek, high-tech machines that, if placed in the midst of a 1972 crowd, might bring about another round of witch trials.
It is rather remarkable how every generation of technology appears so unreachable as it approaches, so ordinary a month after it debuts, and laughably obsolete as the next generation rushes in to take its place.
Case in point: About a month ago, our sophomore history class had a discussion about the pace of technological growth, specifically computers. Teacher Chris Butler showed us his old “portable” computer that had a six-inch sepia-colored screen, a fold-out keyboard, two disc drives, and about 50 pounds of hardware stuffed into the back of the case. Needless to say, it was hilarious to a crowd of 21st century students, but if you go back a few decades, you can almost imagine people of the same age staring enviously at that monstrosity through a store window.
Also during that class, we saw a graphic that demonstrated the exponential growth of computer storage, which raises some questions about the future. I mean, instead of improving the same concept for 30 years, as we’ve been doing, when is someone going to come up with a new method of dramatically efficient storage? (Would you believe hollow microscopic tubes of graphite?)
At any rate, technology is advancing inexorably, perhaps a touch dangerously. According to wikipedia, performing even the most mundane tasks on your cell phone would necessitate an apartment full of 1970s technology. Imagine the fun times that law enforcement would encounter if every hacker and criminal with enough money could carry today’s most advanced supercomputers around in a briefcase.
Oh well. Technology may bring dangers, but it also brings XBox 360s, so I’ll call it even.
“Computers in the future may weigh no more than than 1.5 tons.” — Popular Mechanics magazine, 1949
While I was flipping through last week’s issue of Newsweek magazine, I noticed a short tribute David Gates, a reporter, wrote for Kurt Vonnegut, who passed away about two weeks ago. In it, Gates stated that Vonnegut “lived through three quarters of the worst century ever …”
Can the 20th century really be called the “worst century ever”? Let’s first count off some things that could one could consider “cons.” Two world wars. The Great Depression. Spanish Flu. Chernobyl. The implementation of much modern machinery that has taken a huge toll on the environment. Essentially, the list could go on and on, but those are the ones that came up in my mind first.
How about the “pros”? A relative improvement of social equality. Major medicinal advancements (antibiotics, vaccines, chemotherapy, etc.). Faster transportation. Better quality food and living conditions in general. Again, these are just some of the first few that came off the top of my head.
No, I’m not about to compare the past few points. Those were just to refresh our minds on some of the things that happened in the last 100 years.
So is the 20th century the worst century? Unfortunately, I would have to say I don’t really know. Although it often has a negative image filled with war and strife, there have been a lot of crucial advancements as well.
Who gives David Gates the authority in dubbing the past century so anyway? He didn’t live the whole century. In fact, there are hundreds of centuries he hasn’t lived. How can he compare it to something he doesn’t know about other than what he’s read and been taught? The 20th century, to me at least, seems somewhat more appealing than 1,000 or 2,000 years ago.
True, the 20th century had its difficulties. But guess what, so has every other century. This century hasn’t been off on the best start either. Just last week was the worst massacre of its type to date.
The 21st century hasn’t been too great for me. I don’t have much choice than to deal with it and wait for it to get better. As long as I’m around, I’ll be sure to try and make it the best century ever.
Ever since I got my learner’s permit last summer, I’ve been anxiously waiting to get my driver’s license. Although I turned 16 in January, my parents have been stalling me from taking my road test because they didn’t think that I was capable of driving by myself.
But this weekend, I finally got my license.
On Saturday morning, my dad and I drove down to the driver’s testing facility in Tuscola because we heard that the one in Champaign was always extremely crowded. At Tuscola, we didn’t have to wait at all. We just filled out some paperwork and the examiner told me to go start my car.
My road test didn’t exactly go that smoothly. The examiner was really intimidating and she made me turn off the radio, which just made the environment more nerve-racking because I always drive with the radio on.
First, the examiner noticed that we still had a temporary license plate in the front, so my dad had to change that. Then she took points off because I went over the line at a stop sign. I also messed up on the three-point turn because I didn’t come to a complete stop at the sidewalk when backing out.
