Greetings

"No more classes, no more books..."

As we launch into the last week of classes, I can't help but feel giddy. Spring is (finally) in the air, the clouds have withheld their downpours (let's see if it was just in honor of Mother's Day), and I'm beginning to see the light at the end of this very long and exhausting tunnel (yes, I know some cliches, and I'm not afraid to use 'em!).

Of course, don't start throwing out your books just yet. We still have this week to get through...but think of it this way: for those of you who have one paper due after another, be grateful you don't have too many finals. And for those students with a bombardment of finals in the upcoming weeks, bear in mind that studying (in my experience) takes up less time than researching and writing lengthy papers. For those unfortunate souls who have a share in both categories, just keep reminding yourselves, it'll all be over soon. You can reward yourselves when it's all over. And then the cycle will begin anew in the Fall : ) That is, unless you are one of BC's lucky graduating seniors. Which brings me to...

Farewell and congratulations to our graduating interns! The office will not be the same without your scrabble challenges, random philosophical questions, and Japanese game show videos. Best of luck with whatever the future holds in store for you!

-Miriam Harari

News Briefs

Testosterone Stops Sperm?

Apparently.

Scientists have been developing a new kind of male-contraceptive using injections of testosterone. The experiment, taking place in China, has been giving a selected group of 100 men a shot of testosterone every month and only one man has fathered a child. The shot works by temporarily blocking sperm production and after stopping the injections sperm counts returned to normal. This breakthrough procedure opens the door to male contraception that doesn’t involve getting drastic surgery, a permanent decision that is both expensive and painful to reverse. The doctors and scientists behind this new form of male birth-control say that they need to perform more trials before anything is available to the public. Although past attempts at developing male contraception have not proven successful, with side effects like mood swings and lowered sex drive, the idea is promising in allowing both partners to take responsibility before they hit the mattress.

-Meaghan Keeler

Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8033218.stm




Crow Culture

Sadly enough this will be the last piece written by me for the blog. I remember
the first piece I wrote was a news brief about frogs and I'm sure I mentioned
how much I like them. So it seems fitting that my last piece be about an animal
I've been feuding with since the innocence of childhood. The crow. The only two
animals I'm not big fans of are 1) mosquitoes and 2) crows. Every morning I wake
up to the squawking of those demon birds before sunrise. Hovering in front of my
house taunting me. I've had one knock on my bedroom window a few summer's back.
Just the other day I was complaining to a friend how this crow stared me down
and followed me as I left for work.

Now I come across this article on how clever corvids are. The corvid family
includes crows, ravens, jays, and magpies. All are very sleek, cool-looking
birds. These birds are incredible craftsmen that make instruments to gather
food. Scientist are saying these birds know how to make hooks to catch insects
in the ground and one continuously constructed hooks to get a food bucket out of
a well. Some are capable of self recognition as well. There was a test where
scientist put a sticker on the front of a magpie and exposed it to a mirror. The
magpie tried taking the sticker off which shows it knows that it is looking at a
reflection of itself and not another bird.

Apparently these birds have great memories and remember faces. This just got
personal. This is for all those people who told me I was crazy and that the
crows were not out to get me: I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! The murder of crows that
live in the trees surrounding my house go out of their way to annoy me. That's
another thing, a group of crows is called a murder. I'm envious of that. I wish
when I walked somewhere with a large group they would say, "Oh here comes Joe
and his murder of people."

As I write this I swear they are flying circles in front of my house. This war
will wage for as long as I live in my house. I don't know why we hate each other
or what we're even fighting over. And as much as I hate these creature I will
say there's a certain amount of respect for them. Hopefully we can smooth things
out by summer. I hear them calling.

-Joe Pugliesi

Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8023295.stm



Piggies

President Obama is calling out banks that incorporate overseas in tax havens. Mr. Obama plans to call out these nineteen banks, and get some of their future tax money that they plan on sending to foreign countries in the hope that they will limit their dues. The treasury department has stated that if the United States government can locate the exact location of the havens, they can expect to recover about $210 billon in future tax dollars over the next ten years. Not only are these banks sending money to foreign governments, they are creating jobs there, as well, and, in the process, neglecting the citizens of their country who have been having a hard time finding work.

So the United States government has finally decided to make a stand against tax havens, and it’s a bout time. These little piggies, banks like Citi Bank and Bank of America, take money in the bailout from the taxpayer, and then incorporate overseas to save even more money. Their ungratefulness is haunting, and their greed is so blatant, that I am hard pressed to figure out what took so long for the government to finally hinder the chicanery. And if stopping these corporations from finding loopholes in tax laws will be detrimental to their cash flow and profit margins, then so be it.

