The Chicago kid has been a part of the scene (the real one that actually mattered) since the early ‘90s, when many of us were just starting to wonder what this different music was, after we had been inundated with Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Ace of Base. He also probably remembers the first Bush, and most likely had a breakdown when Fox News announced that the new man in charge of the Free World was a Texas dumbass. I’m hoping that he wasn’t watching Fox, though.

In talking with Kinsella, I realized that he was more than just your run-of-the-mill starving artist. He’s well-read, intellectual, and has a sharp political and humanitarian mind. There’s a certain amount of due respect to go with his constant pursuit of musical endeavors, and continued hunger for new ideas.

Make Believe, with a roster filled out by Sam Zurick on guitars, Nate Kinsella on drums and Bobby Burg on bass, will release their debut full length on Flameshovel Records on October 4th.

1) First, let’s talk about Make Believe. How did the band form, and what goals did you have in mind?

Make Believe evolved out of Joan of Arc’s touring line-up from 2003. We were playing every night for 3 months, and the songs were getting louder and more wild every night and it was a lot of fun. So we decided to pursue writing songs as a unit when we got home—playing music as a unit was already happening, but writing songs as a unit was not. Three out of the four of us lived in the same warehouse space where music was always being played at the time, so it was pretty easy to coordinate.

My brother Mike and Ryan Rapsys were both in early versions of the band, but neither was down with the practice schedule the rest of us imagined—i.e. constantly. Bobby moved back to Chicago from New York to do it. We really just wanted to be a live, rock band, something Joan of Arc had been slowly slipping away from more and more for years.

2) When Make Believe first hit the road, you were playing basement shows (and maybe you still are, now and then). What is it like for you to go back to that kind of atmosphere? Did some pretty nice kids along the way take you in?

I don’t feel as if we’ve ever gotten too far away from that, so it wasn’t much of an effort to return to anything, if we were in fact returning anywhere and not just still somewhere. It wasn’t any romantic, nostalgic thing for us, it was just the only way we knew how to start a band that made sense.

Me and Sam had been a part of a couple different things in the past that had recorded and released records before playing our first shows, and we knew we didn’t want to do that all, and we knew that no one else was gonna help us. So really the only decision we ever made was ‘let’s play constantly,’ and beyond that everything just sort of lined up as it could or had to without much discussion as to specifics of the inevitable at first.

As for meeting a few nice kids, of course it would be impossible not to meet a few. But I’m an old man now (relative to our audiences) and this scene we operate within. So I meet less and less people that I can really relate to. But the people I meet that I can relate to I can relate to better than anyone I may meet under any other circumstances.

3) You’ve been, to this point, an extremely prolific writer. What releases do you think have been the strongest, or that you’re most proud of?

I couldn’t really answer that. I have impressions of how each record has come together and each one has its own frustrations and limitations to confront. But I certainly don’t care for one more than another because of the frustrations one had and the other didn’t.

For example, my mom says I was a totally silent and catatonic infant and Mike was screaming non-stop. But that doesn’t mean my mom loves Mike less just because he was more of a pain as a pip-squeak. Perhaps even the opposite might be a little true because more work had to go into it.

If this is the case, then my favorite record I’ve been a part of would be The Gap. Poor The Gap, she needed such an impossible amount of love and attention to come together but she was like an affection-black hole—just swallowing and disappearing whatever love she was given, but never really getting any more nourishment from it; but instead just getting more difficult and distanced every day.

But really I’d be the least qualified human on earth to have the right to have any opinion on the relative effectiveness of each record. I haven’t heard any of them except the new Make Believe record in a long time, so I don’t really know what any of them sound like.

And honestly I’m not particularly ‘proud’ of any of them in any sense beyond how a snail might be proud of its slime tracks. At best, with any of them, I’ve expressed my ideas as best I could within whatever the specific context is. Realizing that ambition should be just a matter of focus and attention—really no great feat to achieve.

I think beyond that, the weird stuff people get proud about regarding their bands seems more often to be pride about how many people know their band than pride about the music itself. That is slimy and unpleasant to be around in my experience because most often when people get like that, they fail to recognize what failures they actually are by their own standards they’ve established. Like if that’s what it’s about then Limp Bizkit or 311 or whatever really are the coolest. Music has so many humans that are so creepy!

In the way my brain is hard-wired, any pride seeping into the music will corrupt that too. All the most expressive music I feel is done with the exact opposite attitude, with humility. Do you think Jimi Hendrix played like that and was thinking the whole time, “I am the Shit! No one can touch me!”? I don’t think he could’ve played like he did if that was his attitude. He was devotedly humble. Of course there is the ancient Buddhist mirror maze garden we are approaching about one getting proud of how humble they are, etc., but this answer has gone on long enough!

4) What brought on the creation of Owls? Despite what some may think, I believe it was very different from many other projects you were involved in. Was there something that you weren’t finding in other projects that Owls provided?

Owls started specifically to play a memorial show and benefit for a friend of ours that had passed away at I guess 22 years old maybe. Even though I knew it at the time, the older I get, the younger and younger that seems to me to die.

Joan of Arc couldn’t do it and we’d all been hanging around together a little bit for the first time in years. A Cap’n Jazz reunion was suggested and Owls was, I guess, our mutant version of that idea.

We wrote all the songs that would later be on the record in one week of intense practices for that show. Of course they were tweaked a bit before recording, but we basically wrote 95% of everything we’d ever come up with as a band in the first week we existed. We played the one show, recorded the record and then tried to cling to the band for dear life for 2 impossibly frustrating years.

The only variation in approach Owls really brought at the time was a more live band [approach to] songwriting. Really the best part of being in that band was just learning the lesson of how bad things could really get if you hold on too tight and refuse to just walk away from a bad situation. I’m getting a stomach-ache right now even thinking about having been in that band.

5) Looking back on Cap’n Jazz, which was arguably a foundation for much of today’s independent bands, what was it like to be “different” from what the alternative “norm” was? What kind of feedback did you get at the time?

We were pretty immersed in our little scenes. We had our friends from high school and then we had the small local punk scene and the small national network of these emo bands, the heart attack scene, etc. so we never felt that different ourselves. It was more a matter of being a part of something different, these communities that at least seemed to be about something else than the dominant culture. There was very little daring on our part; we were protected by this network. Every punk band in Chicago knew each other, every emo band everywhere knew each other, so really in a lot of ways, we were trying to fit in just as much as we were trying to be different.

Conformity to a small community shaped us just as much as rejection of the rest of the world did. But we really weren’t much different than a lot of the bands at the time. We were mostly just trying to sound like Gauge and they were mostly just trying to sound like Fugazi.

6) What are you working on now? What can we expect from Joan of Arc?

I’m quite consciously taking my time and working on things in the most casual manner possible for the first time in my life. I’m hoping this will allow various projects to all find their own form over time. There’s still the same urgency I’ve always felt regarding making things, but diversifying a bit and having been through it a little bit by now, I am beginning to have a better sense of how I work best and what seems interesting to pursue at different times.

There will probably be another Make Believe record before another proper, fully flushed out Joan of Arc record. Joan of Arc and Pit er Pat will be splitting the soundtrack to a documentary my wife is making that myself and Rob from Pit er Pat helped her shoot a while ago. It’s called Ladies and Gentlemen and hopefully that will all finally be wrapped up by spring.

I’ve mostly been spending a lot of time writing in a lot of different ways to a lot of different ends and I’m enjoying it very much. It’s always been important to me to feel like I could feel fine walking away from playing music at any time. This is as true as it ever has been, and even though we continue making plans and continue working, if I don’t play another show, write another song, or put out another record for the next 10 years or the rest of my life, I’ll feel fine about it.

7) Who has influenced your style of writing? How has working with your equally talented brother affected your writing process?

I have some favorite songwriters lyrically; Daniel Higgs, Will Oldham, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, but I don’t really know how much what I end up writing is affected by them. I more appreciate that some of them have perhaps shaped models that I now have to reference as head starts of my own model I must shape to live within.

And I have favorite writers; Rilke, Rumi, Alan Watts, Kenneth Patchen, and Norman Mailer pop out at first to me this morning, but they too are more just people I enjoy returning to than people that I feel I aspire to write like.
If anything, I feel most influenced perhaps by Gore Vidal, Bill Moyers, and Noam Chomsky on the one hand, and David Icke and Alex Jones on the other. It’s hard not to get hung up on what these people have to say these days.

I truly feel so alienated by our current cultural and political environment that it has made me question my entire cosmology. And this in turn has made me recognize the beauty in things with a more keen eye and sense of wonder.
I can really only see darker days ahead, with the end of cheap oil and the attempted global domination by fundamentalist Christians. These prospects seem so scary to me that I become forced to re-evaluate everything I grew up being taught and later assuming life was somehow about. Detachment and withdrawal seem the easiest options and hope and engagement are really tough, but the most vital qualities to retain. Holding on to these and maintaining my balance are probably the greatest influences on my writing. Making something musical out of the dreaded news has perhaps been my greatest ambition.

And as for my brother, Mike, he and my cousin Nate are both infinitely better musicians than I could ever even aspire to be. They are both able to pick up any instrument and play any song they’ve ever heard on it immediately and pull melodies out of the air like shooting fish in a barrel. Between them and Sam, most of the structuring of everything I’ve been a part of has been made possible and realized. And I think realization is probably the greatest effect anything could have on one’s process.

Some people enjoy thinking about why they are angry and resolving issues buried deep in their brains. I prefer to simply punch someone in the nose. It is the easiest way to make them shut up. To make them stop with their ramblings or angry diatribes. It is my favorite way to pass my time, this imagining of bloody noses and black eyes. Jeremy has been my bane for nearly three days now and I am in a perpetual state of envisioning his face as a pulpy version of what it is now: pudgy, pale, and wrinkled with pseudo deep thoughts. I don't want to discuss with him why he is making no sense or how he is regurgitating a line from a news article as his own thoughts. I would rather simply reach across the room and crack a good one against his jaw, maybe causing the bone to jut out in a nasty direction.

I like the lines bones make; I like the hard lines. They make terrific smashing, crunching sounds when they come across pressure, the same way my own brain makes when it comes against it's own troubles. Skin and muscle and fat surround and protect valuable bone, which is sharper and gleams white once you get all the blood off. Bone is not eternal, but you can find it for millions of years if you leave it the right way. Skin withers off and pretty soon, we all look the same. Like punching. Doesn't matter who you punch, the right angle, the right amount of force, and you are cracking that bone. You are breaking something inside of them that words can never quite get through. A red neck or a wall street asshole: you can break them both if you know how to do it.

Sometimes, although I like the way words feel in my mouth or in my head, they don't feel as good as a fist in your fingers. The roll up of lanky fingers into a tight fist, held together by knuckle is beautiful. It is harsh and tough and yet fluid. My body, any body, can be graceful in the way it tightens and readies for the fight. I can feel my body twitch as my muscles tense up and my bones become guarded against attack themselves. That adrenaline you feel is tough and you build it up, dancing back and forth and rolling hips and bucking shoulders. You get ready to move. To box is to be a well constructed dancer and to be ready to shimmy from one move to the next, pouncing on whatever you can pounce on; hungry for the win and for the way it all feels when you can hold something fragile in your grip.

When I get ready to go, my back feels like it has wings the way my shoulder blades flex and move, warming up to make sure my arms can move fast enough to get the first good jab in, or to block a good swing. But they are never very good, those swings coming at me. They are pathetic and weak. The other side never knows how to hit; they know the moves or the angles, but they never know what it is like to love the fight. To love the feel of soft, hard, crack. It is mere sounds assaulting ears and skin. And that is the amazing part. The sounds you can feel. The way it can shoot through your entire body and warp you into believing you are god.

When you hit, suddenly your opinion matters and I like that. I get the need to win wars, because sometimes, sometimes it is just so frustrating when they won't listen. When they cannot hear the reason you are directing towards them. When all they can hear is you smashing your bones into their bones.

So I am now imagining this boy's face at the mercy of what my hands can do. And I am studying the way my thin finger bones move across the arm of the chair and how they meld into round knuckles and how my skin is soft but you can see the calluses where I have hit things before, namely walls and doors but also noses, cheekbones, shoulders, backs, and chests. I once learned that to hit people in the kidney was to win a fight because no one could recover from that very quickly. And so I hit people there too, although that tends not to hurt my hand or leave a mark. I study and remember and I feel like Jeremy doesn't stand a chance. I feel like his voice is only getting higher and more obnoxious and filled less with thoughts and more with a ransom note of ct and paste words. He is meaningless and so really, I reason, hitting him would be like hitting a snooze button. And who would blame me? We all roll our eyes and say nasty words later, but on he here and now, no one is even talking. I want my fist to talk for me. For my body to move in the way words can never move. Because they say the pen is mightier than the sword, but it can never feel this way.

Don’t panic just yet. This does NOT make you a pervert.

It’s come to my attention that a great number of people have a grand misconception of what BDSM truly is, no thanks to some persistent social folkways and now, as of the end of September, the FBI. “According to an electronic memo from FBI headquarters, established legal precedents indicate that conviction is most likely in cases where the content [in pornography] ‘includes bestiality, urination, defecation, as well as sadistic and masochistic behavior.’” Be aware that this all involves consenting adults, except for in the case of bestiality where the animals don’t have the ability to consent.

When people hear that acronym BDSM, or words associated with it (“sadistic” and “masochistic”) they’ll think of some very dark things like serial killers or beaten victims in chains. These are very incorrect visions of what the true BDSM subculture is about.

BDSM stands, roughly, for Bondage, Dominance, and SadoMasochism. Yes, I realize that spelling it out only makes it sound more criminal. Bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism are scary words, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the acts behind those words are scary, or illegal for that matter.

If you have ever used handcuffs or a blindfold or even role played then you, my friend, are practicing the basics of light bondage and dominance (as well as some of the politicians in office right now). BDSM is about positive sensation (physical and emotional), trust and equality. The objective is that you and your partner both receive maximum satisfaction, not to harm or to be harmed, which is the common misconception that most people get.

Let’s start with using the blindfold as a beginning example. When you’re blindfolded your other senses become stronger, most importantly your sense of touch. Simple touches become more intense and your body becomes more responsive, especially towards pleasure and pain reception.