Luckily, I didn’t crash into anything or kill anyone. I even made it into the parking space, although I’m usually awful at parking. After I turned off the ignition, my examiner lectured me for about five minutes on all the areas where I lost points.
At first I thought that I must have failed. Why else would she be telling me all this? But in the end, it was all good. I passed. I had my photo taken and minutes later, I received my beautiful, shiny, brand-new driver’s license.
That night, I went out driving by myself. It was such a wonderful feeling — so free and exhilarating — with my radio blasting and windows rolled down.
Now all I need is for “Pimp My Ride” to pimp my car.
I couldn’t sleep the night before the trip — that always happens to me. When I’m excited about something, I just can’t sleep. I suspect that I finally dozed off at about 2 a.m., but then I got up at 5 o’ clock sharp Saturday morning, dressed up, packed my bag, and headed out for an adventure.
It was kind of chilly waiting outside Uni’s gates at 6:45, but the weatherman said that the weather would be good … and everyone should trust a weatherman!
After the distribution of the tickets, I got on Turtle Van No. 1 and watched “Scary Movie 3.” When it finished, I blasted my ears open with an iPod and I attempted to play cards, although the turnout wasn’t good on a shaky, bouncy vehicle.
We arrived at Six Flags around 11 a.m. At the entrance I was scared since I didn’t bring any ID, but luckily none of the people were checking for it. After roll call with Assistant Director Sue Kovacs, I headed out with a gallop for all the roller coasters. (On a side note, weather was good! Thanks Mr. Weatherman!)
First my group went on Batman followed by Ninja. Mainly we were just waiting for Mr. Freeze to open at 12:15 p.m. (advice from experienced Six Flags veterans). Although the ride was called Mr. Freeze and my group was the first to enter into that section of Six Flags, the wait was not cool. However, in the end it was worth it. Like Jason said in his post, Mr. Freeze definitely gets the “most intense roller coaster I went on” award.
Food came next with the most expensive ice cream, pizza, pop, and fried chicken in all of Missouri. Waiting in line for food was like waiting in line for a roller coaster. At $3 for a small soda ($4 for a large), $7 for pizza, and $8.99 + TAX for fried chicken, I could almost feel the holes in my pockets. Ice water was free, but it just didn’t pack the caffeine I needed. As a result, I took as much BBQ sauce and butter to make up for my loss in buying chicken strips.
Afterward I went on several more roller coasters a few more times. Toward the end of the day, lines were incredibly short and people were able to re-ride the rides many times (even Mr. Freeze!).
Sometimes the rides broke down (Superman was “down for maintenance” right before we got on, and Mr. Freeze broke down with some Uni kids on it) and sometimes people puked (which increased the wait for The Boss by an hour), but overall things were just peachy.
At 7 p.m., everyone returned to their respective turtle vans and headed home. We got back at about 11 p.m. I slept as soon as I got home.
“Five more weeks, five more weeks,” I whispered to myself as I walked the two blocks from my parking lot to the school this morning.
Thankfully, this year has gone quickly, a blur of college applications, last-minute socializing, and all the other mysterious things we seniors do to avoid homework.
But in the last couple of weeks, as the weather has warmed up, my heart has begun to yearn to be free. And then, during second period today, I realized that these were the last weeks in my life that I could be a kid.
This summer I have to get a job, to start saving for college. After the summer I head off to Venezuela, without the support system I’ve had with me for the past 17 years. I will have to take sole responsibility for myself; there won’t be anyone there to catch me if I fall.
Pretty soon, I’ll have to cook for myself, clean for myself, and handle the various bureaucratic college systems by myself. Right now, I can just chill on the weekends, not think about anything, and trust in my parents to do right by me.
So what am I going to do in my last few weeks to be a kid? I’ll probably build a few tents out of blankets and chairs, make some mudpies, throw a fit, smear dirt on my face, scream for ice cream, pretend I’m a dinosaur, make a mess and then refuse to clean it up, and generally do nothing for 24 hours.