- David Abady
Source: http://firstread.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2009/05/04/1920897.aspx

Culture Corner

Finding Acceptance in the Cyber World

While speaking with a classmate earlier in the semester, it was brought up that her friend was planning on writing a paper about a rather interesting cultural phenomenon: the increased number of people “coming out” on YouTube.

While YouTube has always been a place for watching bootlegged episodes of Robot Chicken or time-wasting viewer-made skits such as “Dramatic Chipmunk,” it has increasing become a nation of its very own. YouTube, as a social community, has become a place to meet people interested in the same videos as you, a place to get helpful hints on everything from how to beat the last boss of a video game to playing Coldplay’s “Violet Hill” on guitar, and even a place to discuss of political issues and receive actual responses from candidates. But to express a deeply personal issue with millions you don’t know? This is something new.

A simple YouTube search will give you the facts. “Coming out of the closet” yields over 18,200 videos while “coming out” alone gives you over 527,000 search results. The videos, many with views in the hundred-thousands, contain the shy, quiet person, alone in his room with a webcam desperate to express himself to the anyone who will listen; the girl sitting behind a desk sharing the story of how she came out to her friends; the upbeat kid behind a pride flag sharing his views on why coming out is so important, and how you shouldn’t be afraid to deny who you are. Some post step-by-step instructions, tips on how to tell your parents, encouragements. What makes these videos so poignant is the need for community they all share—the essential support, for someone out there who can understand or relate to you that is so necessary for survival. Nearly every video I watched expressed how the non-virtual environment the narrator lived in wouldn’t allow him or her to be openly gay without consequences—whether they would be “letting down” their family or friends or attaching a social stigma to themselves. The internet, and YouTube especially, allowed them to tell their story without that threat; allowed them to find strength in the stories of others; to at least find someone in the deep world of cyberspace who doesn’t see their sexual preference as a “disease.”

It is not just the act of telling that brings community, however, but the comments that follow these videos. Most of them are inspiring and encouraging. One teenage boy, almost in tears, is expressing how he much he wishes he could tell someone about who he really is, but is too terrified and ashamed to (the fact that he is “ashamed” makes me sick over the society we’ve created). His account information says he’s from the suburbs of Chicago, yet people from all over the world—comments were posted by people in the multiple areas of the United Kingdom, Canada, and various cities of the US within just the last week—were expressing their support for him. “Omg i love you for making this video,” writes one, “youve changed my life by watching this. you are amazing.” Others share their own stories, “if people won't accept me as what and who i am. then they dont deserve to be in my life or to know me. My family is incredibly religious (lutheran) and most of them are anti-gay.so if they dont want me around....ill make it happen.” One user expresses how he’s in a relationship with a woman he doesn’t love, just for appearance, ending with “god give us both strength” while others simply offer much-sought after support: “Hope you find someone. You deserve it,” “You are off to a great start,” “just be confident in urself babe that’s the best thing u can do.” Even more interestingly, these members of YouTube were all different ages—the youngest I saw was 16, the oldest 64.

But how healthy is this new YouTube culture? While the website does supply its fair share of anti-gay backlash—videos of people joking about how “I’m coming out…I can’t whistle!” to comments calling the speaker a “fucking fag”—these dissidents are either ignored or (in the case of the comments) violently dispelled by other users and reported. What is of more concern to me, however, is how people are using YouTube as a substitute for a real community. While finding a place in this world is paramount, how much is being “out” only to the internet sphere healthy? We live in a real world, not a virtual one, and what could be more upsetting than to know that acceptance can only be found in impersonal text on a website? When being gay carries such a heavy weight in this country that family and friends—those whose whole purpose are to love and support you no matter what—are traded in for a few black dots scrawled across a computer screen, what does that say about us?

My only is hope is that, one day, users like TapoutKing16 and cosmosman won’t need YouTube anymore.

-Christina Squitieri

Poem of the Week

"Celestial Music" by Louise Glück

This will be the last Poem of the Week for this semester. As the 2008-2009 school year draws to a close, we enter a time to celebrate endings—from the last of finals to graduation. Appropriate for this time is a beautiful poem written by contemporary poet Louise Glück, whose “Celestial Music” embodies both the happiness and sadness of saying goodbye.

Celestial Music
by Louise Glück

I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to god,
she thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth, she's unusually competent.
Brave, too, able to face unpleasantness.

We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.
I'm always moved by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality.
But timid, also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
according to nature. For my sake, she intervened,
brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down across the road.