That’s the point. It’s about giving and receiving positive sensations.

One person’s pain is another person’s pleasure, and that’s a key element for BDSM. For another example, some people like to be spanked because they find it stimulating, not painful, depending on the degree of pressure behind the slap. The pleasurable sensation is so teasingly close to where you want the most attention. For some people to be spanked is a sheer thrill, not a degrading punishment.
Now comes the toys. This is where a common person’s perception of whips, chains, and nipple clamps comes into play. Scary toys, I know, but again, it all has to do with each individual’s perception of pain and pleasure, and to what degree their partner will use with these tools. Some people might enjoy being whipped until they are covered in welts and some people might only be able to stand nothing more than a few light taps. It varies from person to person and there’s nothing wrong with that as long as everyone is willfully consenting. (It’s wrong if you’re being pressured into it, like say your boyfriend or girlfriend says he or she will leave you if you don’t try. If that’s the case you’ve got some larger problems in your relationship and you’re reading the wrong sort of article.)
Now, after understanding how sensation plays in the BDSM world there are still some parts that can throw people off. This is usually a fetish. A fetish is any object which has sexual connotations for a person. Some of the more bizarre ones are what will throw people –and the government- off. I’m sure some of you are thinking of something you’ve seen or heard, be it scat (feces fetish) or painful sounding fetishes such as whipping or flogging. Once again, one person’s pain is another’s pleasure.

There is nothing wrong with having a fetish (although it’s perfectly ok to be disgusted by some. Scat is not a turn on for me, personally). Actually, I find it unhealthy for a person to have no fetish at all. Lacking a fetish makes me worry for two reasons. One, you have a fetish so morally unacceptable that you’re too ashamed to say what it is, be it a fetish for small children, animals, corpses or whatever else sounds perverted totally socially unacceptable in any culture. Or two, you have a very strong fear of sex and of feeling aroused in general, which I do not find too healthy for one’s mental state or social life.

Besides, views on sexual behavior, like everything else in society, changes over time. For example, did you know that today more heterosexual couples practice and enjoy anal sex than homosexual couples? In fact anal sex is something I would encourage upon couples since it involves so much trust, patience, and, most importantly, communication. Communication, as we all know, is dire to successful long-lasting relationship.

I know many people find anal sex disgusting, but it’s perfectly safe and clean when done right, like most fetishes (anal sex is a fetish if that’s what you mostly fantasize about). Then again it annoys me when people refer to anal sex as vile on the grounds that that is where waste comes from, but they forget entirely about oral sex. Waste comes out of there too, you know. Or at least you should know!
Trust is the biggest part of the BDSM world. You probably would never allow yourself to be blindfolded by a person you didn’t trust, let alone be handcuffed. A person in a healthy relationship would never need to be afraid of his or her partner, nor would his or her partner do something to that person without consent. This is true even in BDSM relationships, where there is bondage and rape fantasies a plenty. These are just fantasies that a couple is acting out for sexual gratification. They are not meant to be real or harmful in any way (especially rape fantasies). A healthy couple knows this and understand it, regardless of their sexual interests, be it mainstream sex or hardcore BDSM play.

There is, however, a lot of arousal in knowing that your partner could do whatever s/he wanted to do to you when you’re in a helpless state. And that’s the point. Your “top,” the dominant partner or the one who is doing most of the work, has to be someone you MUST have complete trust in. It’s a bonding experience (no pun intended) that brings a couple closer together. Your partner must know what you do and don’t like, what makes you feel good and what makes you feel uncomfortable, and most importantly, how to exploit and use it to his/her advantage.

Even without the bindings there must be trust. This is where your master/slave or whichever role-playing-game comes into the picture. A top needs to know when his/her partner is enjoying being commanded and when s/he feels insecure or uncomfortable. Some women are aroused by being called degrading names in bed while others are terribly insulted and hurt. It’s up to their partners to know which they prefer.

There has to be as much equality in the relationship as there is trust. Just because a partner is commanding or demanding towards his/her significant other in the bedroom does mean that they are allowed to act that way outside of the bedroom. Either partner, the one doing the acting or the one being acted upon, should be able to call the stops on any situation that that person is uncomfortable with no matter what. One partner should not continue if the other doesn’t want to, nor should that person feel obligated to continue simply because that partner wants to.

Each partner should know what the other likes and doesn’t like, when and where to proceed or not, and what lengths they’re allowed to go with each other. Each must also respect whatever limitations or condition their partner may have. Because one man likes to be verbally humiliated in bed does not give his partner the right to do so in public.

Another misconception about BDSM practitioners is that they are perverts or were sexually abused at some previous point in their life. Neither is true. Many BDSM’ers grow up in normal families and homes. Again, it’s all about a person’s personal interests and kinks. Nor is a BDSM person someone you can easily point out on the street. You probably know a person who is fond of some light whipping or spanking or bondage and you’d never know it, nor would a person know that about you just by looking at you. A pervert is the man in the trench coat in the park who walks up to you and, well, bares it all. That’s something of a violent act or could at least lead to a violent act.

BDSM has NOTHING to do with domestic violence, as some government sponsored groups would have you believe. Domestic violence is one partner abusing the other verbally and/or physically. BDSM is about trust and equality. There is nothing equal in an abusive relationship. A person in a BDSM relationship knows whether or not his/her partner would like to be harmed or not, and will do whatever the partner desires.

This is not the same in an abusive relationship. One partner exhorts more power over the other and is abusive regardless of his or her desires. An abusive partner will hit the other regardless of his or her partner’s feelings. An abusive relationship may always lead to long-lasting injury, which is usually rare in a BDSM relationship.
Finally, some people may not understand BDSM because it is considered unethical, even criminal. There are in fact a few places were consensual SM is considered illegal, and there will be more still if the government keeps wasting its resources on something they never even bothered to do basic research on. Mainly this is because of the lack of understanding in lawmakers between the difference between healthy sexual play and unhealthy sexual play. For example, healthy sexual play is handcuffing your partner to the bed and pleasuring him/her until s/he begs for some kind of sexual release. Unhealthy sexual play is handcuffing a stranger to the bed and harming the stranger while he or she begs to be released. See the difference? The bed and the handcuffs are there, and that’s what some people may see instead of the dissimilarity.

If you’re still confused and think BDSM is sick and twisted, then I will just have to refer you to other, more detailed, sources. I’m not saying you readers should go out this instant and buy a new set of cuffs or get some rope, but I’m simply asking you to understand that there’s nothing wrong about practicing sex a little differently than many people normally would. I don’t personally practice BDSM, but it does intrigue me and I don’t see any reason for it to be shunned. I honestly think it could help many people’s sex lives. Trust, equality, and giving each other maximum positive sensual gratification is what a healthy sex life is all about, after all, and I’m sure many FBI agents are aware of that.

Sources: FBI agents paid to surf for deviant Internet porn
BDSM Archive
Clean Sheets Erotica Magazine: Power Principles

Actually, trying to participate in politics is the only tool that “regular people” have in order to say something about how we would like to live our lives. And this fact doesn’t mean you have to go and support candidates or political decisions at the Parliament’s entrance. It doesn’t mean we have to spend our time trying to talk about matters that we don’t understand. We are involved in politics every time we discuss or argue about something relevant to us. This means that we are invited to think. But sometimes it seems that politicians apparently don’t want us to think. Some people say that limited participation and apathy have a positive impact on democracy. Otherwise, the system wouldn’t work properly or it would be really slow. We don’t know if it’s true or not. But if we have the power to choose our governments, we should be informed of the importance of some of their decisions. They “sold” the nominations to Supreme Court like another episode of political issues (just another story). The right to participate in official political matters is linked to individuals. And this means that even if we didn’t participate in last elections, we still have the power and we would like to be informed about the importance of some “political stories” that will rule our lives during the next 10 or 20 years. It’s not just another political issue. It influences my behavior and the way my life will be ruled. “Taking sides” on politics and thinking about the importance of some issues is the only way to use our power. That’s the only way to control directly our lives. They’re setting the rules of the game and we don’t think about that because politics sucks.
If we have a look of the actual marketing rules, we can understand our buying behavior. Actually, Clotaire Rapaille is one of the most prestigious gurus and marketing researchers. He assure that “people don’t know what they want”, and that’s the way advertisers influence in our behavior. In politics, things go similarly. If you don’t know what you want or what you see… then, someone will decide in behalf of you or someone will tell you what to do. Politics and advertising walk together.
We are talking about they try to sell something as it was washing powder or breakfast cereals, when in fact the product is our own expression of freedom....

The first time we had sex was glorious. The weight of God had lifted from my shoulders. My orgasm was an atom bomb exploding and crashing through my soul and when it was over we lay our sweaty bodies against each other and she clung to me. My eyes rolled back into my head, and in that moment I floated up through her and through my roof and up into the atmosphere. Heavenly opera crescendos erupted from the earth as to applaud my great undertaking. Italian women with beautiful voices filled my ears. I could see our naked bodies from the sky, just like those stories of people who die for split seconds and see themselves – stretched out on a gurney or dead in bed. But, like an adrenaline needle shot to my heart, she whispered that she loved me and the sky caved in. I was born again, pulled down, way back down through heaven, through the clouds and into my bed. She told me she loved me and I told her right back but I was lying through my teeth.

I remember looking up at the little sticky glowing stars clinging to my ceiling, still there from when I was eight years old, and smiling. After that sex, my whole life made sense. I had a stupid grin on my face for two days. I’d drag my feet around town and hear every note of nature. I felt drunk and happy and stupid all the time. Most of the trivial shit that used to bother me horribly was suddenly distant and far away. That sex was bleach my brain needed to start over. My brain and conscience were so clean I would have been content with murder.

Her first I love you was so weird and awkward and soon she said it every night. I felt uncomfortable because I didn’t share her feelings. I was constantly waiting for my heart to finally accept her. I wanted to fall into love like a fever.

Like a Trojan horse, she opened up after a few weeks. Right at that perfect moment, right when I would have grabbed her hand and kissed it and looked her in her blue eyes and said, yes, yes I do, I really love you and I want to be with you forever.

Right then she told me she cut herself and she was living with bipolar disorder, so I said so what? We can work through this and none of that even matters.

Two days later I was walking her to my car, and she was wearing tight Capri pants, the kind that just expose the knee to ankle area, and there I saw my red name sliced into her leg. Not cut or sliced or scratched – carved. Weeks passed and I thought maybe this would blow over, maybe the Depakote would kick in and we could forget about all this. Then I saw her manic side.

Bipolar disorder is generally two extremes; mania and depression. Mania begins with strong euphoria, increased energy, activity, and restlessness. Like cocaine, I was told. In mania, one never stops talking, or stops to think. The first time I saw her manic I thought she was on angel dust.

Soon the mania turned into aggressive and ridiculous behaviors due to the fall from mania to a more sane state of mind. This state is considered the most dangerous because the sufferer knows the depression is coming. This sweet girl turned into the coldest and meanest person I knew. This cycle always concluded with a severe crash. The wilder the mania – the harder the fall. Right when I finally fell in love, I fell back out.

Even though the sex became harder and wilder, every time it was over I would always fiend for that high. My eyes stopped rolling back and I stopped dancing in the clouds and soon my atom bomb culmination felt like firecrackers.

Into my unconscious mind bled all of the disappointing things: the scars, cutting, fighting, screaming, lying, cheating.

I became an expert. I could read the curves of her body. The way she carried herself told me which spectrum end she experienced. Quiet, reserved, shy just screamed depression.
Body language told me a crash would happen… tomorrow. Grabbing me by the dick, ripping off my clothes, pushing me down on the floor and riding me was always mania.

The relationship was a trap. Months had passed and sex was the only thing left. And after sex I was never high, I was empty. I was awkward and uninterested. I constantly had revelations - this girl was in the depths of a disorder, she wanted help and I wanted sex. We didn’t talk about mood stabilizers, we talked dirty. I didn’t help her pick out a new shrink, I helped her pick out lingerie.

A ten degree night in February was one of the worst nights of my life. My band had just finished playing and we were packing up our shit, when I realized she was missing. I soon overhead the crowd saying that some girl had started crying and ran out of the club in hysterics.
“She looked upset,” they murmured.
“She looked like she was going to do something terrible,” they laughed.

My head spun. I dropped the cymbals I was carrying and ran out of there, pushing through the crowd fast into the dead winter night to my van, fighting tears. The windows were fogged and iced up. The door was locked so I started screaming at the top of my frozen lungs. Open the fucking door right now please just open the door oh my god.

I remembered her wild mania that night and I knew she must have crashed and burned. Every door was locked up and she always held my keys while we were on stage. I was afraid of what I would see if I managed to get inside. Exhausting my options, I was left to rip open the broken trunk door. It didn’t budge, so, bracing myself with one foot against a taillight I gritted my teeth and pulled. I pulled for all of the shallow hugs and lies. I gritted my teeth for every ignored call and her dangling razorblade earrings.

Springs popped.

The door sighed as the cracks in the glass spider webbed their way up to my trembling hands. The hinges ripped apart and I heard her muffled crying. I saw her crouched into a ball in the passenger seat, trembling, trying to cut her wrists with a shiny piece of metal, but her hands were too shaky. The metal glistened as I exhaled ice and I just stood there in the cold.

I crawled up to her on my hands and knees and said,
“What are you doing? Please, I love you please don’t do this.”
I delicately opened up her clenched fist and took the shiny thing and put it in my jeans pocket. We didn’t talk the whole ride home.
When we got back I drank vodka straight while she went on the computer. I stood at the doorway and said “this is what I do when I’m depressed.” And she laughed.
I lived for the moments when she laughed.

I truly wanted to help her but I didn’t understand what was going on in her mind.
Our eighteen month anniversary was closing in.
A week later she was in a deep depression. I picked her up and she was quiet and stared out the window. Everytime I started a conversation it would end horribly.

When I dropped her off I said I love you with all of my heart. She stared me in the eyes with the same eyes I fell in love with, except now they were blood red with bitterness, red with hatred.
She told me to shut the fuck up and stop, stop, stop because I didn’t mean it. I stammered and screamed and cursed even after she slammed the door, even after she made her way up the dimly lit walk and was well into her house. I sat there with the headlights dimming, rain pattering on the roof. That sex induced coma was miles away.