It’s going to be fun. Any senior who wants to join me, feel free.
I crumple up another sheet of paper, thoroughly covered in scratch work, and position myself at the far end of the room. I toss it delicately toward the waste basket. It goes in.
I have become pretty good at this, because I’ve been doing it frequently for two weeks now. I have been solving practice problem after practice problem in preparation for the United States of America Mathematics Olympiad on Tuesday and Wednesday.
It has grown to be a routine, almost. Last year, the Olympiad problems inspired me: Each problem I solved seemed a marvelous new discovery. I experienced no such feeling this year — I worked through more problems more easily than before, but my stomach only tightened as I thought about the approaching test.
That made me stop to wonder: Are competitions in general just a cycle of practice, reward (through winning or performing well), and pressure to practice more? I think that this dynamic certainly holds true to some extent. Competition is by definition about winning, and to win, you need a certain amount of practice.
However, when I thought about it more, I realized that competitions (of any sort) generally have little intrinsic value; anyone can compete, and it doesn’t make you a better or worse person to do so. And generally speaking, there’s about as much luck involved as there is skill.
What matters, instead, is how you look at the competition. Different people can view it in different ways, but winning alone cannot be the motivation. What happens after you win? There needs to be some context, and this time around I didn’t have one.
Sometimes, we forget to take a step back from the immediate din of things. I stepped back, noticed the bright day outside, and decided to go for a jog. When I returned, I found myself alert but extremely calm. I hope that’s how I’ll feel on the day of the test.
It is one of the great ironies of contest preparation that during the contest, you must clear your mind of everything that you have previously done. Nonetheless, it is precisely the way to think of competition beyond a comparison of two or more people and to draw from it the greatest possible value.
In the words of Edie Brickell, I’m not aware of too many things, but I know what I know … if you know what I mean. And what I know is this: Not only is Champaign-Urbana’s artistic community alive and well, but our entire population is connected through our city’s arts, as demonstrated by this year’s Boneyard Arts Festival.
How do I know this? Empirical data, of course. Over time, I’ve gained a certain degree of experience with the arts in this town, initially through taking summer art classes at the University of Illinois’ School of Art and Design (which I have done for more than 10 years now), and later through museum visits, concerts, plays, music festivals, and the like.
Eventually, I came to realize that art is all around us in C-U. It’s impossible to escape it. Walk through the streets of Urbana on a Saturday morning, and you will probably come across the Market at the Square, filled with craftsmen of all types selling everything from paintings to pottery to jewelry (not to mention the busking local musicians such as the idiosyncratic Michael Powers, or my middle school friends Nathaniel Ruiz and Emma Fell).
Walk through the streets of downtown Champaign, and the effect of our local artists is even more obvious. Almost every alley or blank wall space you pass displays a colorful mural or more spontaneous graffiti. Take a step into Cafe Kopi or Aroma Cafe, and you will more than likely be faced with an exhibit of some local artist’s works. Radio Maria, a fusion restaurant located in downtown, was even founded by artists, and the interior reeks of their creative spirits (using decorated doors as tables and displaying unique mixed-media pieces on the walls).
My point, I suppose, is that whether you’re a fan of Of Montreal (who are signed to the Champaign-Urbana record label Polyvinyl), a scenester who catches all the shows of the 217 Crew, or a Joe Schmoe simply tottering along the streets, you’re bound to verify the slogan of 40 North/88 West (the organization that put together the Boneyard Arts Festival): “Art Lives Here.”
In fact, my experience with this year’s Boneyard Arts Festival began entirely on accident, but still managed to connect me to the larger community in more ways than one.
On Friday, I was walking from my car to join the march for Take Back The Night (an internationally organized protest against sexual assault) when I came across a stage planted in the middle of Chester Street. There were a couple of musicians from Edison Middle School’s jazz band playing, and as I was walking by, I stumbled upon Ben Valocchi, an old buddy of mine from middle school whom I hadn’t seen since 2003. There’s example No. 1.