My friend says I shut my eyes to god, that nothing else explains
my aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who buries her head in the
pillow
so as not to see, the child who tells herself
that light causes sadness—
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
to wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person—

In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
on the same road, except it's winter now;
she's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial music:
look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
like brides leaping to a great height—
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth—

In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
from time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're trying to explain, the fact
that we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar
doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something
beautiful, an image
capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, the
composition
fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering—
it's this stillness we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.

---

Endings have the ability to invoke some of the most powerful human emotions, whether they are sorrow, anger, relief, regret, or even a contented peace. What makes Louise Glück’s poem so powerful is that it manages to convey all these feelings in only a few stanzas. There is the sickened sadness over the dying caterpillar, the fear that leads the speaker to “bur[y] her head in the/pillow,” the shame and reproach of “aversion to reality,” the regret of seeing “nothing” instead of hearing celestial music. Yet amidst all of these emotions, something greater than peace is found. Nature, which can only be sustained if it contains both life and death, becomes “the/composition” that the speaker and her friend “both love”—the air, the rocks, the stillness. We are taken away from the craziness of the world, from the “brides leaping to a great height,” from religion casting a net over the Earth, tying down the jumping newlyweds (and the speaker’s friend) from reaching higher up. But the intangible religion doesn’t matter. Instead, wholeness does. Even the dead caterpillar, lying in a circle, an attempted piece of art—showing that even death is art—is beautiful, peaceful, part of “something whole.”

So don’t feel too sad over saying your goodbyes this month. After all, endings complete things, make them whole, make them beautiful. Without that closure, without that love of everything that makes up the world—a world that includes the end of things—the sky’s song would fall on deaf ears, and we’d only see how trapped we are, instead of how free. Look at the glittering rocks; see the greedy ants; feel the air growing cool. Inhale that quiet- inhale and feel free. The music will play. We just need to listen to the peace that comes from the natural form and cycle of things; we need to open our ears. Otherwise, how will we ever hear such music?

The moon has a solo in there. When you say goodbye, listen for it.

-Christina Squitieri

Currently Listening

Morrissey, Years of Refusal

I’ve had beef with Morrissey since he walked off the stage in Boston mid-way through a concert I shelled out sixty-five dollars for in 2007. Last February, he officially earned his way off my shit list with the release of his ninth solo album, Years of Refusal. In an age in which single tracks can be purchased from Amazon.com and iTunes for ninety-nine cents a pop, the album’s composition is masterful with seamless transitions and epic dynamics. It evokes a time when records were listened to with adoration from beginning to end, and not uploaded onto one’s iPod and put on shuffle to be half-listened to on the subway.

In the three years since Ringleader of the Tormentors, Morrissey has assembled a perfect succession of audio gems. The album is solid, free of filler-tracks and cheap gimmicks. “Something is Squeezing My Skull,” a song in which the singer gleefully takes stock of his medicine chest, reeling off the names of his countless anti-depressant prescriptions, opens the album with a gust of hot air and verve. Morrissey’s vocals are more powerful, and his band more in-sync than ever. “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris” is the track most reminiscent of his earlier solo works, and could at times even be mistaken for a Smiths song. The snide flamboyance of “It’s Not Your Birthday Anymore” proves the singer hasn’t lost his cruel humor as he approaches middle age:

“It’s not your birthday anymore
There’s no need to be kind to you
And the will to see you smile and belong
Has now gone.
It’s not your birthday anymore
Did you really think we meant
All of those syrupy, sentimental things
That we said?”

But it’s not all thorniness and sarcasm, as Years of Refusal boasts some of the tenderest moments of Morrissey’s career. “Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed” is the brooding lament of a child bewailing his mother’s suicide, set to an ominous marching drum rhythm. “When I Last Spoke to Carol” resumes the subtle suicide theme, as the singer repents his impotence in the face of a friend’s existential turmoil.

This album was the last collaborative effort of Steven Patrick Morrissey and producer Jerry Finn, who died shortly after its completion. Finn was also responsible for the most recent resurrection of Morrissey’s career, producing You Are the Quarry in 2004, which ended the songwriter’s seven-year hiatus. Despite Quarry’s immediate success, it’s safe to say that Finn will be better remembered by Years of Refusal. Though the album has a slow burn, taking critics and fans at least four or five listens to come to terms with its brilliance, it has the potential to become a classic, and certainly a hallmark of Morrissey’s repertoire.

-Ariana Costakes

Currently Reading

"One Arm" by Yasunari Kawabata

“I can let you have one of my arms for the night.”