I woke up at sunrise the next day to dedicate the rest of it to saving our drowning relationship. I did hours of research on bipolar treatment and medication. I even interviewed all of my old psychology professors from my community college. Dr. Kraut with the white beard, he rubbed his belly and laughed and said this is only going to get worse. I was told that I was at the tip of an endless beginning. He started to tell me why but I stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind me.

I got home, locked the door and created the break up lines in my brain. I paced around like a lunatic in the depths of a drug binge, making James Dean speeches to empty rooms.
Straight vodka. Chain smoking.
I picked up the phone and dialed, sweating.
She answered meekly, “hello?”
I breathed heavily, closed my eyes and said honestly,
“It sounds selfish, but it’s too much stress for me.
“I had some of the best times of my life with you.
“I’ll never forget the way you laugh or the first time I saw your eyes.
“You were the first girl I ever loved and,
“I hope you will meet someone, one day, who always has the right thing to say,
“and can always bring out your smile.”

I hung up and stared at the phone.
I woke up hours later to a dial tone blaring, surrounded by empty beer bottles and my cigarette spotted carpet. My room was foreign, ancient land. Where the fuck did a year and a half of my life go? Ah yes, I had been consumed by a relationship that was so unhealthy, I had deteriorated. I stumbled to the bathroom mirror. Gripping the white sink with both hands, I gazed at a stranger. My skin stretched thin over my bones. My collar bone jutted through my white skin. I coughed up blood into the sink.

I will never let this happen again.

And that’s how it went. I gained a profound respect for disorder. I envied, yet felt happy for my friends with normal girlfriends. But I’d always listen to my friends complain about how insane their relationships were and how wild their girls were because they stayed out late and drank, or broke curfew. Or my friends would say, “hey, man, I really don’t know what to do, this relationship is killing me.” And I’d say yea, uh-huh. I know what you mean.

Once in awhile I’ll see her around. We’ll talk about nothing. Awkward catch-up talk. She’ll catch me looking at her breasts but I’m really reading her curves, for I can still sense the oncoming storm. We talk about our lives and shitty jobs and really never make solid eye contact because she’s looking at her shoes. She still wants to have sex in my van, but I don’t need the weight of God on my shoulders.

The hurricanes that devastated the gulf coast raised a lot of question for America. One of these looks to the future, asking just how much worse will these hurricanes get; and more importantly, are humans making them worse and more frequent every year with global warming.
“Hurricanes gather heat and energy through contact with warm ocean waters. Evaporation from the seawater increases their power.” The hurricanes become most dangerous when they make landfall. The rain and winds can reach destructive speeds and waves can wipe out coastlines.
While global warming has become relatively accepted scientific fact, its links to the creation of hurricanes are under dispute.
“‘We think if the climate in the tropics warms, hurricanes will become more intense,’ said Massachusetts Institute of Technology meteorology professor Kerry A. Emanuel. He added, however, that researchers are not sure whether the warming could cause more hurricanes to develop.’
‘If the tropical ocean temperatures were warmed by about 4 degrees Fahrenheit, then you should start to notice that the hurricanes are more intense,’ said Emanuel, addressing hundreds of emergency management officials gathered for the National Hurricane Conference. ‘Scientists differ widely as to how long it would take tropical water temperatures to rise as much as 4 degrees if global warming continues,’ Emanuel said.
‘The estimates I've seen talk about at least 40 years, maybe 100 years, somewhere in that range.’”

Human global warming might not be the only problem. It is unproven yet but many scientists say were are in a period of global heating, which has little or nothing to do with emissions. They say that this is a natural phenomenon that happens over time. There are periods of cooling as well, which has been tested by looking at tree rings that can date changes of temperature over long periods of time.
So the problem people must face in the near future is how to change this global warming trend that will create more dangerous hurricanes. Steps have been taken to reduce emissions from cars and factories but will it be enough? In the future will there be hurricanes with double the power of Katrina? Hopefully science will give a solution or at least a course of action to keep these destructive forces of nature in check if possible.

Some have argued that the written word is dead. That there are no new stories out there, only the retelling of old. Novels as we know them are a dying breed. For years they have been becoming simpler with less substance but perhaps, more style. Blame it on our fast-paced immediate-satisfaction attitude, but written works have by-and-large become much more action packed, less descriptive. If that is the case, simply putting a fresh spin on Romeo & Juliet, as West Side Story did, is just not enough. And that is where graphic novels come in.

A graphic novel is just what it sounds like, a story told with a combination of pictures and words. As with fiction, it is genre that has many subsets. There is the typical super-hero story, the creative nonfiction, manga, gothic horror, and many others. These are loose classifications at best, as one can easily slip over into another. As you can see, graphic novels are by no means just for children.

MANGA
Among adolescents, manga is more popular now than ever. You can’t go into a bookstore without seeing row after row of books devoted to the Japanese comic book. The most well known titles these days are Pokemon and Dragonball Z. But it all began with Akira, the classic story of a futuristic Tokyo where street gangs fight for turf on their super-fast motorcycles
.

SUPER HERO
This is perhaps the most expected genre, but also one of the most interesting. These deal with your common comic book plots, characters with secret identities and super powers, as well as some of the deeper plot themes. The art styles of this genre are some of the most provocative.

When Marvel or DC comics decide to issue a graphic novel they recruit the best writers and artists that can be found. So even if the idea of reading a story about these kinds of characters puts you off, try them for the artwork. You won’t be disappointed.

The two best examples of this genre that I can think of are Kingdome Come from DC comics and Marvels from Marvel comics. Both titles are illustrated by Alex Ross, one of the best artists in the industry. His paintings are so realistic and yet surreal, because of the surreal content being dealt with. Each one these titles also are told from the perspective of an ordinary citizen observing the actions of those with super-powers. It leads to many provocative ponderings about the relationship between gods and man, between different ethnic groups, etc, etc. Really great reads.

GOTHIC HORROR & FANTASY

This genre deals with both the utterly fantastic, and the fantastic that lurks behind the thin veil of reality. Gothic Horror deals with the human condition and the evil and the evil that they are capable of. This would be akin to a Steven King novel, or any of the TSR fantasy novels.
Neil Gaiman cut his teeth writing various comics for DC. It wasn’t until he was asked to do a mini-series on a long retired character that he really came into his own. The Sandman story is by no means a comic book. It transcends that completely. The story is adult, dealing with life, death, love, and almost anything else you can think of in a unique way. Neil is one of the best writers of the later 20th, early 21st century. His use of language is so concise yet original that it really is something to behold. Authors such as Stephen King have begged to be allowed to write stories for his Sandman universe. He has won numerous awards for the series. I cannot recommend enough any work by Gaiman. Aside from his comic book beginning he has gone on to find success with three bestselling novels, as well as several independent graphic novels. Other titles to look for in this genre are The Crow, Constantine and the Tragic Comedy of Mr. Punch.

CREATIVE NON-FICTION

Not all graphic novels have to deal with the fantastic or the supernatural. They can tell the tales of ordinary people in extraordinary real life situations. Take for example two that have appeared on The New York Times bestseller list, Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi and Maus by Art Speigelman.

Persepolis follows the life of a young girl growing up before and then during the Islamic Revolution of Iran. It depicts some serious scenes, such as torture, bombing, and demonstrations, without being overly graphic. This fits the mood of the book very well. Ms. Satrapi does not want her message to be drowned out because of the images, they are to enhance the story not overshadow it. The running narrative, panel to panel, is interesting and makes the story flow along very smoothly. The art is black and white, a very simplistic approach. This is part of the appeal of the art. Its simplicity allows her to show some of the more gratuitous scenes, without fear of disgusting or driving anyone away.

Maus, on the other hand, deals with the Holocaust. The Nazis are represented by cats, and the Jews, mice. Again it deals in simplistic black and white panels, but does not take away from the horror of the actual experience. Both titles deal passionately with serious issues without making light of the situation.

They are not comic, but through the use of a well-chosen wording, and often times stark imagery, they deal with subjects in a way that makes them accessible to everyone. Anyone-- from a high-school global studies student to a thirty-five year old professional with little leisure time--could not only read these rather quickly, but come away with the same, if not heightened sense, of the gravity of the situation as some one who just finished reading a 300- page book on the subject.

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Over the past ten years, this format has gained popularity tremendously. Hollywood has been making movies based on this genre at a record pace. In the past year we’ve seen movies based on some obvious choices like Spider-Man, Batman, X-Men and the Fantastic Four. These are the obvious ones because they are based on the Super-Hero genre. But there are many others that might surprise you. From Hell, Sin City, A History of Violence, and Constantine are some that you might be surprised to find out are also based on graphic novels.

The graphic novel is an art form like no other. It requires concise language, and appropriate art. This appropriate art could range from simple black and white drawing like those found in Maus and Persepolis, to full blown painted artwork, like those from acclaimed artist, Alex Ross or anywhere in between. So take a break from the tired worn out novel and try something new. College leaves little leisure time, take a break from the studying and the drinking and pick up a graphic novel. You will not be disappointed

TOP 10 RECOMMENDED READING

1. Maus- Art Speigelman
2. The Watchmen- Alan Moore
3. Kingdom Come- Mark Weid
4. The Sandman- Neil Gaiman
5. Sin City- Alan Moore
6. Marvels- Kurt Buseik
7. Ghost World- Daniel Clowes
8. Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth- Chris Ware
9. Persepolis- Marjane Satrapi
10. V for Vendetta- Alan Moore

Carved out of the cover of Mark Haddon’s novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, is the image of an upside-down, dead dog. This eccentric cover creates an eerie, anomalous setting for the murder mystery to come—a murder mystery solved by a child incapable of feeling human emotion.

Christopher Boone—a fifteen-year-old boy suffering from Asperger’s Syndrome, a type of autism— discovers a neighborhood dog lying dead on its side with a pitch fork jabbed through its middle. Being a lover of dogs, Christopher sets out to find the ruthless murderer. He records his investigation in a book of his own, which he calls, “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time”. With Christopher as the narrator, this novel allows the reader to step into the mind of someone who thinks and feels quite differently than the average person. How differently?

Christopher knows all the countries and the capitals in the world, every prime number up to 7,057, and how to calculate complicated math problems just by quickly thinking. In fact, when asked by one of his father’s friends what 251 times 864 is, Christopher writes, “I thought about this and I said, ‘216,864.’ Because it was a really easy sum because you just multiply 864 X 1,000, which is 864,000. Then you divide it by 4, which is 216,000, and that’s 250 X 864. Then you just add another 864 onto it to get 251 X 864. And that’s 216,864” (66). Christopher has a photographic memory and can remember every detail of every picture he sees. He cannot stand to be touched, and he detests certain colors. Haddon describes Christopher as a “character whom if you met him in real life you'd never, ever get inside his head. Yet something magical happens when you write a novel about him. You slip inside his head” (Powells).

In Christopher’s recording of his murder investigation, he begins to use his book as a journal in which he includes his perception on life. The reader feels trapped inside Christopher’s unemotional mind as he tells of his parents’ actions toward him and each other. His parents obviously separated because of the stress Christopher caused them. They resent his birth, yet love him. The reader sees all of this, but Christopher sees his parents as people, simply living. For example, when Christopher’s father loses his patience, he screams, “[. . .] if you do not behave I swear I shall knock the living daylights out of you” (47). Christopher does not get upset; he does not understand anger. Ironically and somewhat eerily, Christopher’s lack of emotion has a powerful way of reaching into the depths of the readers’ emotions. Regarding the novel’s effect on readers, Haddon says, “people have said to me that it's a desperately sad book and they wept most of the way through it” (Powells).

Although the murder mystery is a story in itself, hearing it from Christopher’s autistic mindset creates a whole other dimension. Having worked with autistic children as a young adult, Mark Haddon succeeds in bringing this scary, yet realistic ambience to the story. When describing that he once worked with autistic children, he explains that “they had [autism] much more seriously than Christopher does” (Powells). This novel helps remind the reader that there are autistic children out there exactly like Christopher, who cannot feel emotions. And, there are parents who deal with the difficulties of raising an autistic child like Christopher.

Even more than carrying the reader into a completely different and unfamiliar world, Haddon indirectly proposes thoughtful questions for the reader: Who defines normality? Who says autistic children are worse off than “normal” children? Are they? Are the parents wrong for deserting their autistic child? Can you blame them?

This novel is amazing. The New York Times explains it best when describing this story as “The Sound and the Fury crossed with The Catcher in the Rye and one of Oliver Sack’s real-life stories” (The New York Times). If you are searching for an easy-to-read, yet paranormal, powerful, and profound novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is your choice.

Works Cited

Kakutani, Michiko. “BOOKS OF THE TIMES; Math and Physics? A Cinch. People?
Incomprehensible.” The New York Times, June 2003. October 9, 2005.
.

Weich, Dave. “The Curiously Irresistible Literary Debut of Mark Haddon.” Powells.com,
June 2003. October 9, 2005. .

Once upon a time, ex-members of bands such as Botch, Kill Sadie, and Sharks Keep Moving, formed a new band (well, a few bands, really, but we’re only talking about one of them this week). Let’s not forget, either, that this band also included Blood Brother and Isis producer Matt Bayles.

The band was dubbed “Minus the Bear,” and they debuted with an amazing little EP, entitled This Is What I Know About Being Gigantic, and filled with incredible energy, impressive guitar tapping, and songs about drinking, smoking and ladies. They were a great party band, but not a band you’d hear at the frat house kegger. They had ridiculously catchy songs, but weren’t on MTV. They were extremely technical, but they weren’t a prog or math band. They were just kind of a perfect band; not corrupted, and not conformed to anything anybody was used to.

With two more EP’s and a full length, they continued to deliver catchy tunes with hilarious song titles, and even accrued international fandom. However, over the last two years, they honed their craft and stepped into a new chapter.

On August 23, they released Menos El Oso, an 11-song smooth-sailing record that breaks away from past releases. Instead of a steady diet of guitar taps, guitarist Dave Knudson has changed over to a constant amount of sampling, which brings a more than interesting (I dare say groovy) character to the music. The lyrics are more thematic, the song titles are shorter, and the production is, simply, tight. Some songs, like “El Torrente” or “This Ain’t A Surfin’ Movie,” are almost alien to any accustomed listener, but Minus The Bear still remains.