The next evening, I actively sought out manifestations of the festival. My first stop was the Urbana-Champaign Independent Media Center, for the second annual Prison Arts Festival (a subfest of this year’s Boneyard). I was surprised to find Uni students Shara Esbenshade and Kimmy Pillow sitting on the steps outside as I drove up, and quickly joined them and went inside. There’s example No. 2.
I was even more astounded at what I found inside. There was a DJ spinning, and the stage was lit up with red and purple lights, occupied by four Urbana High School students whom I used to attend school with. One of them was Nick Lyles, a pretty close junior high friend whom I see around every now and then. As soon as he dismounted the stage, I approached and greeted him with a heartfelt embrace. There’s example No. 3.
Above: Nick Lyles, left, with a fellow student rapper.
While I was quite impressed with the student rappers (the shortest one, Kenny Davis, can be seen rhyming rapidly like Eyedea about halfway through the video above), what struck me the most about the situation was the fact that it was my peers onstage at a serious artistic showcase. Saturday’s event is one of the first clear pieces of evidence I’ve gotten of the impending generation shift in C-U’s art and music scene, and I’m sure moments like it will only become more and more frequent as I continue my career at Uni.
When the rap show finished and the break dancing began, I left the dance floor to the experts and retreated to observe the art hanging on the walls. All of it (including the pieces shown below) was created by incarcerated community members, and I found it truly moving that some local prisoners are able persevere in spirit and create beautiful things, despite their situation.
Above artists: Hilario Lopez (top), Nicholas Bryson.
Above, clockwise from top left: “Marvin,” “Miles,” “Bob,” and “Ray” all by Christopher A. Garner I.
After I left the Prison Arts Festival, I headed over to downtown Champaign to enjoy some of the visual art that was available there. When I entered Kopi, I was pleased to see a fresh exhibit of abstract acrylics by Alex Garcia. After I had observed them for a time, allowing my Americano to cool sufficiently, I departed, and as I was leaving I noticed Tatyana Safronova (editor-in-chief of The Buzz) sitting at one of Kopi’s sidewalk tables, chatting it up with some friends. BAM! Example No. 4.
Above: acrylics by Alex Garcia.
Above: Patrons enjoy coffee and art at Kopi.
I sauntered over to Aroma, and while I spent a very brief time there before heading home (and was a little less than impressed by their offering of watercolors by Shoshannah Bauer), I still enjoyed seeing the art and the turnout of townspeople.
Sunday saw my final encounter with 2007’s Boneyard Arts Festival, and while the experience was uneventful in itself, it was indicative of the community-joining that I have been trying to emphasize.
After an appointment with my math tutor, I dropped in at Exile On Main St., my favorite record store, to try and catch the end of Ryan Groff’s solo performance there. Unfortunately, I got there after he had finished his set, but he was still chilling inside with several artsy twentysomethings, including Mike Ingram, a local acoustic folk artist (and expert on the local music scene for The Buzz). There’s example No. 5.
The thing of it is, even though I was undeniably disappointed to have missed Ryan’s set, the nature of the situation offered a dignified close to the festival: Even though the main events were over, the artists were still mingling among themselves and among the general shopgoing residents.
And that’s what I think the festival is all about. It’s like throwing a party to help people get aquainted. “Artists, meet Populace. Populace, these are Artists.” And it all goes from there.
Yesterday morning I woke up last minute at 6 and started prepping myself for the long day to come at Six Flags St. Louis on the sophomore class trip.
Class president Isaac Chambers had told us that absolutely no food or drinks would be allowed in the park, so I thought I was being sneaky by bringing some Pop-Tarts and water. When I arrived at Uni a little before 7 a.m., my classmates were gathered just inside the main entrance, girls with hair still wet from showers and students sipping coffee they had picked up from Espresso Royale.
Nobody seemed fully awake, except perhaps Kareem Sayegh, whose energy seems limitless. Assistant Director Sue Kovacs checked in students right at 7 and we were handed our tickets. Unfortunately the tickets were really wide, so they didn’t fit properly into a wallet.