“One Arm,” a short novella from the Nobel Prize winning Japanese author Yasunari Kawabata, is one of the quintessential examples of magical realism. This bizarre tale, published in 1964, consistently changes our standards and conceptions of what is real. The story evolves around the protagonist, an unnamed male figure, who receives a young girl’s right arm for the night. The bulk of the text is mostly his experience with the arm, and his cognition as he converses and attempts to bond with the limb. The character seems to have a sort of sexual attraction to the limb, which symbolizes innocence and youth to him. He eventually replaces his own arm with the girl’s, but his connection seems to frighten this emotionally-guarded protagonist, and in a fit of panic he kills the arm.

After adjusting to the reincarnated reality of the story and accepting my inability to conceive what is real and what is not—that an arm can not only be wholly given away, but develop a mind of it’s own - I began to take a great deal of interest in the story. Despite being a translation, the text is riddled with uniquely beautiful lines. Even such descriptions as “the arm smiled,” I found compelling in some odd way. I tried to research further into Kawabata’s life to discern what his underlying message could have been, but I shortly hit a dead end.

Kawabata was born June 14th, 1899. He was orphaned at four years old and proceeded to endure a series of child hood tragedies. After losing both his grandparents, his sole caretakers, at a very early age, he was taken in by other family members but separated from his sister, who he only met once more after this. He forsook his family for a boarding house and after graduating from the American equivalent of high school, he moved to Tokyo at the age of eighteen. He applied and was accepted to the Tokyo Imperial University where he majored in writing. In addition to being a reporter, he wrote fiction. He stated that the greatest influence on all his work was the effects of World War II on Japan.

Kawabata died in 1972. Some say he committed suicide, others say his death was accidental. An obviously troubled person, the author suffered from both Parkinson's disease and severe depression triggered by the suicide of a close fiend. While he died before ever thoroughly discussing his writing, he confessed to having repeated nightmares about the death of his associate, and was recorded stating to a friend, before traveling, that he sometimes wished his train would crash.

We may never know what his true motives were for the story “One Arm,” but it will always serve as a literary mirror, showing us our hidden insecurities and the constant guard we place around ourselves. Whatever “One Arm” really is, it doesn’t matter in the end. Its honesty and melancholy shine through the text.

-Victor Gurbo

At This Moment

This week Joe and Meaghan asked Brooklyn College: "Which animal is your least favorite and why?"

“Raccoons because their beady little eyes bug me out”
-Brie

“Hm...cats are definitely on the bottom of my list of favorite animals. Any time I see one on the same side of the street as me, this paralyzing fear consumes me: I'm afraid the feline will turn its freaky yellow eyes on me and attack me. I shudder at the mere thought of those strong, pointy claws!”
-Miriam

“The platypus. God was definitely drunk when he decided to put a fish and wombat together...”
-Christina

“The common house-fly because it poops on your food. Also Greenhead and horse-flies because they ruin a perfectly good day at the beach with a bite that feels like a shot from a staple gun.”
-Ariana

“Humans─ too unpredictable, capable of way more destruction than any other biological being, sick, twisted, greedy; but pigeons and gulls are also bad because they shit on you and try to steal your food.”
-Jay

“I'll say possums... they are scary mother f’ers with their sharp little teeth and the hissing...”
-Danielle

“Humans because they spend their Mother's Day hating on other animals.
(I hope that made you think). My second choice is the naked mole rat.
The 60s ended a long time ago. Put on some clothes...hippie.”
-Victor

“Hippopotamuses─ hippopotami? Either way I heard their teeth are so strong they can tear off a human leg. Thankfully they don’t live in Brooklyn so I guess if I had to choose an animal I actually encounter I would say squirrels because there’s something evil in their eyes.”
-Meaghan

Greeting

Get enough sleep this weekend? For your own sakes, I sure hope so! With only a couple weeks to go until the last day of classes (Thursday, May 14th), now's the time to get yourselves together and start those papers you've been putting off for so long. For those diligent students who have been keeping up with their studies all semester long, thus immensely easing the burden of crunch time, I heartily commend you. But even for my procrastinating peers (rest assured, I am undoubtedly one of you), consolation is at hand with the "Quote of the Week" found in those ever-useful BC Planners:

"Remember, today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday."
- Dale Carnegie

Think about it. Anticipate the relief of tension once you hand in that 10-page paper, once you hastily scribble that last word of that in-class essay. I hope that it is in this calmer state of mind that you read this week's blog. Happy reading!

Announcements:

This Tuesday, May 5th, is the Annual English Majors' Tea, 12:30-2:30 in the Gold Room of SUBO. Come and join the party- you can pick up a copy of the long-awaited Zine!