Also remarkable about the new record is the intricate, yet not overproduced production. Bayles produced an album that is so real that you can even hear the strings being plucked (if you’re wearing some nice headphones), and finds just the perfect combination of levels to come just short of overproduction.

Recently, I was able to engage in a Q & A with Minus the Bear’s guitarist, Dave Knudson. They are about to hit the road in support of the new record, alongside Thunderbirds Are Now!, Heather Duby (who does guest vocals on Menos El Oso), These Arms are Snakes and Criteria.

1. Your old bands would suggest that you’d all be playing a totally different style of music. How did MTB come to agree on a style that would mix not only styles, but decades (i.e. 80s keyboard riffs, 90s dance beats, 00s sampling)?

We all listen to different kinds of music so MTB is really a mash up of our favorite elements. I tend to bring the rock and more recently the bizarre sampling, while Erin (Tate, drums) brings the big fat hip-hop beats, Matt the synth-y atmosphere, Cory (Murchy, bass) brings the rasta flair, and Jake (Snyder, vocals, guitar), well he’s a laid back wordsmith who polishes the turds with a narrative.

2. Minus The Bear has been known as an extremely technical band, but with party sensibility – songs about girls, drinking, smoking, and having sex. However, on Menos el Oso, we see more thematic songs with some serious issues. What brought on this change? Is it permanent?

We got tired of being tagged, “the band with the absurdly funny song titles.” It was all people latched on to and the music was overshadowed. It turned some people off and came up in every single review/article/show preview…And really how much does a band’s song titles want to make you go see them live?

3. Along with different lyrics, there is also a change in the guitar parts. From This Is What I Know… to Highly Refined Pirates, you engaged in an abundant amount of tapping. They Make Beer Commercials Like This had some tapping, but started mixing in some sampling. On the newest album, the tapping is almost absent from the recording, and now all we hear is sampling. Is Minus the Bear re-inventing itself all together?

I’d like to think that we’re constantly re-inventing and updating our sound. As musicians, we would get tired writing the same songs and the same record release after release. It’s a cliché to say it, but it certainly is true. Over the last few years I’ve been really influenced by artists like the Books, Four Tet, and Prefuse 73. Their use of sampled instruments cut up and re-arranged into songs inspired me to sample my own riffs, loop ‘em faster, slower, backwards, whatever, and collage them into “riffs” for the songs. It was an interesting process and was really rewarding. I think subconsciously I was looking for another way to play my instrument and progress the sound of the band without relying on tapping.

4. The new album has some amazing songs, such as “The Fix”, “Drilling”, “The Game Needed Me”, and…well, I like the whole album. What was the songwriting process on this record, and how long did it take?

Well the record was written over the course of about 18 months, but there were long tours and stretches of time in there where we weren’t working on it. The usual songwriting process starts with Erin and myself jamming on riffs that I’ve either been working on, or just going down to the space and seeing what happens. The spur of the moment vibe worked a lot on this record. We’d just go down to the space, hang out, and start playing. Sometimes it was shit, and other times it was great. Normally after the skeleton of the song is worked out the other guys help refine the arrangement and add their own flair to the mix.

5. MTB has worked out a seemingly good mix between recording and touring. What do you hope to accomplish with this fall’s tour, and what are some your future plans in 2006?

We’re hoping to expand our fan base on the upcoming tour. It seems like a lot more people are aware of the band now than even a year ago, so we just want to go out and put on a good show for people. Next year will be a lot more touring; Japan, Europe, and more U.S. dates of course. We’ll be writing constantly when not on the road. It’s what we love to do so why stop, right?

6. What are some of the advantages you experience as a result of using a band member (Matt Bayles) as the man behind the boards?

Matt’s got a handle on what sounds good, how to make our recording budgets work best for us, and how to creatively use the recording environment to our benefit. It’s also nice to have an engineer and producer work for you for free! He’s great at throwing in arrangement ideas and making the songs gel more as “pop” tunes.

7. What are some other projects, if any, is anyone working on? Aren’t one of you a Seattle DJ?

Erin DJs with Steve from These Arms Are Snakes as WP2K. He also plays with Heather Duby from time to time. Cory, Jake, and Erin also play in Onalaska every couple years.

www.minusthebear.com

This is the life of an American student in Costa Rica. It’s like Bio-Dome, but in a real country with real experiences, and no glass door to walk out of when you need a break. Sure, we go to our classes, work with professors, and do whatever else is academically expected of us. But how do we pass the time? This is where the concept of transient friends comes from. The times we have are unforgettable, and that’s what is the worst part of it. When I remember getting lost in the Costa Rican frontier, or remember running away from an irate taxi driver who tried to run me over, I can’t reminisce about it with the people who shared those experiences. Instead, we forget the faces, we forget where they’re from, and we forget any possibility of seeing these people ever again. What’s worse is that in the last weeks of the program, we are strong, energetic friends. Maybe though, that’s because we know it is all ending, so we put forth our best efforts at friendship last. We work hard at friendships and finally wish each other good lives, promise to send pictures that will never be sent, and say “keep in touch” when we’re disconnecting.

Don’t get me wrong, though; this is what we all need. We could’ve all had no friends at all, knowing that they only had a shelf life of three months. I mean, I’m not going on any casual visits across the country to see some of these people, and no one else is either. However, it would’ve been awfully lonely had we not made temporary friends to share some of our greatest experiences with, and even some very embarrassing ones for some. In that case, you’d only want temporary friends to know about John* bringing home a prostitute, Jane* doing ten lines of coke at the beach and subsequently being rushed to the Red Cross at 3am, or even about Robert*, who picked up a prostitute, and didn’t realize the prostitute was a man until his hand was down his/her pants.

I wish I could’ve shared all of my moments with my closest friends. I wish we could talk about these experiences for years to come, but instead, now I am a storyteller. It’s all right, because I’ll never forget these times. I’ll always appreciate a time in my life where I met so many interesting people from Sweden, Norway, the Netherlands, Israel, Germany, England, Ireland, Jamaica, and even a 77-year old lady from my own hometown (oddly enough in Nicaragua), but now I will tell these stories from the middle of the room, instead of in a circle.

To state it simply, this is the lonely life in crowded surroundings. Living for the next phone call, the next night to go out, the next wonderful memory that we’ll all separately take home. It’s not that we’re sad, though. It’s not that I lie in bed second-guessing everything, either. I guess, it’s more of a “too bad”. Too bad that you’re not sharing this with loved ones back home. Too bad that these friendships are over soon. Too bad that you came here alone, and will leave the same way. Sure, we have email addresses, but how quickly do those lines of connection fade? How quickly will we just be happy to hold our significant others back in the states, and get back to the old routine with your best friends?

It’s like an episode of VH1’s “Where Are They Now?” except we don’t be found. We’re not famous. Our only claim is that we made each other’s time in Costa Rica what it was, and there’s something to value about that. There’s something to say about unlikely friendships in a foreign land. We’re all trying to have the best trip, and we’re all helping everyone achieve that. We live in different states and countries, voted for different people, hate or love sororities, and some of us straight up hate each other. But we’re in the same classes, we’re drinking the same liquor and beer, wanting the same great times, and just wanting to be happy. With three months in a sunny Central American country, we just simply don’t have time for anything else, than to just shake hands and make the most of it.

* - not real names

“Francis the Mute” offers a little more melody this time through. On the first track, “Cygnus…Vismund Cygnus”, Mars Volta gives us the first of many stories on the record. With constant time changes and a boggling bass line never ceasing to become old news, Cedric joins the chaos with words that were barely meant to ever be used together. Take “chrome the fetal mirage” as an example. “Cygnus” also contains a good mix of real and processed sounds as well, deepening the dynamics of the song. While the end of the song has expected erroneous effects to round out at about 13 minutes, it stops before it gets too annoying, and leads into the next song.

“The Widow” opens slowly, and becomes loud, skillfully without losing the smooth tempo. Though the song is only three and a half minutes, it still maintains a ballad feel. This is really the part of the album that allows Omar’s guitar skills to shine, while Flea places a flying trumpet harmony behind it all. However, what’s most important is not how these guitar parts are played, but how well they are arranged and mixed together. Again though, after a wonderful ending, the speakers intrude on the listener’s ears with layered, atonal, and inane processor effects, which cut out right as your finger is about to press “TRACK FORWARD”, which leads us to “L’Via L’Viaquez”. To me, this is one of the top songs on “Francis the Mute”, but that could be because I know enough Spanish to enjoy the words. Really though, this song is packed with some great parts. First off, there are two very impressive guitar solos by Frusciante, that not only shred some notes, but have impeccable tone and smoothness. Think of it as a metal solo, but dipped in honey. Secondly, the extent to which Cedric changes the dynamics of his voice are just amazing. He goes from his trademark falsetto to a creepy rasp, a strong soprano, and a light growl, never missing a note, or catching his throat in the change. Added in are a few smooth Latin interludes, as well. But don’t worry, this song is at least 25% in English, so not all is lost on the ears.

In the background of all this, the band also placed a talented string and wind ensemble to round out the sounds and really add depth. However, some parts of the album are quite brassy, which definitely pound home some unforgettable riffs.

But then we’re back at the downfall of the album – too much ambience, filler music, and annoying noise. I mean, three minutes of listening to crickets is a little poor, and listening to the sound of traffic get old pretty quick. This is what’s especially annoying waiting five painful minutes for “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore”. The song itself is a calm strings and acoustic song, primarily. After three loud and energetic songs, the album takes a break while evoking kind of a Pink Floydian vibe. And despite the first five minutes of awfulness, the middle string and trumpet movement is moody, calming, and soft, ending with a reprise of the end of “Cygnus”, which again, has probably the best bass line of the entire album.

“Cassandra Geminni” livens the album back up with a fluttering flute line and drum ‘n’ bass rhythm that melts into a chaotic chorus with, still yet, creative drum progressions and great sing-along vocals: “Now there’s no light, in the darkest of your furthest reaches.” We also hear a bass heavy bridge that is so different from the rest of the song, but fits perfectly anyway, and then moves into a Led Zeppelin-esque breakdown, moving almost to a finale, before lulling back into another grand buildup. I say grand, because it’s about six minutes long! However, the layering of instruments on top of one another keeps pulling the listener in to hear what’s added next, what gets louder, what vocal lines will change, and…how the hell are they going to end this? I mean, considering that the whole song, at this point, has taken three tracks, and we still have five long lines of lyrics left. “Cassandra” definitely and quickly becomes a jam session expanded along six tracks.

A 52-second reprise of “Cygnus” round out the album after all the jamming, wasted time, painfully repetitive riffs, and atonal tomfoolery. However, if one looks at the back of the CD case, there seems to be words to “Francis the Mute”, the title track. Are we supposed to make up our own music for this? No, it’s just another part of the album’s story, which is not the job of this reviewer to decipher.

The Mars Volta’s latest effort has once again impressed many ears with many different skills that the band excels at. There are some unforgettable bass lines, many trademark vocal parts, and some ingenious drum work, along with the solid accompaniment of the ensemble. Still, the excessive use of song interludes that sounded terrible brought down the caliber of an otherwise masterful record. I am indeed a fan of interesting and sometimes odd ideas that aren’t actually songs, but the use on “Francis the Mute” sounded simple and predictable, unlike the actual songs on the album. However, we’d always like to think that good outweighs the bad, so…

…The Final Word: 3.5 out of 5

(1)Nuclearfree.lynx.co.nz/index.htm
(2)pacificviews.org/archives/000637.html
(3)guardian.co.uk/oil/store/0,11319,1402310,00.html
(4)pacificviews.org/archives/000464.html#000464
(5)fpif.org/papers/0410milglob.html

If you were to see the bricks in the street as a whole they look unified and are set in a beautiful pattern. However, every brick is a unique part in the street with cracks and holes and variances in color. It goes for the people of Ithaca. The community is made up of people of diverse backgrounds and lifestyles who have come for different reasons. However, there is a darker side that lies between the cracks of those bricks.

You see weeds that grow naturally from beneath. These weeds can be hard to keep up with, at first you begin to pull them out individually and throw them away. What happens if the weeds grow to big and all over? It causes the overall makeup of the bricks to change. Bricks shift and break and begin to deteriorate. The overall harmony of the brick pattern is disturbed. Bricks that should sit side by side now are further apart. Bricks that are beyond repair are then tossed aside. Overtime neglect can allow the problem to get too large to fix. If a remedy is not found it will cause the whole structure to crumble.

The weeds I am referring to are Prejudice and Discrimination. These are weeds that live in every human garden, in every community. They are weeds that have to be tended to and dealt with to allow the garden to grow and to maintain its structures. Why is it easier to just toss away broken bricks or people rather than deal with the weeds individually? After all we have to start somewhere, one by one tediously picking through the ground. If the goal is the same for each brick, than each brick is of equal worth to another. Or are they?

No, unfortunately they are not. Just as bricks differ in appearance, they differ in resilience and strength. Some brick can withstand the pressure of stress put on it by cars rolling over it day by day. The brick was well made, fired at the right temperature, or just lucky. Same thing goes for our people. Yes, ideally we are all equal and are the same, but yet our resilience, patience, skills all differ. So, therefore, since we don't know which ones are more fragile than others we should decide to just treat them all gently, maintaining their foundation.

Unfortunately,it is part of human nature to go by the rule, if it doesn't appear broken don't fix it. So, since there is no real big problem, just little individual occasions, we rather ignore it. If we continue to neglect and ignore the problem, not only will it pick at the heart of certain individuals, it will creep into the very system we rely and live by.

As a member of the Ithaca community since the age of twelve, this hits home. It is almost certain that I pay attention to incidences of discrimination given I am of mixed origin and am raising my multi-ethnic daughter. I have to know how to prepare her for the harsh reality that we are outcasts to both our worlds. Being mixed we are neither A nor B so we must be C. What makes this more ironic this is nearly all of us face this in life.

We have come up with such classifications as white and black to describe ourselves, because we are so far from our descended cultures. Therefore, we are all mixed and we nearly are all caught up with classifying ourselves based on not just race, but on color, style of dress, music genre, economic status, privilege, handicap and overall appearance, but the list is never ending. Think about it, we think we have figured someone out in the first few minutes, and this can cloud our judgment and how we view them from that point on. It effects how we treat one another. I could mention several instances where pregudice happens in this community. For this purpose, I will include the most recent event that I was indirectly effected by.

