Greetings

As we start to enter that “special” time of the semester where papers are due and exams are starting to be given, it's important to take some time for yourself. Whether that's getting a slice of pizza after school with friends or riding the trains in alphabetical order (Still something we need to do. You know who you are!), go do something fun just for the hell of it. It isn't midterms yet, so you still have time to ride your bike across the Brooklyn Bridge or rent that movie you've been dying to see. Make time for yourself and for things outside of school. After all, it's easy to get bogged down in the massive waves of readings and calculations!

My recommendation for a bit of a break? Have a fantastically lame/awesome party! The last week of September is a great one for literature. Aside from the first day of autumn (Sept 22), we celebrated the 143rd birthday of H.G. Wells (Sept 21), the 113th birthday of F. Scott Fitzgerald (the 24th) and 121st birthday of T.S. Eliot (Sept 26th). What could be better than cake for the greats? Or, better yet, an excuse to eat cake? There is always something to celebrate, so invite your friends, make some party hats with lines from This Side of Paradise written on them, decorate your dessert with crop circles, and have your choice of tunes be Eliot’s reading of The Waste Land aloud. Life’s too short to worry about being lame (or to worry too much over that epistemology paper you still need to write), so do something you enjoy, no matter how silly someone else finds it to be.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my Gatsby-themed cake needs to be taken out of the oven. See you on the A through G trains!

-Christina Squitieri

News Briefs

Evidence Embedded on Wii Game Console?

New security camera footage reveals policemen of Polk County, Florida playing on the Wii system for hours in the midst of a drug raid. Police say they found thousands of dollars worth of drug paraphernalia, weapons, and stolen goods during the raid. Searching for evidence in the home of convicted drug dealer Michael Difalco took a whole nine hours, likely because not every cop on site fully participated in the search. Within the first 20 minutes, several cops on the High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area task force of the Auburndale, Lakeland, and Winter Haven police departments began a bowling tournament on the suspect’s Wii.

The cops were caught Wii-handed on Difalco’s own wireless home security camera, disguised as a speaker. Tampa Defense Attorney Rick Escobar believes that the police officers violated their search warrant the moment they turned on the game system. Certainly, Difalco, who has previously spent three years in state prison for trafficking drugs and grand theft, hopes the “illegal” search will invalidate his case. But Polk County Sheriff Grady Judd, while acknowledging the officers’ misbehavior, believes that it “doesn’t invalidate the search at all.”

Sheriff Judd says he initiated an internal administrative investigation of the incident he calls “an embarrassment.” But although taxpayers are outraged by the police officers’ misuse of time and money, Judd reassures citizens that the $4,000 raid was necessary, as it included a lot of searching and waiting around. “The nature of a search is to hurry up and wait,” he says. “Am I trying to defend the fact that they were bowling, not at all. That was inappropriate.”

Blog commentators have expressed a range of reactions, from empathy to ridicule to disgust. I think Lakeland Police Chief Roger Boatner said it best. “There was a lot of down time, but that does not excuse the fact that we should act as the consummate professionals.” Eating donuts in the privacy of your off-duty car is one thing. Using a suspect’s personal property for your entertainment while on the job is a whole other ball game.

- Miriam Harari

To watch a video clip of the bowling tournament:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/09/22/police-play-wii-bowling-d_n_294405.html

Source: cbsnews.com


Google celebrates its eleventh anniversary and, meanwhile, lets us remember that we are living in an age of moral entropy and disaffection and dissatisfaction from interactions with others. The internet has made life easier, and, at the same time has largely contributed to the long-time curse of people looking the other way, listening but not hearing, nodding distraughtly, squinting, raising their brows, and generally not caring much. People are simply remnants; you can run a business, have a relationship, and seek your own holy grail without ever leaving your posh leather chair. It’s been reduced to people on dates staring at their blackberries as no decrease in politesse, especially since both the man and woman or man and man or woman and woman will be playing the same game of vanished realizations and apathetic relations. People just play now, and it’s fun to just play, easier, and, ironically, simpler.