- Miriam Harari

News Briefs

The United States: Home to 25% of the World's Prisoners

The United States currently has a disproportionate amount of its citizens behind bars. Although Americans make up only 5% of the world’s population, 25% of the planet’s prisoners are Americans. According to The Economist, around one in every 31 Americans is either in prison or on parole. Black males in the U.S. face a likelihood of one in three of doing jail time at least once in their lives. Federal prisons are currently operating at 130% capacity. (These figures do not include the countless citizens of other nations currently behind bars on U.S. soil.)

Conditions within these prisons are deplorable. Sexual assault by guards and fellow inmates is widely reported. One sixth of these prisoners has a psychological disorder; there are four times as many mentally ill people in U.S. prisons as there are in U.S. psychiatric facilities. Many inmates also sustain psychological trauma while serving out their sentences.

As well as being overpopulated and treacherous, U.S. federal prisons are also highly ineffective as institutions of reform. The Economist reports that two thirds of former prisoners are picked up again for similar offenses within three years of their first arrest. Former felons are disenfranchised for life, unable to find decent employment. They are also denied financial aid for further education and stripped of their right to vote and to travel abroad.

The decriminalization of marijuana possession and other non-violent offenses would help empty our federal prisons, as would more rigid psychiatric evaluation of convicts. Unfortunately, marijuana decriminalization bills are widely opposed by the conservative contingent of the government, and most states lack the funds for adequate diagnoses and treatment of mentally ill offenders. Just as unfortunately, the downsizing of America’s prison population doesn’t seem to rank very high on any politician’s agenda these days.

- Ariana Costakes

Source: Lexington. “A Nation of Jailbirds.” The Economist 4 April 2009: p. 40.


The Origin of Our Species

A massive new genetic study proposes that humans originated near the border of modern-day South Africa and Namibia, a far more specific understanding than the vaguer picture of African origin that previously reigned.

Researchers from 11 countries collaborated on the study of more than 4 million genotypes, which was published April 30th in the renowned journal Science. By analyzing genetic sequences from 121 populations in Africa, 60 non-African populations and four African-American populations, they were able to trace Africans back to 14 ancestral clusters.

Charles Darwin first proposed an African origin of humans in his 1871 book The Descent of Man. It's now widely accepted that modern humans spent half of their 200,000 years on the planet in Africa, making it a key area of interest for geneticists, linguists and anthropologists alike.

The new study confirms prevailing assumptions that Africa is still home to the most genetic diversity.

Africa is currently has more than 2,000 ethno-linguistic groups, and the researchers were able to triangulate movement within and out of Africa by matching genetic and linguistic patterns.

"This is a spectacular insight into the history of African populations and therefore the history of mankind," said Muntaser Ibrahim, a researcher from the University of Khartoum, who was also involved in the study.

- Ingrid Feeney

Source: BBC

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8027269.stm




A Neverending Tragedy

Nikki Catsouras, an 18 year old girl from Orange County, was killed in a
horrific car crash on Halloween in 1996. Nikki's body was so badly mangled that
the coroner would not allow her parents to identify her body. However, two patrol
officers who were at the scene of the accident took pictures of the scene for
evidence, but somehow saw it fit to begin circulating photos of Nikki's nearly
decapitated head hanging out the window of the car she was driving on the
internet. A few days after her death, her father received an email that appeared
to be a property listing. When he opened the email, a picture of Nikki's bloody
face appeared on the screen with the caption, "Woohoo Daddy! Hey daddy. I'm
still alive."

Nikki's parents launched an effort to stop the images from being shared. "They
hired a lawyer, Keith Bremer, and a tech company called Reputation Defender that
works to remove malicious content from the Web. However, their extensive
efforts were in vain. "The family has no legal basis to compel Web sites to
remove the photos, and no amount of programming magic could keep them from
spreading to new sites," so the gruesome photos remain in circulation. This
story only gets more horrifying, with the creation of a MySpace page wholly
dedicated to the defamation of Nikki's memory.

It is just as painful writing about this story as it is reading it. My heart
goes out to Nikki's family and I extend my sympathy to them. After reading this
story, I hope others will feel compelled to assist in the fight against the
disregard for privacy in this age of technology. If we refuse to forward lewd,
gruesome, or defaming emails maybe it will diminish the circulation of such
images.

It is also up to our government and local agencies to protect the privacy of the
American citizens. The officers responsible for this received a mere slap on the
wrist and the PD simply issued a letter of apology to the family. Stricter laws
must be enforced to protect the innocent. I hope that Nikki's family will be
able to receive some closure. I hope we have not lost our common human decency.