Two friends of mine decided to get a bite to eat at a local downtown restaurant. A quiet spot, not very busy and a sign up for all you can eat clams. It seemed perfect. They went in, were seated and ordered the special. A little pricey: but worth the treat. The two fellows enjoyed the company of one another, reminiscing old times as they devoured the tasty clams. They thought to order another set to satisfy their craving. When approached by the owner they were questioned as to how they could buy out all their clams. They were told there were no more clams. Shortly thereafter, a family sitting on the far side of the restaurant was served clams. The two fellows feeling rather disturbed to see this asked the owner why they had served that family the very clams that were said to be all gone. Does it matter who eats the clams first as long as one makes his money at the end of the night? Is what my question would have been.

Over the course of the dinner, the fellows were mistreated by the owner's comments and sarcasm. One fellow wearing an all fatigue outfit was asked if he was a duck hunter and to be careful that around his way he'd get shot. This was definitely an inappropriate and unprofessional way to chat with customers you don't really know.
When the other fellow later mentioned how good the food was and that he thought of recommending his family check the place out, the owner said to call first. Now what was that about? Is that an obvious note that they weren't welcome? When asked what he meant by that, he replied that he had seen his kind in there before and that he knew what those “players” are all about. So not only did he clown them by ridiculing their style of dress, but continued to project a prejudice display. So, since the two fellows of non-Caucasian decent had enough money to splurge on expensive clams, they must be “players”, hustlers, and drug dealers. And since they dress in fatigues and large baggy clothing they must be no good “gangsters”. So, it seems his pre-judgments clouded his whole professional manner. After all he has a responsibility as an owner of a public place to keep up on his public relations. It isn't good for the community, or for his business.

The obvious question is, how was this matter dealt with? After much debate between both parties, the police were called in to mediate. And this is where we see how prejudice has seeped within our system. The first police officer to arrive did not do his job appropriately. The officer headed directly to the owner, by passing the other party involved and prompted to request how the owner wished to proceed. Not objective at all. Fortunately, two other officers answered the call as well, and objectively dealt with the matter. The other two officers told the first officer that he was not a team player,since he was playing devil's advocate and questioning their role and participation.
What is most interesting is, even the officers involved had issues with one another. IT is ironic that the three officeres were of African American decent. This is an issue that stares them all in the face each morning. That probably explains why they too lack unity. The fact is that these officers have the toughest job. They are discriminated against and prejudged even among their colleges. They work with the system looking over their shoulder, watching their every move, waiting for them to make a mistake. They are lucky if they can keep their jobs while keeping their sanity. They are shunned at for talking to members of the community. It is also more of a challenge for them to reach any high promotions or even get the respect that they deserve.

Since this discussion was out in the public, by standards overheard the whole scene. Three individuals claiming to be black advocates for Russell Simmons national hip-hop campaign approached. They observed the entire drama and told the fellows involved that is was a typical example of discrimination in the North. That at least in the South the racism is strong and it is out in the open. No, it's not pleasant, but at least you know with whom you can relate to and who you rather not look in the eye. In the North you never know who is the wolf amongst the sheep. Discrimination here has a smile on its face and gleams at you in loathing glare. Who can you trust to be real?
The advocates casually interviewed the two fellows, and mentioned that they were researching the trends or paths of discrimination and would be writing a book, and Ithaca would be in it. I feel it is time to really confront this issue in Ithaca. We see discrimination as a hierarchical system itself. For example as a college town we cater to the students and their parents. All improvements to Ithaca are made for them and the economy they support. New hotels, new roads, new shopping centers and all constructed in the summer while the students are gone. The “townies” are below the students. We are not treated with the same respect or attention. We don't bring the money that the students do, we are not an asset to preserve.

The mentally/physically handicapped have it worse. Their illnesses/conditions are an asset and the businesses, facilities and programs, medicine they depend on bring a major source of employment and money. We profit from them being that way so why fix them? Just maintain them living on the system. They however, are the most mistreated. You see many walk the streets with no place to really call home, no real community warmth or embrace. They are overly drugged and set to be non-functional, co-dependant individuals. They are ignored and not treated hospitably at some local businesses. Some, have been befriended by kind people, whom take it upon themselves to enrich their own lives by being a friendly face.
The teen youth have it hard too, looked at as trouble with out an organized place to hang out or go, their views aren't respected or even taken to value. Just hanging out side with their friends they're harassed for loitering. In school they are dealt with quickly and with general rules that don't apply to each individual. They face a time when drama and conflict and prejudice are at its climax, but not taught to deal appropriately; they are disciplined and sent home.

If you dress all in black, and paint your lips black, if you have a plentiful of piercings, or if you participate in one church rather than another. If you speak differently, or look strange, or if your too loud, or too quiet. Chances are, if you are human you have been discriminated against before, or have been prejudice yourself. The problem is there are just too many people, too many views, cultures, and lifestyles that the general rules for the majority just don't apply anymore. We are the “melting pot” of everything not of one thing. We pride ourselves on our diversity? No, we outcast others based on their differences. We spend so much time worried about fitting in. If we all just befriended one another and actually appreciated those differences we'd get a lot more out of life. Things would be pretty boring if each of us were the same. The little variances are what make the overall pattern so beautiful.

Lets not let fear rule our view of the world. After all, we're all made up of the same DNA pattern, the same breathe, and heart beat. Finally, we need to take responsibility and be accounted for our actions, nor more excuses. If individually we cop out, the whole system will eventually be a cop out. Start with yourself and the role you play in your community. No one is left out of this one.

Don't get me wrong, I really wanted to like The Polar Express, which is based on one of my favorite books as a child by Chris Van Allsburg, and I did, sort of,al though I could do without the elements that made me feel weird inside. And I guess if you take a book that takes less than fifteen minutes to read and turn it into a ninety-minute feature film, you're going to be stuck with all of the above plus a weird Steven Tyler elf moment.  Ew.

Nonetheless, parts of the film were still true to the book, and it tried so damn hard to be good, you almost feel bad for it. Directed by Robert Zemeckis (Hanks' pal from Forrest Gump and Cast Away), the film was made to look like the original illustrations from Van Allsburg's book and the film righteously kept the same stylistic fifties feel. Actors wore blue suits and censors all over their bodies that translated their movements into 3-D creepy animation, which allowed Hanks to play at least six characters including a violent marionette and the main character, Hero Boy (did I mention none of the characters have names?). While the first scene of the film made me think Hero Boy was going to come out of the screen and kill me ala The Ring, I heard the film is fantastic digitally, as an IMAX film, as it was originally created to be. And I must admit that even in the "flat" version that I saw, the landscape, the train, the animals, the architecture, everything but the human characters, were absolutely beautiful. Everything was meticulously detailed and looked real with an element of magic.

Now why did those kids look so damn scary? The human characters seemed real in a horrifying way, though they weren't able to convey basic human expression in any way and so what's left are children who sort of float over the screen and stare at each other with eerie glass eyes.

There were other ridiculous elements of the film that made me laugh out loud including the Broadway-singing, tap-dancing, hot-chocolate-serving waiters who did tricks even Bela Karoli would be proud of. There were also the illogical actions of the adults on the train who seemed to be doing things only to put the children in more danger so that they might die before getting to meet the big guy up at the North Pole. The train turned into a hellride instead of the sweet, gentle picture we get in the book. But, it made the movie longer, so what the hell.

The original simple story of belief and faith, presented in the book, is paralleled with the true story of Christmas in the film. Little kids can interpret the story truly as a boy striving to believe in Santa Claus, while everyone else can clearly see the film is reminding us that the best things in life cannot be seen but we must believe anyway. Does God ring a bell? You may think I'm crazy, but listen: A little child coined "Lonely Boy" who looks and dresses exactly like Jesus (with the exception of galoshes instead of sandals). A mysterious Hanks-playing ghost Bum who watches over the train and gives Hero Boy mystifying answers (not in the book). And then there's Hanks-playing Santa, a Zeus-like man with thousands and thousands of elves from Jersey who bow down to him. It feels a little like the Holy Trinity. But, you decide--it's all up to interpretation. Despite my sarcasm, the movie was entertaining and the core story still remained and it reminded me of being a child. So, if the magic of the book doesn't spark you to see the film, go purely for the aesthetic purposes and to make fun of the elves and maybe you'll be reminded how to listen for Santa's Christmas bells, too.

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

The war on drugs was first given life by President Ronald Reagan. During Reagan’s presidency, we made the decision to turn America into a battleground where no man was considered innocent. “Reagan's policies in the "War on Drugs" emphasized imprisonment for drug offenders and raised public awareness to the dangers of drug use,” (2). But are the “dangers of drug use” as dangerous as the violation of the Bill of Rights? Houses belonging to American citizens supposedly protected under the Fourth Amendment are searched without warning or warrant and school lockers can also be searched under little or no suspicion. One young man was strip searched because his teacher thought he was “too well endowed.” Perhaps surprising to them, the search for any illegal substances on this young man turned up to be negative. Such acts of public humiliation have arisen due to the “war on drugs.” Even before a person is suspected of drug use or drug paraphernalia, many different jobs will test their future employees. What does this say about our rights as American citizens? The wall that separates the government from its citizens is crumbling.  The evil hand of the government is raping us of our rights.

“Civil Asset Forfeiture is the practice of law enforcement seizing and keeping money, property, and other assets which they suspect may have come from illegal profits - such as drug sales. Civil asset forfeiture often takes place without proof of the origins of the asset and without a conviction of anyone for wrongdoing” (3). The Fourth Amendment is supposed to allow us to have privacy in our lives—a privacy that is not to be disturbed by unwanted persons or things. A Chief justice of the Florida Supreme Court once said of our rights, “If the zeal to eliminate drugs leads this state and nation to forsake its ancient heritage of constitutional liberty, then we will have suffered a far greater injury than drugs ever inflict up on us. Drugs injure some of us. The loss of liberty injures us all” (4). Our jails are filling up by the day with casual drug users. Real crimes like rape and murder are being set loose because there isn’t enough room in the jails to hold them.  Due to the extreme leniency that the government has to incarcerate drug users and sellers, the fourth amendment has been stripped of the protection it has offered its citizens. The United States has made it effortless for law enforcement officials to search, snoop, and use dogs to sniff and survey without a warrant or probable cause. So in our efforts to close our borders from drugs and protect future generations from the evils of drugs, our own country along with its constitution is crumbling; our rights as free American citizens are failing us.

We have fought for our rights and our freedom; now, however, that very freedom is knocking down our doors, strip-searching our children, filling our jails with worthless criminals, and creating a hypocritical democracy of our government. The crimes being committed now because drugs are illegal, include breaking and entering, theft, and the buying and selling of drugs in the black market, which I debate mentioning because I consider it to be such a stupidity on our government’s part to not allow people to buy and sell their own goods. (5) The most criminal acts of today are being committed by the very system that gave us our freedoms and protection of privacy. Protecting us from drugs results in the violation of our rights. The end does not justify the means. Breaking the Fourth Amendment in a search for drugs is more criminal than the crimes any drug could ever commit.

Politicians of America believe repression of the Bill of Rights is necessary to stop the drug problem in America. Civil servants have their right to privacy violated when they are asked to urinate into a cup for a drug test and in some cases they are video taped in order to insure that no swapping of urine cups occurs. When the Drug War began, the President made it known that we, as Americans, have “to do what is necessary to end the drug menace” (6). Right off the bat, American rights are being violated. “Doing what is necessary,” means violating the Fourth Amendment.  

Bill after bill was passed against the exclusionary rule. The government wanted to use evidence found at the scene of a crime during a trial, even if it was taken in violation of the Fourth Amendment. A fourteen-year old student was caught with marijuana when she was first caught smoking cigarettes in a school bathroom.  When her principal went through her purse, he discovered the marijuana and other paraphernalia, (7). This is just one of the many cases that shows how Americans today are suffering from violated rights. Though we, as Americans, are "protected" through the Fourth Amendment, in actuality often the Fourth Amendment doesn’t exist. We have made amendments to the Constitution in order to create a more free society—one with rights, but it seems as though the Amendments that were made are now being torn away from the skin revealing deep wounds in American lives. 

The Fourth Amendment is there for all of America; it is there to protect us. However, due to the government’s need to halt the influx of drugs into the country, the Fourth Amendment has almost been put to death. The threat that drugs are an evil against our society allowed government officials to search houses and properties of suspicious drug users and sellers. It was England that began violating the privacy of homes when they believed households were holding untaxed goods and weapons. The citizens however fled to the Americas in search of a land of freedom but what they got was another land where searches and seizures became commonplace. England didn’t like the idea of social disorder; therefore, the rights of citizens were few. Sound familiar? 

The United States is doing the exact same thing in the name of social order. However, social order is an idea that is constantly changing by those that have social power: the government. It is only those that have social power who are the ones that can change society. There must be an uprising of the middle and lower classes in order to make a change in the way the government is treating the Fourth Amendment. 

Government officials have sought out suspicious users and sellers, and have gone after people of upstanding credibility within their communities, such as doctors and lawyers and perhaps even law officials. Guilty of moderate and occasional usage of drugs has landed good people in bad places, has ripped families apart, and has destroyed futures. Without notice of warrant, police officials can search a house for illegal usage of drugs.  The ability to search without a warrant has landed many people in court because drugs were found on their property but were not the reason for the search in the first place. This impedes upon the rights of American citizens to their right of privacy. How can we expect to be protected against anything that we own or believe in if the government has the ability to bend our rights so far as to practically take them away from us whenever it feels fit? One article written by Harry Goslin, Beware Idiots, Madmen, and Lunatics, reads, “ 'Good' citizenship will never hold up as a defense against government thugs intent on imprisoning, killing, or taking property, all in the name of enforcing ‘the law’ ” (8). We must stand up and fight against the real evil. The government has not waged a war on drugs; it has waged a war on its people, and we, the people, must fight.

Sources:

1. & 3.

2.

5.

6.

7.

8.