-David Abady

Source: http://www.abcnews.go.com/Technology/google-birthday-google-celebrates-11-years/story?id=8686205

Culture Corner

Take A Dare With Your Hair

Tattoos are no longer considered taboo or the only way to express yourself. Hair designers are now becoming Hair Tattoo artists. This type of tattooing has been a growing wave since the late 1990s for people between the ages of 10-29. Young men and women from almost every ethnicity are now walking into barber shops and salons, not only asking for a hair cut, but also bringing their own design or symbol they desire shaved into their hair. One thing is guaranteed with hair tattoos: they are temporary and it won’t cost a fortune to get a hot new look for a short period of time. Perhaps that is why hair tattooing has become increasingly popular and is now perceived as a new movement of body art.

While it may be highly unlikely to observe this hairstyle on Wall Street or on CEOs of major companies, it is a fresh, hip trend that has been attracting many athletes, artists, video gamers, skateboarders, and musicians. There is a certain lifestyle that is attached to this type of tattooing, and it is essential to the client to have their design done neatly and with precision. Hair Tattoo artists view each “carving” as a challenge and the head of their clients as original canvases. The artist is capable of creating beauty and altering the confidence of their client based on his or her work.

Unlike regular body tattoos, hair tattoos are done without including color. The patterns should be asymmetrical, and are “carved” sometimes into the lower portion of the head on either side of the Mohawk, or sometimes on the entire head itself. If the customer does not have a Mohawk, they should have rather short hair. The hair stylists must have extremely steady hands and suitable equipment for this procedure; in this sense they are similar to doctors. They must have excellent clippers to cut the hair down approximately ¼” to the scalp or to create a Mohawk before they craft the design. For precise lines and intricate details, certain carving blades and trimmers are essential. The most frequent hair tattoos are tribal and vine-like designs as well as swirls and flourishes. However, others may decide to receive hearts, butterflies, the moon and stars, clouds, smiley faces, names, dates or anything that gives the customer a spark of individuality. These types of tattoos are never boring and will always attract the eyes of other people.

While regular tattoos are permanent, with hair tattoos it depends on how fast the customer’s hair grows. The customer has an obligation to maintain these unique tattoos by making frequent visits to the barbershop/salon where the tattoos were shaved in. The price of the patterns depends on how detailed the design is and how much work the artist will have to do. Are you now having doubts and regrets that you received the hair tattoo? No problem, just shave your hair to the scalp or allow your hair to grow out another ¼”, and no one will ever know you had one at all.

Hair tattoos prove that people yearn for their own originality and that art has no boundaries.

By: Alana Linchner

Source: http://hairstyling.suite101.com/article.cfm/hair_tattooing_for_men#ixzz0RxdDVULS

Poem of the Week

“Idiot Wind” from Blood on the Tracks
by Bob Dylan

“Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out quick but when they will I can only guess.
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy,
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me.
I can't help it if I'm lucky.

People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts.
Even you, yesterday, you had to ask me where it was at,
I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me any better than that
Sweet lady.

Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth,
Blowing down the backroads headin' south.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like.
There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door,
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars
After losin' every battle.

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars.
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies.
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes,
Blood on your saddle.

Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart.
Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped,
What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top
You're on the bottom.

I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes
don't look into mine.
The priest wore black on the seventh day, and sat stone-faced while the building
burned.
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime
turned
Slowly into autumn.

Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull,
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read
Every time I crawl past your door, I’ve been wishin' I was somebody else instead.
Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy,
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your ragin' glory.

I’ve been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free,
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me.
You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above,
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love,
And it makes me feel so sorry.

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats,
Blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,
We're idiots, babe.
It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.”


Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan’s most angry and poisonous album since Blonde on Blonde, stands as Dylan’s metaphor of the rain, of being blinded and then destroyed from love, a concept he began on Blonde as he stands “inside the rain” with a woman who takes and fakes. The entire Blood on the Tracks references the torrent and, as his real-life marriage was crumbling, largely autobiographical story of a man who distorted the facts of his life so outrageously. On “Idiot Wind,” every word spit out makes you feel like a thorn has pricked your finger. You feel stung. You feel like it’s you whose been betrayed, as Dylan knows that his obsessions are shared with everyone. Bob Dylan is so sure of his obsessions with betrayal, and revival from that betrayal, that he doesn’t even have to explain why he’s angry; he just shouts out unrelated narratives of disillusionment, and we are made to believe his disgust of the “idiot” simply because she’s an idiot—we believe it’s her fault because he says so, though we are never actually told the reason for his assumed betrayal. Dylan believes everyone and everything has it in for him, and she and he and them and it are in the wrong. What’s interesting about his anger here, though, is that in the end of the song he includes himself in his distaste—he is inside the idiot wind, as well. Idiot Wind, the place where gossip, treachery, callousness, and corruption flow within the rushing of the gale, and where Dylan is so wary of that, underneath his fury lies the flicker of fear—and, as T.S. Eliot once wrote, “This is the way the world ends.” Dylan is afraid of what comes next for him, and inside underneath he is trembling like a little boy alone in a dark tunnel whose wounds are more self-inflicted than he states. Because for all his pointed fingers, for all the blames he spews out against his wife, the press, the music industry, friends, and human beings in general, we are well aware that he is as much to blame as any of them, a tortured, insufferable genius like all poets are, like his namesake Dylan Thomas was, as well as his influences Ginsberg and Whitman. So while Bob Dylan cries out against the idiot, the deception of his wife, Sara, the indifference in religion figures, the irresponsibility of the press, and the vindictiveness of all those who’ve hurt him, he is including himself and blaming himself, but he is trying desperately to treat his wounds with the only way he knows how, and no one is spared his condemnations.

- David Abady

Currently Reading

The Reckoning: The Murder of Christopher Marlowe
By Charles Nicholl

The story starts off as a simple one. In Deptford, England, in the back room of a small tavern on Wednesday, May 30, 1593, playwright Christopher Marlowe—in a squabble over a bill (or “reckoning”)—is stabbed to death. The murderer, a man named Ingram Frizer, stabbed Marlowe once through the eye in what was declared by the coroner’s report as “self-defense.” The only other witnesses, Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley, corroborated Frizer’s case passively, giving few other details. Marlowe, still famous from his widely performed plays, was buried a few days later in an unmarked grave, and so was the end of his “accidental death.”

Or was it? Charles Nicholl’s book, “The Reckoning: The Murder of Christopher Marlowe,” reopens the 400-year-old case, digging deeper to find the truth. Sorting through the fuzzy details (such as the lackluster official report) and shady “coincidences” (Frizer, a few days after the case was brought to court, was issued a formal pardon by Queen Elizabeth herself), Nicholl sends the reader on a journey back to Marlowe’s time, into the depths of the Elizabethan underworld, where spies and con artists reign king. What starts out as a tavern fight by two drunken men over the “sum of pence owed” spirals into the truth about Christopher Marlowe—the atheist/playwright/spy who was deeply involved in Elizabethan politics (perhaps too deeply involved), and whose death, Nicholl argues, was no accident.

Nicholl’s book is a fascinating one, feeling at times like a James Bond movie. Spies are everywhere, from Marlowe’s own dealings with The Babington Plot—a plan to overthrow Queen Elizabeth and instate Mary, Queen of Scots on the throne—to the dirty work of Frizer, Poley, and Skeres. There are plot twists around every corner; as we learn more about the three men involved in Marlowe’s death we see that everything from the self-defense argument to the house they were in was a setup. Marlowe was not there by accident; there were no accidents. His death was the final step in a huge power struggle involving more than just the throne. All four men were spies, working sometimes with each other but often against. All were actors, schemers, and masters of deceit. And the three who left that room alive all tried to have Marlowe framed, only a few weeks before his death, for an atheistic plot that involved everything from declaring St. John the Baptist as “Christ’s bedfellow” to writing a crudely racist and violent attack on immigration. Dukes, Earls, and members of the Queen’s own team of spies were involved. Men did favors and demanded favors back. Some double-crossed each other willingly; others were tortured for it. The system was totalitarian and, as Nicholl puts it, it is not innocence, but influence that mattered. The more one reads, the more it becomes clear that this was no simple crime of passion, but the last resort of an elaborate plan to kill a man who knew too much.