- Aisha Douglas

Source: http://www.newsweek.com/id/195073

Culture Corner

Comic Book Culture
 
I can hear the haters now.  They say, "Joe Pugliesi, it seems as if all you read is comic books!"  So it would seem, though in actuality I do read other books as well.  As Lewis Carrol wrote, “Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice, ‘without pictures or conversations?’" I can see your point Alice; those books with just fancy words do get rather boring sometimes. Sounds like you would enjoy comic books.
 
The culture of comics has grown since the golden age. A mythology has formed around each character, and each has developed their own unique history. Many people know that Batman watched his parents get murdered and subsequently vowed to take down the criminals of Gotham and protect the city. Fewer know that Dick Grayson would have a similar fate and watch his parents fall to their deaths while performing in the circus, and that Bruce Wayne would take him in and he would become the first Robin. There’s the story of Superman dying and coming back to life. Bane breaking Batman’s back. Joker crippling Batgirl. The arrival of Apocalypse in X-Men forcing the heroes and villains to team up against a common enemy. The list goes on and on. The graphic novel has taken on a special role in our society. There are conventions all over the country to honor these characters that so many look up to.
 
Comic Con, the most famous of these conventions, is a place where the biggest writers and artists of the business get together and sign merchandise for the fans, who commonly are dressed as their favorite characters. All the new action figures that will be released are shown and upcoming storylines for new comics are revealed. The stars of the upcoming movies usually stop by for promotions.
 
Comic books or graphic novels or whatever you’d like to call them are the forgotten piece of literature at Brooklyn College. Once upon a long time ago there was a course called Graphic Novel that ceased to exist when I came to the school. I dare one of the Brooklyn College English professors to teach this course again. You can do lectures on what makes a hero. The distinction of the hero and the anti-hero. The psychology of certain characters. And I’m not saying to just teach a class on the superhero part of graphic novels. There are a bunch of great stories out there about growing up and the epiphanies people would have when younger. You can talk about the relationship between the writing and art. There’s plenty you can do with this course. So why don’t you teach it? Come on, I dare you.
 
- Joe Pugliesi

Poem of the Week

"America" by Allen Ginsberg

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

*****

Dated as this poem may seem, with its Cold War references and uncomfortable racial epithets, it embodies a certain exasperation felt by many Americans with their nation, as prevalent now as it was in 1956, amid two wars and an economic crisis. In this poem, Ginsburg is seemingly overcome by the pressure of being an American. At the time this poem was written, typical wartime rhetoric abounded. There was much talk of “duty” and “obligation to one’s country” and at every turn there was someone questioning your patriotism (sound familiar?). One wrong move could get you “blacklisted,” ruining your career forever. “I’m sick of your insane demands,” he says. Enlisting, pledging allegiance, taking at face value the information disseminated by government sources, these were/are the things expected of an American in wartime.

Mainstream media are another of Ginsburg’s gripes. He is at once horrified and fascinated by Time magazine and how it preemptively sets the emotional mood for the nation. “It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.”

Being an American is perhaps even more stressful now than it was when Ginsburg wrote this poem. Despite our immensely popular new president, our government’s foreign policies have made international pariahs of us. The poem is poignant in its confrontational tone. Ginsburg addresses his nation as if it were an overbearing and insatiably demanding parent. “What more do you want from me?” he seems to cry, “I refuse to do my ‘duty,’ to grow up, to bow down, and to repent my commie upbringing.” It’s an irreverent middle finger in the face of conventionality, and its humor and conviction are refreshing in these dark and ambivalent times.

- Ariana Costakes

Currently Listening

It was Forty-two Years Ago Today (If today was June 1st)

Many albums can claim the title of being most influential. Nobody can deny the brilliance of “Highway 61 Revisited,” with Dylan’s bitter cynicism set to rhythmic verse, challenging all other songwriters to write lyrics that matter: “Once upon a time, you look so fine, threw the bums a dime, in your prime, didn’t you?” And everyone generally acknowledges the audacity of “The Velvet Underground & Nico,” with Lou Reed poetically and unapologetically describing a personal romance of his: “...Because a mainer to my vein, Leads to a center in my head… When the heroin is in my blood, And that blood is in my head, Then thank God that I’m as good as dead, Then thank your God that I’m not aware, And thank God that I just don’t care,” his guitar becoming more distorted and cacophonic as the lyrics become seedier in order to recreate the feeling. He dared songwriters to write lyrics that were honest, and listening to Reed sing makes you feel like it is 1967, and you are back in Andy Warhol’s factory, and Jim Morrison, Dylan, Edie Sedgwick, or Joan Baez might walk in at any time. The influence of Elvis Presley’s “The Sun Sessions” on rockabilly rock is obvious, as is “Led Zeppelin I” on heavy metal, “The Ramones” on punk, David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” on new wave, and Nirvana’s “Nevermind” on everything since 1991. But the Beatles officially have the album that is regarded as the one that completely changed everything forever.