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

On 23 March 2003 Lynch was captured when her battalion, the 507th Maintenance Company of the U.S. Army, took a wrong turn and was ambushed by Iraqi forces. In an article dated 03 April, 2003 The Washington Post reported that, according to Pentagon officials, the Army supply clerk had sustained multiple gunshot wounds and numerous other injuries when Lynch was “fighting to the death.” According to the same Pentagon sources Lynch “did not want to be taken alive.” After watching several members of her battalion die at the hands of the brutal Iraqi forces, Lynch decided that surrender was not an option. The Post article claims she fought to the bitter end—in hand-to-hand combat when she ran out of ammunition. Lynch sustained stab wounds when her attackers closed in. The Pentagon version of events chronicles a modern-day captivity narrative—a white, Christian woman, carrying out God’s good work, captured by a savage-native population. Lynch fought to the bitter end to spread American democracy to the Iraqi people.

The captivity narrative is one of America’s oldest literary forms, dating back to 1682 and the publication of A Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. Rowlandson’s memoir and the rhetoric contained in its pages predate American nationhood by nearly a century.

Rowlandson arrived in Salem, Massachusetts with her parents, John and Joan White, in 1639. The Whites were devout Puritans who came to the New World from England as part of the Great Migration. John became a prominent figure in the Puritan Church and moved his family to Lancaster, deep into the Anglo-Indian frontier. Relations between native tribes and the Puritan settlers had been amicable, until the Puritans continued pushing further and further into native territories. Tensions exploded following the trial and execution of three Christian-Indian leaders believed to be in league with the Wampanoag leader, Metacom. Metacom’s War began in 1675.

Mary Rowlandson and her two children were abducted outside Lancaster, Massachusetts during a Wampanoag raid on a Puritan compound on February 10, 1675. Rowlandson and her surviving child were held as a slave until May 2, 1676 when they were exchanged for a ransom of 20 pounds sterling at Redemption Rock in Mount Wachusett, New Hampshire.

Originally composed for an anthology detailing life in colonial New England, Mary’s account of her enslavement was published as a stand-alone book. The book became an immediate best seller in the colonies and England and went through many editions. The success of Rowlandson’s memoir sparked a new genre referred to as captivity narratives. In the Women’s History Guide, Jone Johnson Lewis describes captivity narratives as:

“Part of the culture's definition of what a proper woman should be and do. Women in these narratives are not treated as women should be – they often see the violent deaths of husbands, brothers and children. The women also are unable to fulfill ‘normal’ women's roles: unable to protect their own children, unable to dress neatly and cleanly or in the ‘proper’ garments, unable to restrict their sexual activity to marriage to the ‘appropriate’ kind of man. They are forced into roles unusual for women, including violence in their own defense or that of children, physical challenges such as long journeys by foot, or trickery of their captors (2).”

In the first year of captivity Rowlandson dealt with the death of her youngest child, who was unable to survive the demands placed upon them—demands stemming from the rigors of a nomadic lifestyle in the winter of northeastern America. Rowlandson characterizes this experience as a tell tale sign of the natives’ savagery. In her account of the attack that led to her capture Rowlandson turned such colorful phrases as, “Indians gaping before us with their GUNS, Spears, and Hatchets to devour us;” men with their “bowels split open (Ott 1).” She devoted much of the memoir to recounting the gory aspects of her captivity, constructing a narrative more akin to adventure fiction than a hymn to God’s grace.

The Pentagon version of Lynch’s capture offers us a similar narrative tone, beginning with a vivid description of Lynch’s capture, where she witnessed the deaths of many of her fellow officers. Lynch is said to have been starved, beaten and raped during her stay in the Nasiriyah Hospital, dubbed the “Saddam Hospital” by the American Media, and“ U.S. forces who rescued her also found 11 corpses—some believed to be Americans—in and around Saddam Hospital, and the military was trying to determine whether any of them were captured members of her unit (Fox, 03 April).” Alongside the description of “Saddam Hospital” littered with American corpses we are offered the gruesome details pertaining to Lynch’s injuries. Fox News referenced Lynch’s two broken legs, a broken arm and at least one gunshot wound twice in its one-page report titled “Report: Lynch Was Shot, Stabbed in Fierce Struggle With Iraqi Captors,” despite the fact that a military spokesman reported less serious injuries in the same article.

The parallels between Lynch’s tale and the traditional captivity narrative don’t end there. Johnson Lewis, addressing the political purpose that belies the captivity narrative, writes:

“The captivity stories also perpetuate stereotypes of Indians and settlers, and were part of the on-going conflict between these groups as the settlers moved westward.  In a society in which men are expected to be the protectors of women, the kidnapping of women is viewed as an attack on and affront of the males in the society, as well. The stories serve thus as a call for retaliation as well as for caution in relating to these ‘dangerous’ natives. Sometimes the narratives also challenge some of the racial stereotypes.  By depicting the captors as individuals, often as people who also face troubles and challenges, the captors are also made more human. In either case, these Indian captive narratives serve a directly political purpose, and can be seen as a kind of political propaganda. (3)”

Rowlandson characterizes her experiences with the Wampanoag as God’s work, regardless of the differences in her treatment. When she was treated harshly the treatment was characterized as the savagery of a heathen population and when she was treated with kindness, when one of her captors gave her a copy of the Bible pilfered during a recent skirmish with American colonialists, or when she was reunited with her child who was being held captive by another tribe, for example, Rowlandson characterized these interactions as manifestations of God’s work. Rowlandson was incapable of viewing the natives as individuals.

Lynch’s story reads much the same way. The Pentagon version of events states that a band of Navy SEALs stormed the hospital in Nasiriyah armed for battle, and, coincidentally, with night-vision cameras, to liberate Lynch from her captors. While the cameras beamed a live-feed of the proceedings to U.S. Central Command in Qatar, the SEALs whisked Lynch out of the hospital on a stretcher and ushered her into a personnel transporter, all while evading enemy fire and even engaging in battle. But we need not rely on the reports of American print journalism, since Lynch’s rescue was captured to film by her rescuers.

In the weeks that followed, the Pentagon’s construction of events crumbled beneath the weight of reality, though Lynch’s captivity narrative remains very much intact. The BBC conducted an independent investigation into the Lynch affair and published its findings in late May 2003. Their story contradicts the official, U.S. military version of events. Interviews with the staff at Nasiriyah Hospital and the American doctor who treated Lynch after she was rushed to an American military base in Germany on 03 April revealed that Lynch was not raped, beaten, shot, stabbed or starved by her so-called captors, as the Pentagon contends, but given exceptional medical treatment. The Iraqi hospital staff contends that they put their own safety on the line by defending Lynch from attack by the Iraqi military during her stay at the hospital. The BBC report also revealed that the hospital staff attempted to deliver Lynch to American forces two days prior to her rescue when Iraqi forces fled Nasiriyah and the hospital sent Lynch in an ambulance to the nearby American base camp. The ambulance was met with gunfire despite the fact that hospital officials contacted American forces to let them know one of their injured soldiers would be delivered to their doorstep.

One of the nurses even brought her small children into the hospital to visit with Lynch in the hopes that the American would feel more comfortable in her alien surroundings. She claims that the American referred to her as her Iraqi doll and that she wanted to bring her home to America when she got out of the Iraqi Hospital. This account is a far cry from the Pentagon version of events, but the differences don’t end there. The Iraqi hospital workers claim that the NAVY SEALs stormed the hospital with their guns blazing, despite the fact that Iraqi military forces pulled out of the hospital and Nasiriyah itself days before the U.S.’s valiant rescue. The SEALs corralled most of the hospital workers into the X-Ray room and arrested the nurse in Lynch’s room—it is unclear whether the nurse was released or if she remains in a U.S. military prison awaiting trial for war crimes. At the time of the BBC article, some six weeks after the debacle, the nurse was still imprisoned.

It was later revealed that the American forces were fully aware that the hospital and the city of Nasiriyah itself were clear of Iraqi military forces. Fox News alludes to this tip in an article date 03 April 2003 (“Lynch was rescued from an Iraqi hospital in a daring nighttime raid Tuesday by U.S. commandos acting on a CIA tip.” (5)). The tip they were referring to were reports delivered to the U.S. military from video cameras attached to the clothing of Iraqi informants who went into the hospitals days before Lynch’s rescue. Alongside video information regarding Lynch’s condition and location the video made U.S. officials aware that the Iraqi military had indeed abandoned the hospital days before their staged rescue of Lynch.

In addition to the video footage, CIA informants gave detailed stories about Lynch’s treatment at the hospital. One informant claimed he witnessed an Iraqi officer slapping Lynch, though this story cannot be corroborated since the witness was “whisked to the United States, where he was immediately granted political asylum and has refused all interview requests (Scheer, “Saving Private Lynch Take 2,” 8).” Coincidentally, the informant was given a job at a lobbying firm run by former Republican Rep. Bob Livingstone that represents the defense industry, as well as a $500,000 book deal by HarperCollins—one of the publishing imprints of Rupert Murdoch.

The BBC’s account of Lynch’s treatment only reinforces the strength of the captivity narrative constructed by the Pentagon and right wing new sources such as Fox News. As previously stated, Rowlandson’s own account included incidents of kindness, but these incidents couldn’t eclipse the rhetoric of Puritanical demagoguery just as the incidents of kindness toward Jessica Lynch never break through the rhetoric behind the Bush administration’s War on Terror and the War in Iraq. In the conclusion to President Bush’s 2003 State of the Union address he states, “America is a strong nation and honorable in the use of our strength. We exercise power without conquest, and we sacrifice for the liberty of strangers. Americans are a free people, who know that freedom is the right of every person and the future of every nation (Myles 2).”  The Bush administration determines the point of debate—what is it to going to take to bring democracy to Iraq? The liberal media reporting on the actions of the U.S. military in Iraq, even when reports made by the Pentagon on specific actions are proven to be false, doesn’t reframe the debate or address the purpose behind the rhetoric, just as the BBC report on Lynch never addresses Lynch’s captivity narrative as such.

Johnson Lewis elucidates the rhetorical nature of the captivity narratives later in her article:

“The captivity narratives also usually refer to the religious contrast between the Christian captive and the pagan Indians. Mary Rowlandson's captivity story, for instance, was published in 1682 with a subtitle that included her name as ‘Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, a Minister's Wife in New England.’ That edition also included ‘A Sermon on the Possibility of God's Forsaking a People that have been near and dear to him, Preached by Mr. Joseph Rowlandson, Husband to the said Mrs. Rowlandson, It being his Last Sermon.’ The captivity narratives served to define piety and women's proper devotion to their religion, and to give a religious message about the value of faith in times of adversity.  (After all, if these women could maintain their faith in such extreme circumstances, shouldn't the reader maintain her or his faith in less challenging times (4)?”

Jessica Lynch’s story is simply a captivity narrative where the Christian Church and the struggle to maintain Christian values are replaced by the Bush administration and its attempt to spread a particular brand of democracy to the heathens of the Middle East; the Iraqi people have replaced the pagan Indians.

Although Lynch has publicly condemned the way the Pentagon has portrayed her captivity and, more emphatically, the way in which she was rescued, it changes little about the effectiveness of her story as a captivity narrative for the Godly American public to latch onto, after all, Mary Rowlandson was bought out of captivity. Lynch’s story feeds into America’s fear of terrorism and the desire to quash the possibility of being victimized by terrorism. The Bush administration has set about colonizing the Middle East in order to prevent future attacks, masking this new era of colonialism under the banner of democracy. Rowlandson’s story won the hearts and minds of British and American readers for similar reasons. Colonizing the wilds of America meant making the New World safe for Christians and Christian ideals.

One need only surf the web to get an idea how Lynch’s captivity narrative has been embraced by America. Lynch has been idealized as a hero who gave everything but her life in an attempt to bring democracy to Iraq. One website proffers a video documenting Lynch’s capture and rescue as well as the effect her captivity narrative has had on her West Virginia community. At $24.95 for the VHS copy and $29.95 for DVD, the consumer is provided with the story of:

“Private Jessica Lynch, known as ‘Jessie’ to her friends back home, is an outgoing, friendly member of Palestine West Virginia. As a 19-year-old soldier, her story moved the world overnight when she was captured in the IRAQ war.

Faith and A Community is new video professionally produced to tell the untold story of not just one individual but a whole community that pulled together during a time of war. It’s a testimony to those who never lost hope. This dynamic video tells the story of Jessica’s rescue and those who believed for a miracle.

Jessie was the first prisoner of war to be rescued behind enemy lines since World War II. This video shows the power of unity, prayer and unwavering hope and will move the nation’s heart as a testimony of hope and love.”

And, if the video isn’t enough to whet your appetite, you can buy the CD,

“Accolade, by Miriah Duckworth, ($2.00 of every purchase goes to Jessica Lynch Foundation) Accolade is a new 5 song CD featuring Jessi's song. Miriah Duckworth, a personal friend of Jessica Lynch, added the song written by her mother to her new patriotic CD. Other songs included on CD are God Bless the USA, When You Believe, America the Beautiful and Amazing Grace.

The CD is $10 plus shipping and can be ordered by calling Cindy Duckworth at 304-275-4357.”

Yet another site bearing Jessica’s name contains songs, poetry and message forums with over 1500 registered members, where fans of Lynch’s captivity narrative can load up on further propaganda. Unfortunately for Lynch and author Rick Bragg, the authorized biography I am a Soldier, Too: The Jessica Lynch Story, which details Jessica’s life from day one, only sold moderately well, dropping off the NY Times Best-sellers list after its fourth week in release and proving that the Pentagon constructed captivity narrative, regurgitated ad nauseum by Fox News, wins out when measured against any attempt to present the American public with fair and balanced reporting. It is the concept of Jessica Lynch as a captive that appeals to the American public and not Jessica Lynch, herself. She is a hero because she has provided Operation Iraqi Freedom with a victim whose plight continues to hold America’s hearts and minds captive.