Kovacs also distributed her cell-phone number among students, since we were required to check in via cell phone at two-hour intervals, warning us nonetheless that making prank calls would be of no benefit since she had a list of the entire class’s cell-phone numbers sitting right in front of her.
We were required to take two turtle vans and one minivan to the park. Personally I would’ve preferred a regular bus considering there were no bathrooms on the turtle buses. And when it started to reach 10:30 the vans got hot, and even though we turned on the air conditioning, on occasion the cool air would turn into blasting hot air and made everyone even more uncomfortable than they already were. But on the bright side, there were movies we could watch.
Once at the park we all gave our tickets to the person at the front and were forced to have our bags checked and walk through metal detectors. It wasn’t exactly a thorough process, though, considering they didn’t even ask me to have my bag checked or anything. Immediately into the park there were official Six Flags photographers who kept telling everyone how gorgeous they were and how we needed our pictures taken.
Considering it was opening day, we had expected there to be insane lines, but fortunately nothing was that bad. The water park was closed, and there was a cheer competition, so there were plenty of halter-topped cheerleaders wandering around the park.
I stayed with a group of friends and went on almost every ride possible. Even though none of us was that scared of the roller coasters, we all screamed nonetheless.
There was one ride called XCalibur, which wasn’t a roller coaster, but basically you got into these seats and they tipped them backwards so you faced the sky. The ride started spinning you really fast. Then you slowly got flipped over so you were facing straight down to the ground while spinning.
Anyway, right when we were getting in our row of seats this giant wasp came into our compartment and caused me and all my friends to go ballistic. The people watching us from the line thought we were crazy since the ride hadn’t even started yet, and the guy in charge of operating the ride just shook his head at us.
The worst line by far was the line for pizza. I expected the lines would be crazy and the food would be overpriced. But $7 for a slice of pizza? And I waited over an hour for one slice. They served you cafeteria style, so you got your food and then went to check out and pay. Lots of people got two slices of pizza and would finish one slice by the time they had to pay, so they only had to pay for one slice. It was very inefficient.
One of the best rides was the water-raft ride. There was some mom in front of us who snapped and yelled at us when she thought we were going to cut her. But that was all right. Twelve of us sat in this raft and got soaking wet. Lor Sligar got so soaked she got up and moved to the middle of the ride to prevent from getting even more wet.
And for some reason they wouldn’t let us wear our swimsuits on that ride either, so our clothes were drenched. We went under a waterfall and almost ran into a hissing goose that was living on the side of the water.
The most thrilling ride was probably Mr. Freeze. I had never been on it, and not many people were willing to go with me. Sheri Grill had told me her mom had blacked out on it, and after about an hour and a half of waiting in line this girl in the car in front of us said her seatbelt wouldn’t work. The bar that’s supposed to come down over your legs wouldn’t stay down for her. All I could think was that if I were her, I wouldn’t have stayed on, but they told her they had fixed it and so she stayed.
Isaac, Alan Liang, Laura Voitik, and I all went on the same ride (but Alan and Isaac were more brave, and sat toward the front). The ride only lasted about 35 seconds, but going up that 90-degree lift and then going backwards was thrilling enough.
Considering the horrible lines we had to experience for lunch, most people decided to skip out on dinner and wasted their money on things like automatic foot massages and winning stuffed animals from park games. When it was time to go, people met back at the front of the park wearing pink Batman capes and getting a few last pictures with the attractive Wonderwoman.
On the way home everyone slept, watched the movie playing, or played with their cell phones. We stopped at a couple of gas stations to pick up cheap candy and at McDonald’s, and around 10 p.m. we made a rest stop where everyone got out and played at the highway park.
Although it was incredibly fun, I was just happy to be home, and if I hadn’t given some of my brother’s friends rides home I would’ve undoubtedly fallen asleep in the car. I hope our class gets to do something like this again soon.