The Beatles had not truly begun to be artistic until the release of “Rubber Soul” in 1965; that was when the sway of Bob Dylan really showed up in their music. Just listen to “Norwegian Wood,” Lennon’s Dylan-like ballad of an affair with a cold-hearted flighty woman, and a song that Dylan took to heart and paid homage to on his album “Blonde on Blonde.” And then came “Revolver,” which was basically part two of “Rubber Soul,” but more McCartney oriented, as the previous was Lennon. But their next album changed the direction of music for good, and allowed bands like Led Zeppelin and Cream to form. It’s been called the greatest album of all time, the most influential album of all time, and perhaps the most drug-metaphoric album of all time. And when the Beatles came out with “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” in 1967, it has been said by Brian Wilson that it was the end of the Beach Boys. He was driving in his car and when he heard it on the radio he pulled over and finally gave in to Lennon-McCartney; though their “Rubber Soul” influenced his “Pet Sounds,” and his “Pet Sounds” influenced their “Sgt. Pepper,” after hearing “A Day in the Life,” Wilson became even more withdrawn and depressed and, after putting the recording of his album “Smile” to a halt, lost all hope of ever surpassing his closest rivals. The Rolling Stones, on their part, became more ambitious from “Sgt. Pepper,” and it opened up their eyes to all they could do with a song.

The album starts off with the title track of the same name, with the Fab Four taking on the persona of a marching band, the first time the concept of an album was false personalities, with McCartney bellowing “It was twenty years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play,” words that have become as iconic of the times as the band itself. “With a Little Help My Friends” has Ringo on vocals, tersely singing about just wanting to get high with some friends. “Oh, I get high with a little help from my friends...”

The next track on the album is “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” a song infamous for Lennon’s stream-of-consciousness psychedelic imagery, and supposed subliminal reference to LSD.

“Picture yourself on a boat in a river
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
Cellophane flowers of yellow and green,
Towering over your head.
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes
And she’s gone…
Lucy in the sky with Diamonds…”

Next is “Getting Better,” and this is the number that showed how much of a fit Lennon and McCartney were together; Lennon was the yin to McCartney’s yang, and the cynic to the other’s hope. As McCartney sings “I got to admit it’s getting better, it’s getting better, all the time” optimistically, Lennon cuts in pessimistically – “It can’t get much worse.” The album then comes to “Fixing a Hole,” McCartney’s metaphor to covering a leak to stop the rain, to his quest for marijuana.

“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go.
I’m filling in the cracks that ran through the door
And kept my mind from wandering
Where it will go.
And it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong
I’m right
Where I belong
I’m right
Where I belong.
See the people standing there
Who disagree and never win
And wonder why they don’t get in my door…”

“She’s Leaving Home” is a McCartney ballad about a true story of a runaway girl who broke her parent’s heart, despite all that they did for her. And then comes the most musically complicated song on the album, “Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite,” a narrative based on a 19th century circus poster that Lennon purchased. It is in this song that Lennon, while not quite having the blatant nerve of Lou Reed, references the most dangerous opiate (and the term ‘Henry the Horse,’ which was slang) in a pop song and got the song banned from being played on BBC. And lyrically, just like “Lucy,” this is when Lennon is at his best.

“The celebrated Mr. K.
Performs his feat on Saturday and Bishops gate
The Hendersons will dance and sing
As Mr. Kite flies through the ring, don’t be late
Messrs. K. And H. assure the public
Their production will be second to none
And of course Henry the Horse dances the waltz!”

“Within You With You” is George Harrison’s Indian and Hindu influenced song, and it shows the increasing genius of Harrison as a songwriter on his own. “When I’m Sixty-Four” is McCartney’s somber tone of eventually growing older, and no longer being cared about, and it is the first time the group sung toward an older audience; it is also McCartney at his lovable cheesiness, but is still a catchy pop tune nonetheless. “When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now...”