Sources:

Blow, Richard. “An Unlikely Hero?” TomPaine.common sense (08 April 2003). http://www.tompaine.com/feature.cfm/ID/7569

Cosby, Rita. “Sources Say Jessica Lynch Has Amnesia.” FOXNews.com (05 May 2003). http://www.foxnews.com/printer_friendly_story/0,3566,85936,00.html

Johnson Lewis, Jone “ Women Captives and Indian Captivity Narratives.”  Women’s History Guide (2004). http://womenshistory.about.com/library/weekly/aa020920a.htm?terms=indian%2Bcaptivity

Lando, Barry. “Saving Pvt. Lynch: The made-for-TV movie.” Salon.com News (16 May 2003). http://www.salon.com/news/features/2003/05/16/pvt_lynch/print.html

Myles, Anna G. "Slaves in Algiers, Captives in Iraq." Common-Place, vol. 5, no. 1 (2004). http://www.common-place.org

Ott, Bill. “The Sovereignty and Goodness of God & A Son of the Forest and Other Writings.”  StoryLines New England Discussion Guide, no. 9 (2004). http://storylines.ala.org

O’Reilly, Bill. “Did the Pentagon Fake the Jessica Lynch Story?” FOXNews.com (30 May 2003). http://www.foxnews.com/printer_friendly_story/0,3566,88186,00.html

“Report: Lynch Was Shot, Stabbed in Fierce Struggle With Iraqi Captors.” FOXNews.com (03 April 2003).http://www.foxnews.com/printer_friendly_story/0,3566,82923,00.html

Scheer, Robert. “The Education of Jessica Lynch.” AlterNet.org (19 November 2003).http://www.alternet.org/module/printversion/17229

Scheer, Robert. “Saving Private Lynch: Take 2.” The Nation Online (20 May 2003).http://www.thenation.com/docprint.mhtml?i=20030602&s=scheer20030520

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is something that affects people who live in the upper latitudes where the weather changes from warm sunny days to cold, cloudy days.  When the weather begins to change around the month of September, most people become slower, more negative, and irritated by normal things that would otherwise not bother them during the spring and summer months.  These negative feelings normally last until the month of April when days are noticeably longer.(1) Students have the stress of exams, work schedules, and professor’s assignments constantly weighing down on them, not to mention a changing weather pattern.  Speaking as a student, there is enough stress to deal before adding cold, dark days to the package. Also, dorm rooms aren’t exactly the brightest places—they’re dark and dreary, small places even in the summertime.  It’s no surprise that many students feel the effects of SAD once fall kicks in.

SAD exists because of the amount of light that enters the eyes and the amount of chemicals produced by the brain as a result. When not enough light enters the eyes, an individual may experience mild to severe feelings of sadness. Some of these symptoms include sleep problems, disturbed sleep, early wake up, lethargy, overeating, depression, social problems, anxiety, loss in libido, mood changes, and a weakened immune system. Students who seek help for their depression during the winter months are often misdiagnosed: the depression they suffer from is not from anything other than SAD. All of these symptoms are controlled by the hypothalamus located at the base of the brain. Some people who experience SAD can only function properly if they are on some type of medication. Light therapy is the most widely used form of medication dealing with SAD.

The medications that are offered to help people with SAD include antidepressants such as Tricyclics, as well as Sertraline (Lustral), Paroxetine (Seroxat), and Fluoxetine (Prozac).(2) Psychotherapy and counseling are also offered to help lessen the effects of SAD as well as the herb St. John’s Wort, which is used in some countries to alleviate SAD symptoms.(3) 

However, light therapy seems to be the most commonly used form of medication when dealing with patients suffering from SAD. Doctors have reported that 85% of all people diagnosed with SAD receive light therapy.(4) Light therapy allows more intensified light to enter through the patient's eyes, therefore allowing the pineal gland to stop producing melatonin, which is a chemical produced in the brain that induces sleep, and this procedure allows for the patient to feel more energetic and positive. 

Melatonin is produced in excess in the winter months because there is a shortage of light, which is the switch that turns off the production of melatonin.(5) Nerve centers located in the brain are the controls that change daily moods and rhythms. These nerve centers are controlled by light.  Allowing enough light to enter the eyes allows the internal biological clock to function properly. Walking to class, even though it may be cold outside, isn’t such a bad idea if it’s sunny out; the more sunlight a person's eyes receive, the better any student will feel. 

A person undergoing light therapy only needs to be exposed to a light box for four hours a day. This can be done while working on homework, eating lunch or even watching TV. The intensity of a light box is 10 times that of a standard house lamp. This intensity is what tricks the brain into thinking that it is a clear sunny day in the middle of July.  July’s sun has the intensity of about 100,000 lux, while office or dorm lighting only gives off 200-500 lux. The treatment that is given to most people in light therapy is about 2500 lux; not exactly that of a clear summer day, but enough to make a considerable difference in the chemistry of the brain.(6) Most light therapy lighting systems cost between $200 and $300 and are easily found on the internet; a good Christmas present for anyone! (7)

This treatment is commonly used because of its accessibility and the short amount of time that it takes to begin alleviating the symptoms of SAD.  Most patients begin light therapy in early autumn, sometime around September and the effects are felt as early as 3-4 days later.  A patient doesn’t have to look straight into the light, although studies show that doing so would not affect the eyes in a negative way. Keeping a distance of 2-3 feet from the light box is enough to affect the patient positively. Because the intensity of a light bow is 10x that of normal house or office lighting, different glands in the brain continue to function producing chemicals as though the sun was still as intense as it was in the summer months.

Serotonin is the most important chemical produced in the brain when it comes to people affected by SAD. Serotonin is responsible for giving people the feeling of pleasure, and without moderate levels of it, a person will fall into depression. Light therapy and Prozac are given to patients affected with low levels of Serotonin.(8) Light is an environmental signal that is sent to the brain, which then proceeds to affect what is known as the Circadian Rhythm.(9) Circadian Rhythm is the biological clock inside the brain scientifically called the Hypothalamus Suprachiasmatic Nucleus (SCN). Without enough light passing through the eyes, the CR goes off balance and depression and anxiety among other negative effects occur. Also, without the right amount of light, one day could seem like two days because the CR is balancing, therefore making a person sleepy when they should be awake and vice versa.

The CR in anyone’s brain consists of three elements:

Input pathways that transfer light coming in through the eyes to the Hypothalamus.

The “pacemaker” itself, otherwise known as the hypothalamus.

Output pathways that transfer rhythm to the rest of the body therefore signaling sleep and wake times.

Scientists studying CR have found that all living organisms possess this biological clock through their genetic code. Given this knowledge, it can be said that even animals experience the affects of SAD. Hibernation is a way many animals deal with the changing seasons. Even the reproduction cycles of animals happen mainly in the spring when light intensity is climbing and daylight begins to last longer. Humans do not only feel the feelings of SAD; every organism will feel differently if the levels and intensity of light is altered for any amount of time. 

Taking walks on sunny days in the winter can help retrieve the feel good emotions of the summer; but still, SAD is something that will affect anyone living in a changing environment. Some people experience levels of SAD more than others, but overall, no one can escape the changes that are made in the brain when chemicals are over or under produced. Science has helped us discover why it is we feel the way we do in the winter months and what it is that we can do to stop our negative feelings. 

The next time you get a chance, take a walk around town on a sunny day for a few hours and soak up as much sun as you can. If there is snow on the ground already, the sunlight will be that much more intense. So get out there and take advantage of those winter rays as much as possible; a little bit can go a long way!

Sources:

1. http://www.nosad.org/

2. http://www.24dr.com/reference/library/psych/depression/sad.htm

3. http://www.healthy.net/scr/Article.asp?Id=463

4. http://depts.washington.edu/scc/sad.htm

5. http://www.apollolight.com/new_content/research/sad_ab_melatonin.html

6. http://www.diagnose-me.com/treat/T175911.html

7. http://www.apollohealth.com/golite.html?source+goaw&Kw+42d

8. http://members.aol.com/atracyphd/serotoni.htm

9. http://users.rcn.com/jkimball.ma.ultranet/BiologyPages/C/Circadian.html

DESIGNER:
Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

“Terrible!  Just Terrible!” 

Bobo, an overly plump and excitable elf was hollering as he bounced into the toy factory.

“Gather round! Gather round my fellow elves!” 

Bobo was doubled over with exhaustion as he had run straight from Santa’s house to the toy factory, only a distance of a hundred yards or so, with the news. 

“Take it easy, Bobo.  Take it easy,” replied Otto, the chief elf in charge of toy production at the factory.  All of the elves had formed up, waiting for Bobo to catch his breath.

“Bobo my good elf, you must lay off the truffles and sugar cookies,” said Otto, “Now tell us, what is wrong?” 

“There has been an accident!  A most dreadful accident!  Rudolph has hurt his leg.  I overheard Santa and Blitzen talking, and it seems that Rudolph was practicing pulling the sled this morning and has strained a muscle in his hindquarter.  From what I heard, he will not be able to fly in three days!!” 

The crowd exerted a collective gasp.  Elves are prone to panic and high drama.  Immediately after the announcement, dozens of worried conversations broke out among the group and pandemonium ensued.  As the elves struggled to regain their composure, the big guy himself walked through the door. 

“Settle down my little friends.  Settle down.”  Santa Claus was wearing his usual pair of coal-black boots and had on a pair of blue-overalls that strained under the weight of his ‘bowl full of jelly.’  He looked at his group of toy-makers with a warm grin on his face and waited for them to calm down. 

“I see that news travels fast here in the North Pole,” Santa said smiling at Bobo whose red cheeks turned an even brighter shade of crimson.  “I see my inquisitive little friend Bobo has told you that we have suffered a minor accident.  It is true that Rudolph has been injured, and although he will not be ready to go on the big day, the injury is not serious and he will recover just fine.” 

The group relaxed on hearing the news that their dear friend Rudolph was going to be O.K. 

“However, this does present a small problem; as you know, the sled does require the strength of nine reindeer to complete the journey.  I have spoken with the other reindeer and their families and Rudolph and I have come up with a plan.  The day after tomorrow at noon, we will be holding open tryouts for another reindeer to fill the vacant post.  Rudolph and I will be judging, and I am most confident that we will find an able replacement to fill in this year.” 

The elves stared back-and-forth at each other in amazement. 

“Now my little friends, there is much work to be done and Mrs. Claus is expecting me for dinner.  Don’t worry yourselves, all will work out just fine.”  Santa gave the group one last smile and turned to head home. 

As soon as he left, the excitable chatter broke out in the toy factory.  “Try-outs!  Who do you think will win?  Dasher’s boy Swifty is a strong young fellow...  Prancer’s daughter Pirouette is an excellent flier…”  and on and on.  In the corner of the toy factory, with broom in hand, the quiet little elf Toby watched with excitement.

Toby was small, even for an elf.  At a little over two-and-a half feet tall, he was a good six inches shorter than the others.  He was shy and timid, which is very unusual for an elf.  He was the only elf who did not work as a toy-maker.  As fate would have it, Toby was just no good at making toys.  In school, the electric trains that he made only worked in reverse.  His wooden tops failed to spin even for a second, and most embarrassingly, the heads of the dolls that he made always seemed to fall right off.  No matter how hard he tried, toy making was just not his specialty.  This was even more disconcerting, since his grandfather had been the renowned toy-maker, Shamus.  The very Shamus who had invented the yo-yo AND the hula-hoop.  It was a tough shadow to grow up under, and Toby preferred just to hide beneath it.  Instead of toy making, Toby was put in charge of cleaning up and sweeping the toy factory every night.  It was not a job that he was proud of, but he felt very fortunate to still be a part of the magic of Santa’s toy factory. 

On the night of the announcement, Toby was indeed excited.  He was sort of an outsider in the elf community and did not have many close friends with the exception of Ed the reindeer.  The two were inseparable.  So, having been informed of the big news, Toby hurried to finish up cleaning and rushed to tell Ed, who slept in a stall behind the factory the big news.

Ed was not your typical North Pole reindeer. Like Toby, he was small and very shaggy.  His hair was coarse and grainy like broom bristles and was always very messy.  He was overweight and his antlers were twice the size of his body.  He looked more like a potbellied moose than a reindeer.  Ed was a distant cousin of Dasher, and when he was younger had dreamed of one day being called up to be a part of Santa’s sled team.  Unfortunately, Ed had one major flaw that kept him from realizing his dream.  He was afraid of heights.  He would get no more than five feet off the ground and become paralyzed with fear and come crashing down in a heap.  So for years, Ed had worked as a janitor at the toy factory, pulling sleds filled with trash to the dump, always dreaming that he was actually pulling Santa’s sled through the sky.  Sadly, the years passed by and Ed had begun to lose hope.  So when his best friend Toby arrived with the news of the tryouts, Ed was anything but hopeful.

“You can do it Ed!!  I know you can!  It’s the chance you’ve been waiting for!” an enthusiastic Toby declared. 

“I don’t think so Toby.  As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, you seem to be forgetting that I can’t fly!  Besides, I am not a young reindeer anymore, and I am not in what you call peak physical shape.” 

“Nonsense,” replied Toby, “we can do it together.  The tryouts are not for two days yet.  You and I will train together!  I know you can do it!” 

“Toby, there are dozens of younger and stronger reindeer than myself.  I would not stand a chance.” 

“What are you saying to me?  You will not even try?  What have you been telling me these past years?  You tell ME not to give up on my toy-making, even though all the tires still fall off my wooden trucks and my jack-in-the-boxes keep exploding into a thousand pieces.  You are always telling me to stick with it and not lose hope.  Well, now it is your turn.  I will not take no for an answer.  I will see you in the morning, and we will start getting ready.” 

Toby left Ed feeling slightly ashamed because of his doubt, but was even more concerned for his own safety.

Toby arrived as promised at sunrise.  He and Ed went a good ways outside the village so that they could practice in private. 

“O.K. Ed, I will be right here on your back.  Do not be afraid, and for goodness sake, do not look down.  Just let yourself lift off and soar through the air.  You can do it; I believe in you.” 

“You have your helmet on tight, don’t you Toby?” 

“You bet.  I made this one myself.”  

Ed took a deep breath to steady his nerves and started to run.  He thrust himself up in the air and lifted off the ground without a hitch, his eyes slammed shut the entire time.  As he rose off the ground about ten feet, Toby hollered, “You’re doing it Ed!  You’re doing it!”  Just then Ed opened his eyes and saw the ground falling farther away.  Ed instantly became very dizzy and started to swerve from side to side. 

“Ahhhhhh!!!”  He and Toby screamed as Ed fell into a tailspin and crashed back to Earth with a THUD! 