I just got back from the sophomores’ Six Flags class trip, and it was quite really fun. Hats off to Isaac Chambers for organizing this event, and also to the faculty and parents who helped make this trip possible.
Let me get this out of the way first: Really the only thing that wasn’t so good about this trip was that I didn’t get any good pictures. I just didn’t feel like taking pictures as much as I usually do today; maybe it was because it was inconvenient in the park for me to have to take out my camera, turn it on, and everything. Anyway, as a result of this, I don’t have very many pictures to share.
It took a little over three hours just to get to Eureka, Mo., where SFSL is located. Lucky, the 30 or so of us traveled in Turtle Top vehicles, which are equipped with DVD players so that we could watch movies like “The Devil Wears Prada” (which, contrary to what some people have told me, isn’t that bad of a film).
Once we were inside the park and Assistant Director Sue Kovacs did roll call, we split into groups and were basically on our own for the rest of the day. The first thing I went on was “Batman: The Ride,” a rather intense one for someone like me who has never been on a roller coaster before (but I have been on equivalently thrilling rides, so I guess I didn’t miss out too much before today).
(After this picture, I sorta just tucked my camera away for most of the day, so you won’t be seeing any more pictures in this post.)
I waited in the somewhat longer line for the first car, hoping to film the ride with my digital camera’s movie mode. Unfortunately, I later discovered that cameras aren’t allowed on the ride — but how did this guy get his footage, then? I thought to myself.
After the ride, I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t feel nauseous, disoriented, or physically uncomfortable at all, and I proceeded to “The Ninja” with little hesitation. It was a much less physically demanding, but still quite thrilling (and, of course, fun) nevertheless.
The last roller coaster I dared to experience before lunch was “The Boss,” which didn’t feature any inversions but compensated for the intensity loss with sharp turns and steep drops. The ride lasted approximately two and a half minutes, which was noticeably longer than the previous ones.
After lunch (which took over an hour due to tremendously long lines), I went on the “Screamin’ Eagle,” the least intense roller coaster of all the ones I rode today. The reduced intenseness is evident in the fact that riders only need to be at least 42 inches tall to ride the Eagle, whereas the three previous ones required riders to be at least 48 inches tall.
The last roller coaster of the day for me was “Mr. Freeze”, my pick for the park’s most intense one. The entire ride lasts only about half a minute (and I waited nearly an hour in line for it!), but it features 180-degree inversions and a maximum speed of 70 miles an hour. Fortunately, even with the Sprite I was drinking just before the ride, it didn’t make me feel nauseous or anything. (And keep in mind that this is from a guy who never experienced a roller coaster before today ….)
After that, a 90-minute wait finally got me on “Superman: Tower of Power,” a 230-foot free-fall. Then came dinner, and finally, a short wait led to “Thunder River,” a river-rafting ride where my clothes basically got completely soaked … and if it weren’t for the extra room in my camera case, my cell phone would’ve gotten drenched as well. A guy sitting next to me also had a cell phone, but not in a protective case — fortunately for him, it still worked. He joked that if it didn’t, he would sue Six Flags.
At 6:45, all of us met up at the entrance, and we left shortly afterward. Despite listening to music at a reasonably loud volume on my MP3 player, I fell asleep for about a half-hour on the way back home — woken up by the stop to the rest area, where I wanted to get something to eat but wasn’t able to since the vending machines wouldn’t take my water-soaked dollar bills.
Luckily, there was stuff that I could eat back at home.
In short, this Six Flags trip was truly awesome — everyone in our class should’ve come, not just half the class. The waiting in line for rides, however, wasn’t all that exciting, especially when it’s hot out (as it was for most of the day today). If there’s one tip I can offer for future Six Flags visitors, it’s this: Get a “Flash Pass” to bypass long lines at certain rides. Unless you want to spend literally half your day at the park waiting in a queue with essentially nothing to do, a Flash Pass is definitely worth it.
I leave you with these videos of the aforementioned roller coaster rides.