“Lovely Rita” is a satire by McCartney of falling in love with a meter maid while she is giving him a ticket. “Good Morning Good Morning” is a Lennon tale about the mundane in everyday life, and how each day drifts into the next. And then comes “A Day in the Life,” Lennon and McCartney compositions combined to create the greatest Beatle song. The song starts off with Lennon telling a story of a friend who either committed suicide or lived too fast for life; then McCartney pops in with a strong detailed prose poem about a how a man ought to live – getting up in the morning and heading to work – and the music accompanies both of their sections appropriately. While Lennon’s part is sullen, McCartney’s is upbeat. And the song ends the album with the final drug references – Lennon’s “I’d love to turn you on,” and McCartney’s “Found my way upstairs and had a smoke, and somebody spoke and I went into a dream,” getting the song banned from BBC.

What is so amazing about “Sgt. Pepper” is not just what is on the album, but what was omitted from it. Lennon’s “Strawberry Fields Forever” and McCartney’s “Penny Lane,” were both released as singles as a preview for the album but Beatles producer, George Martin, decided not to put them on the album. These two songs are about each writer’s nostalgia on growing up, thinking back to younger days of Liverpool and Rotherhithe, and are signature songs of both. And as great as this album was, the Beatles were far from finished, even though afterwards they were hardly speaking to each other. But “Sgt. Pepper” will always be remembered as the album that made psychedelic rock mainstream, and that set the scene for the psychedelics of the late 1960’s, and the hard rock era of the early 1970’s.

- David Abady

Currently Reading

Crazy Sunday

Crazy Sunday is F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short tale of the moral wasteland that is Hollywood; the town cares about nothing except beauty, as the sun burns onto its occupants an emptiness that keeps them planted there, beyond his or her control. But the town will spit them out when it’s through with them. This short story revolves around a love triangle between three bored individuals, who are immersed within the power struggles and Machiavellian tactics of the film industry: Miles Calman, Stella Walker Calman, and Joel Coles. Miles is cheating on Stella, and he agonizes over the fact that Stella may be cheating on him; Joel is Miles’s friend, but is also deeply attracted to Stella. Miles is sure that his buddy is going to sleep with his wife. The characters act as if they are merely in a movie about their lives, and that they are the writers, actors and directors of it. Their Sundays are essential to the plot of their story; all the action takes place on Sunday, and their disillusionment with their own lives, as well as with Hollywood itself, is all defined by that last day of the weekend. Joel spends his Sundays filled with disaffection for the ideals he once embraced: Hollywood, its players, and Los Angeles itself fill him with nothing but dread.

Joel Coles seems to have been placed in the story to portray Fitzgerald himself, who found that Hollywood didn’t treat him any better than it did anyone else. But you aren’t really sure whether Fitzgerald is portraying his disgust with Hollywood, or whether he is trying to show his fascination for it – like the man who ends up resenting the woman he’s in love with when she rejects him. On the last Sunday of the story, Joel succumbs to the temptation. Inevitably, he gives in to the allure of Los Angeles, and finds himself blinded by the sun, and unable to step out from deep inside the asphalt. What happens next are events of melodrama and tragedy, followed closely by a revelation that allows Joel to finally see himself clearly. But reality is blurred among the people in Hollywood, and the story concludes with Joel fully realizing his disdain for it, while also appreciating that he will never leave it.

- David Abady

Source: http://jameslogancourier.org/media/1/20060917-fitzgerl.gif

At This Moment

"What are you thinking right now at this exact moment?"


"I'm thinking about what it would look like if I drew a comic book version of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night,' after perusing the MOMA pamphlet I took off of Natov's desk."

Dan, Student

"I'm thinking a million thoughts at once as usual, but at this very second what passed through was 'Is that meat Reid used in his homemade chili bad because honestly it was in the freezer for a really long time and now my stomach feels weird.' Then I thought about Dominoes Pasta Bread bowls and how many blubbery people thrive in these United States.

Sara, Playwright


"I'm thinking I cant wait to finish these f_____ing papers so I can graduate next Saturday and then fly to San Francisco to touch my man on Sunday. God bless it."

Liz, Singer

"I'm thinking that garbanzos take way too long to cook and about all the things I would do for a frozen chinola margarita or three right now. I'm also thinking that True Romance is a kickass movie!"

Ariana, Student


"I'm thinking about how gray and rainy it is today, and how it will be gray and rainy most of this week. I'm going to have to mentally prepare for it. It's a day today where I would have liked to take a nap or lie around...maybe snuggle up with someone. But our neighbors were here all afternoon, even with the kids gone. And I played hostess. And now the kids are back and I"m back to fixing food, playing mom and general household stuff. Sigh. It would have been nice to at least."

Katherine, Professor