“Are you O.K. Toby?!!” a distraught Ed asked as he clambered up to his feet. 

Toby lay facedown a few feet away and with a muffled voice answered, “I’m fine.  But we got a lot of work to do.” 

The rest of the afternoon continued in the same fashion.  As soon as Ed would open his eyes, he would get dizzy and down he would fall.  It was getting dark and frustration had more than set in.

“I appreciate you helping me Toby, but I think we’re a lost cause.  I don’t know what happens.  I just get so nervous and lose all my control.” 

A bruised and kindhearted Toby replied, “That’s O.K. my friend, at least we tried.”

They returned to the village and said goodnight to each other.  Ed, exhausted and battered, returned to his stall behind the toy factory feeling sad and forlorn.  “I wish I was able to do it,” he thought to himself as he rested his weary bones in his bed of straw.  “I feel so bad for letting down Toby.  The little fella had such high hopes.”  He closed his eyes and tried restlessly to fall asleep.

The next day, the village was abuzz with reindeer practicing for the tryouts.  Toby and Ed sat outside together and watched the other reindeer float through the air.  They watched young Pirouette, who was indeed a graceful flier, soar effortlessly in the sky.  Swifty and many others were practicing take-offs and landings and many appeared to be very skilled and able.  Santa and Rudolph, with his leg bandaged sat on the porch of Santa’s house and watched the going’s on. 

“There are many fine candidates,” Santa said to Rudolph as they watch the action unfold. 

“Indeed,” replied Rudolph, “I think we will have a tough decision to make tomorrow.” 

Toby and Ed sat quietly together.  “I am proud of you for trying, Ed.  I guess it was just not meant to be.  I have to get back to work, the other elves have been busy and I have much cleaning to do.”  Toby said goodbye, and Ed remained watching as the sun began to set.

It was well past midnight, and Ed, who was still not sleeping soundly, was awakened by the distinct smell of smoke.  He rushed out of his stall and was confronted by a sight that he could not understand.  Smoke was pouring of the toy factory and the building was engulfed in flames.  Ed ran around to the front and saw a panic-stricken Bobo pacing wildly back-and-forth. 

“What happened?” shouted Ed as he approached the portly, terrified elf. 

“I was testing the new model EZ-Bake Oven earlier and made myself some cookies, and I think I may have left it on!” shouted Bobo as he began to sob. 

Ed peered at the factory and noticed that toys were being thrown outside from the windows. 

“Bobo, is anybody inside?” asked Ed as a sudden grip of fear overcame him. 

“It’s Toby.  He ran back inside.  I begged him not to go, but he kept saying, “The toys!  We have to save the toys!” 

Without hesitation, Ed sprinted through the fiery front door.  “Toby!  Toby!” shouted Ed as he grappled to see through the smoke. 

There in the corner lay Toby.  He was not moving and Ed rushed to his side.  He used his giant antlers to scoop Toby off the floor and lay him across his back.  A wall of fire blocked the front door and Ed could not even see the back entrance through a wall of flame.   Ed paced back and forth as the flames drew closer and closer.  He looked up at the west wall of the factory, and there, some thirty feet up was an opening.  He could see a window that was not yet engulfed and he knew what he must do.  He took a few steps and lifted-off the ground as the flames nearly reached up and grabbed his hooves.  He rose higher and higher, never taking his eyes off the window.

Outside, the rest of the village was gathering in a frenzy.  Elves and reindeer were looking at one another with tearful eyes.  Santa and Mrs. Claus, still in her nightgown, were standing with them.  Rudolph and a few other elves were trying to console a devastated Bobo as he wept uncontrollably. 

With a sound of shattering glass, the entire village gazed up at the factory.  Up in the air, soaring out of the flames and smoke, Ed crashed through the window and into the sky.  He climbed higher and higher to safety and then turned and landed carefully. 

The entire village rushed to his aide.  Ed, exhausted and overcome by the smoke lay in the snow with Toby on his back.  Santa took a few steps forward and lifted the little elf off of Ed’s back.  Toby was covered in soot and appeared to not be breathing.  With a sudden cough, the little elf came to life.  He looked up at Santa and said, “Did we save the toys?” 

Santa smiled warmly and replied, “Relax my little friend.  Everything is fine.  We have plenty of toys.” 

“Santa,” Toby asked, “how did I make it out?  All I remember is fire, and then I could see stars.  I felt I was so high in the air that I could touch them.” 

Santa set the boy down and pointed toward Ed, who was lying in the snow.  “That brave reindeer is the one who saved you.” 

Toby knelt down and petted Ed’s wiry fur.  Ed, who was too exhausted to speak, looked up at his friend and smiled.  All of the other elves and reindeer gathered around to see.  Rudolph walked up to Santa and said, “I think we have found my replacement.”

It was a magical evening.  The sled was loaded with toys and presents.  The entire village was lined up, as was the custom as Santa and his team of reindeer departed on Christmas Eve. 

“On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, and Vixen, on Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen!” shouted Santa as the sled pulled away.  “And most important of all,” bellowed Santa, “ON ED!!!”  Ed was up in front with the lead spot.  He turned to look back at Santa, and was overcome with joy as he saw sitting next to the big guy himself, his best friend Toby.

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

According to a partial count of the votes by the Romanian Central Election Bureau as of November 30th, 2004, Social Democrat (PSD) Adrian Nastase gained 40.1% of the votes for president, while National Liberal Party (PNL) candidate Traian Basescu gained only 33.86% of the votes for president, and Greater Romania Party candidate Corneliu Vadim Tudor gained 12.57%. So how did the ruling party – the Social Democrat Party (PSD/PUR)--gain more votes than the opposition, the National Liberal Party (PNL/PD), and what were the methods those extra votes were gained through? The quick answer would be that the government stole votes both through multiple voting and, on Tuesday November 30th, 2004, through electronic fraud. But a more detailed look is necessary as these are important issues;  we’re talking about a democratic country expressing its opinion as to who should rule it for the next four years.

The multiple voting that the governing party is accused of happened by the bussing of people – the voters--from polling station to polling station throughout the country, in order for these individuals to put their names down on supplementary lists so that they could give that extra vote to the governing party. It is estimated that through this method, the Social Democrats (PSD/PUR) ‘won’ around 300,000 votes, and these supplementary lists weren’t made available to the opposition, the Justice and Truth Alliance until Wednesday, December 2nd, 2004.

The second method employed by the governing party (PSD/PUR) to get more votes was through altering the number of electronic votes with the help of a computer software program that would count a certain number of votes in the Social Democrats’ favor. The Romanian Central Election Bureau (BEC) had the Social Democrats’ (PSD/PUR) computers containing the software installed in their main office in Bucharest ahead of the elections, as well as in the regional offices giving the Social Democrats “the edge”.

As the opposition brought up the issue of fraud during the November 28th, 2004 parliamentary and presidential elections in Romania, the Central Elections Bureau snapped back at Justice and Truth Alliance (PSD/DA) candidate Traian Basescu saying that it doesn’t see any elections fraud, even though it has admitted that there had been mistakes, and said on Wednesday, December 1st, 2004 that mistakes in counting ballots had since been corrected. That’s all good, but the Central Elections Bureau president Emil Ghergut and the main authority in charge of making sure the elections are 100% fair is not acknowledging, nor is he expressing surprise and not questioning why there are hundreds of thousands of votes on the supplementary lists, and that the “electoral tourism” – or bussing of voters from polling station to polling station had occurred.

The Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), which had 18 international observers from 13 European states present in Romania at the time of the elections, raised a number of issues regarding voting irregularities. According to OSCE ambassador Stephen Nash, “Romania has a democratic election process, but some procedural concerns have been raised regarding the suspension of the use of voter cards.” As the elections neared, the Romanian government introduced a computerized electoral roll system for voters, thus suspending an expansive EU plan to introduce “foolproof” voting cards before the elections. The result was that voters were allowed to go vote at any polling station across the country – with the new laminated plastic ID’s, introduced in the past five years – by affixing a stamp on the ID card, a stamp that can be easily removed. Thus one can see that the system is flawed, and that laws offering Romanians the possibility to vote in any polling station around the country, created a large scale election fraud.

The European Union has given its opinion on the November 28th, 2004 elections in Romania by saying that they were conducted in an orderly manner and will not affect EU membership talks. But my dilemma is, how an organization such as the EU be able to admit into its ranks a country that has got such serious issues in the justice and home affairs front – concerning corruption, and the inadequate border controls – and now an election that was rigged by the governing party, so it could rule and drain the Romanian people for four more years?

Fifteen years have passed since the fall of communism in this impoverished Eastern European country, but Romania has once again failed to face its problems and express its true feelings towards the term called ‘democracy.’ We are still riding in a horsedrawn cart on the road toward a 21st century Europe, and we’ll have to work very, very hard at getting to where we want, and it has to start with the individual – we’re in need of a real wake up call.

Sources:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4050361.stm

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4049061.stm

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4055345.stm

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4057747.stm

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4063045.stm

http://www.lemonde.fr/web/article/0,1-0@2-3214,36-389021,0.html

http://www.elmundo.es/elmundo/2004/11/30/internacional/1101816656.html

http://www.romanialibera.ro/editie/index.php?url=articol&tabel=z01122004&idx=40

http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20041130/ap_on_re_eu/romania_elections_13

http://www.bec2004.ro/documente/part17_3011.pdf

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA

MMORPGs have evolved by leaps and bounds over the years. The first of such games was UltimaOnline; its small community soon bloomed into over a million users in the span of a few years. But even back then there were problems with the game. UltimaOnline was a Player vs. Player (PvP) game. This means that characters could kill other players. Now dying in Ultima works like this. When a character dies, he/she resurrects in a town, almost completely naked without any of the gear or money they had on them. They have to run like this to wherever they died to get any of their stuff back. A very arduous experience to say the least, especially if the person died in an area near high-level monsters. Some players would go around with the sole intention of player killing (PK’n) lower-level characters who could not defend themselves against higher- level people. What also became a problem were players complaining about how one class or type of character was more powerful than the other. This would lead developers to patch the game and “nerf” or weaken certain things about classes that were complained about. Then those classes “nerfed” would complain and the cycle would continue ad nauseam.

Soon after, other games came out in a similar theme of Ultima Online. A fantasy setting seemed to be the basis for most of these games, with the more popular ones being games like EverQuest, and Dark Age of Camelot. These games were both plagued by the same design flaws as Ultima, though some improvements were made. For example, in Dark Age, the developers designated areas for PvP fighting--that way players would not be attacked for just being low level; they had to enter the combat area on their own volition. Travel was also changed, for EverQuest players could learn spells to teleport them places, and in Dark Age there was a system of travel by horses. This also had repercussions in the case of EverQuest, however, because new people would ask higher- level characters to just teleport them around, to many players’ annoyance.

Recently, there have been attempts by developers to take the genre in a new direction. Games like Anarchy Online and Star Wars: Galaxies have put players in a more sci-fi oriented universe. Those games as well have their flaws, and in fact one of the most memorable of these bad events happened in Star Wars: Galaxies. The developers had discovered a cheat in the game that was being used by players to make duplicate items without doing any work or paying for them. Instead of finding the items and fixing the problem with the game, they began to ban any players who had duplicated items in their account. The problem with that approach was that some of these people just bought these items over an open market system set up within the game and had no idea the item they were buying was duplicated. When word got out, there was a massive rally on one of the planets in the game. There was actually a protest inside a virtual world. The developers went in the game, told the protesters to disperse, and when they did not, players at the protest were either shot into space, where they couldn’t move until they were un-stuck by the developers, effectively ending their accounts, or just banned altogether.

One of the more interesting takes on the MMROPG genre of late was the game City of Heroes (CoH). This game lets the player design their own superhero, and pick their own super powers. It offered mulitple options for choice of costume, and it gave players a huge sprawling city to fight crime in. This eliminated one of the problems of its predecessors, which was not having enough enemies to fight, or too many people looking for one particular type of enemy. In CoH a player just needs to hit the streets and in a matter of moments they will find one villain group or another up to no good. It also featured specialized mission areas where only people involved in the mission could enter, thus eliminating the chance of someone else coming by and messing a player up. Not to say CoH is without its problems--some of the powers are definitely not worth getting and some of the super villain groups are vastly more dangerous than others, but CoH is definitely a step in the right direction.

Another odd take on MMORPG’s came in the form of PlanetSide. This was actually not so much a role-playing game as it was a first-person shooter. The cool thing about this game was that huge battles involving hundreds of players could take place with vehicles and weapons and mechanized battle suits all attacking each other. It was quite a sight to behold--when it actually happened, which was very rare. However, the repetitiveness of the genre was much more evident in this game (go here, shoot, be killed, repeat), and it is one of the least populated games that are available.

The biggest trend to catch on in MMORPG’s is that of franchises. Square-Enix put out Final Fantasy 11, which is actually a multicultural game. Both Japanese and American players are on the same servers, and there is small built-in translator to allow Japanese and English speakers to play a game they both enjoy together. The game works off the Final Fantasy franchise, which many gamers have loyally followed in its console versions. Blizzard seemed to also want to capitalize on its huge following of the WarCraft franchise but putting out Worlds of Warcraft just this year. This game has apparently found a way to eliminate the monotony of the genre (kill, kill, level up, get new stuff, kill, kill, level up, etc.) and make a player feel like they have accomplished something no matter if the spend an hour or ten hours online a day.

MMORPG’s are nothing with out their player base, because all these games are pay to play, meaning that a player has to pay a fee, usually monthly. If there are no players, the game would cease to be. This makes developers very eager to please their subscribers and occasionally lets popular demand ruin something good in the game.

As for the community itself, it’s sometimes hard for players to be in a community with others because of the differing play times. One person who plays for an hour or two a day will be far behind one that can put in five to six. This gap in level can make it hard for friends with different schedules to stay together in the game.

MMORPG’s have come a long way, and in the process created many new communities of gamers. Although these games have their flaws and some people who play them have flaws (social interaction, for example) as well, the idea of a game where thousands of people interact together is going to continue to evolve and take on new forms. It’s the new future of gaming and it’s only getting better.

DESIGNER: Greg Montano, New Media Design, SUNY Cortland, USA