On Tuesday at 8 p.m. Eastern time, as reported in The New York Times, 5 million Blackberry users were cut off from their precious handheld wireless e-mail devices. After living in agony waiting for service to be restored, they saw their Blackberrys came back to life after 10 hours.
The responses that I’ve read to this blackout from many avid users are indicative of the fact that we as a technology-driven population are hopeless without our cell phones, laptops, and Palm Pilots. I know that I almost never leave the house without my cell phone and am at a complete loss when I do.
The result of this manic obsession with wireless communication, however, I think is less than healthy. At the office, instead of speaking with a colleague face-to-face, send them an e-mail. Sitting at home, don’t bother calling your friend to come hang out with you, just get on AIM and send them a message. Need plans for tonight? Use Facebook or MySpace to get in touch with people — the perks of social networking are endless!
We no longer value or spend the time to actually communicate with the people closest to us, and the toll this takes on the quality of our relationships is tremendous. The double-edged sword of wireless communication is finally getting to me, and it’s sharper than I imagined it to be.
So recently I find a brief article that I couldn’t believe. Apparently, a woman driver registered a .47 blood-alcohol level after she crashed and was arrested.
What is amazing is that no one was injured in the car crash even though Deana F. Jarrett was almost six times above the legal limit of .08 in the state of Washington. That might possibly be a new record in Washington. No one since 1998 even came close. Sadly, that is not the type of record you want to set.
A few days earlier, I heard on the radio that a German truck driver crashed after he decided to cook sausage while driving. What is even funnier, or should I say incredible, is that he was intoxicated as well. Germany is all about beer and sausage. Good stuff — just not when you’re driving.
I can’t decide which story is better: the one with the wasted woman (who was 54) or the one with the hungry German. Oh yeah, did I mention that I have heard a story about a girl doing her makeup while driving? That one is pretty good too.
You would think that driving is a simple task, right? After all, you have taken a class and practiced hours and hours. It shouldn’t be hard to avoid accidents if you follow the rules. But time after time, I hear more shocking stories about what people manage to do while driving.
What I am trying to say is that we should all do our part and keep the road safe. Don’t do anything insane and please, please use common sense. I really don’t want to see your name in the news next for crazy driving.
Recently we got a new TV. With it came a remote. Then we decided we needed a new receiver and a DVD player because our old ones weren’t good enough. Both of them came with their own respective remotes.
I am not one who loves technology. Although I must admit our new TV looks pretty cool, I really didn’t want to have to remember which remote belongs to which appliance. And so for a couple weeks I relied on my brother to start up movies.
But eventually I learned, and I no longer needed my brother’s assistance. However, he still had to help the other members of my family, even after we had had the TV for a few months. Now that I had the remotes all figured out I didn’t understand what was so hard about them.
But then I came upon an article that said that some people have the talent to prevent themselves from learning tasks they don’t want to. I thought this explained a lot. For example, I now understood how some people in my acquaintance have always managed to get out of doing simple chores. All one has to do is to ask so many questions, someone else does the unwanted task out of exasperation.
So really, the case might be that my family just doesn’t want to know how to tell the remotes apart. It is, after all, easier to let someone else do it for you. Or maybe my family is just an expert at being willfully incompetent.
I have a complicated relationship with computers. On the one hand, I can’t live without them: How would I write papers? Check my e-mail? Talk on AIM? Use Myspace/Facebook (although I really haven’t, lately)?
But on the other hand, I live in constant fear of a computer crash. I have so many important things on my computer: hundreds of pictures, all of my music, stories, and poetry and papers that I’ve written for fun and/or for school.
I am most paranoid about my pictures. Pictures contain memories; if I lose pictures, I risk losing memories. Which is simply unthinkable. And this is where photobucket.com steps in.
I have taken to uploading absolutely everything onto photobucket. It doesn’t matter if the pictures are crap. Online they go. Family vacations, photos I’ve taken just for fun, Myspace/Facebook pictures, photos stolen from other peoples’ albums on Facebook … I steal them all.
Now all I have to do is pray and hope that photobucket never crashes, and my pictures will be forever safe.
On the downside, though, I spend hours uploading things. I have such a backlog of pictures that I wonder if I will ever get through them all. And I must get through them all. I hate nothing more than incomplete albums on photobucket (of which I now have three).
But there are just so many pictures.
No matter. As long as there are pictures to be uploaded, photobucket will be my best friend. And after I get through the ones on my computer, I’ve still got baby pictures to tackle. Those will take even longer, considering that I’ll have to scan all of them in.
Every morning there is always an exhausted student taking a dreamy nap during first-hour U.S. History. I don’t blame them. With all the homework we get (it is a known fact that some teachers blatantly ignore the 30-minute-a-night rule), plus extracurriculars, some students have only a few hours of shut-eye every night.
What I simply don’t understand is why such sleep-deprived students willingly subject themselves to homework torture.
History teacher Bill Sutton always tells students to take a stand. Talk to the teacher, see if he or she will understand that the class has a lot going on and will have trouble meeting a deadline. If the teacher isn’t willing to compromise, simply ensure that no one turns in the work.
I completely agree, especially since I’ve had firsthand experience protesting a deadline with an entire class.
Though this “protest” was in Steve Rayburn’s Asian American Literature class, which is a laid-back class with an even more laid-back teacher, it did work. (Granted there wasn’t much at stake since Mr. Rayburn usually doesn’t take off points for late assignments, and futhermore, Mr. Rayburn was the person who suggested that we band together and turn in our papers late.)
So, we all decided that we would turn in the research paper originally due on Friday on Monday.
But I’m guessing the tricky thing about staging any of these protests is that there will be more than a few strike breakers. Even in our Asian American Literature class there was one student who decided to turn in his/her paper on Friday, though they knew full and well that there would be little to no consequences.
However, I would fully support all students in a protest for shorter homework hours in any class. It is not impossible. All it will take is a little organization and a lot of earnest commitment. The power of the pack is greater than we all think.
While listening to Def Leppard and reading Sarah’s column this morning, it hit me: the ultimate way to avoid college application stress. With my method in hand, I am officially prepared to avoid stressing out about where I’m going to go to college.
How do I plan to achieve this, you ask? It’s actually quite simple. I just decided that I really, really don’t care. Why should I care about whether or not some magazine calls such-and-such school the best ever? For all I know, the people who write US News & World Report are on drugs and just randomly put down colleges and call them “the best.”
While complete apathy isn’t really an option, I’m going to come as close to it as possible. Am I going to take 30 APs? Forget about it. Apply to 18 schools, maybe? Nope. Not for me.
While I do plan on applying to around 12 colleges, I only know of one that is considered “prestigious” that I’m going to apply to (University of Virginia), and I’m not going to bother with Ivy League schools. I used to want to apply to Yale, but that has long since passed. The more I thought about my visit, the less I actually thought I could see myself there.
So here’s what I think everybody should do until we get accepted to college: find a certain amount of time every week when we can be completely apathetic and not care about anything. And I mean ANYTHING! Complete absence of thought is good for recharging the body and mind. We should practice it more often.
Above artists: Hilario Lopez (top), Nicholas Bryson.
Above, clockwise from top left: “Marvin,” “Miles,” “Bob,” and “Ray” all by Christopher A. Garner I.
Above: acrylics by Alex Garcia.
Above: Patrons enjoy coffee and art at Kopi.
Above: Watercolors adorn the walls of Aroma Café.
Above: “Light’s Descent” by Shoshannah Bauer.
In short, this Six Flags trip was truly awesome — everyone in our class should’ve come, not just half the class. The waiting in line for rides, however, wasn’t all that exciting, especially when it’s hot out (as it was for most of the day today). If there’s one tip I can offer for future Six Flags visitors, it’s this: Get a “Flash Pass” to bypass long lines at certain rides. Unless you want to spend literally half your day at the park waiting in a queue with essentially nothing to do, a Flash Pass is definitely worth it.