While Nicholl often sees things in the most convenient light (he refuses to entertain some plausible ideas while steadfastly believing ones that should be questioned), “The Reckoning” is still an irresistibly fun ride. Written like a thriller, one cannot help but be excited as the details come together (“What? The house where he was murdered was owned by a woman with huge ties to the crown?!”) and the story of the true Marlowe gets even grittier. While the way Nicholl spins his tale may sometimes be questionable, the facts are still the facts, and the story he presents is an absorbing and fascinating one, even for those who have never heard of the playwright. And while some evidence may be circumstantial, Nicholl puts together a strong case for the true reason behind twenty-five-year-old Marlowe’s untimely death. What makes it even more exciting is that all the evidence is real (online one can even read the infamous “Baines’ Note”), and everything Nicholl puts down here could, quite possibly, be the truth.

So, was it a grimy bar fight or something so much more? I’m with Nicholl on this one, but that’s for the reader to decide.

-Christina Squitieri
Image courtesy of Amazon.com

Currently Listening

Dead Kennedys – Plastic Surgery Disasters

The consensus among critics and casual fans is that Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables is Dead Kennedys’ magnum opus, the source of two of their three most well-known tracks. For others, myself included, the real treasure of their brief discography is without question the 1982’s Plastic Surgery Disasters.
Released four years before the band’s original line-up parted ways, Plastic Surgery Disasters was only the Kennedys’ second full-length album. Originally 14 tracks, the album was re-released in 2000 with eight additional tracks off the EP In God We Trust Inc. For puritans like me, however, these tracks were better released separately. First of all, the eight songs are nothing special and second, they disrupt the flow of the original album line-up. The original release began and ended with the female voice of a perky and patronizing shrink laying out the reasons for the listener’s malcontent:

“Why are you such a stupid asshole?
Would you really like to know?
Well pay your fee, remove your clothes and Yvette will show you how.
You went to school where you were taught to fear and to obey, be cheerful, fit in, or someone might think you're weird!
Life can be perfect
People can be trusted
Someday I will fall in love; a nice quiet home of my very own
Free from all pain
Happy and having fun all the time!
It never happened, did it?”

The band then launches into a series of warp-speed, two minute punk numbers of varying themes, including “Trust Your Mechanic,” a critique of the for-profit healthcare system. By track ten, the two-minute songs give way to slower, more epic and musically diverse ones like “Riot,” “I am the Owl” and my personal favorite, “Moon Over Marin.” The latter, about an oil spill in Marin, California is one of the most covered Dead Kennedys songs. Guitarist East Bay Ray’s legendary riff is one of the prototypes of Surf Punk, a genre that emerged well after the Kennedys’ disbandment.
We on the East Coast tend to disregard West Coast rock pioneers, despite their international acclaim. I personally know Central Asians who know more about the Kennedys than my New York peers. No matter what end of the continent you hail from, in order to fully understand American punk rock, it’s important to revisit classics like this, lest we forget what it was all about.

-Ariana Costakes

Currently Watching

“Broken”

As the last season left us viewers at the edges of our seats with all the unexpected twists and turns, we have been anxiously awaiting the new season’s arrival. The season five finale left us boggled with Dr. House voluntarily checking himself into a psychiatric ward. Luckily, the suspense is now over! The two-hour premiere of “House” was packed with drama, turmoil and surprise.

The show itself has been very successful, winning various awards and numerous nominations. Some of the many honors it has received include three Emmy Awards, the 2006 Humanities Prize, two Golden Globes, two Screen Actors Guild Awards, a NAACP Image Award, an honor by the American Film Institute as one of the TV Programs of the Year Award, the Peabody Award for Best of Electronic Media, and two People’s Choice Awards. “House” had immediate success since it first aired, even though it wasn’t the only show out about doctors.

We come into season six and see Dr. House’s admittance into a psychiatric ward; knowing that this was mostly due to the major traumatic events in season five, and to kick a Vicodin addiction. In the previous season, Dr. House started hallucinating and his life started to spin out of control when Dr. Kutner committed suicide. At the end of the season, Dr. House started to lose faith in his own mental abilities, and was forced to admit that he had lost touch with reality and could no longer practice medicine (at least for the time being).

The episode takes place at the Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital. It is there that we witness House’s long and warped road to recovery. Typical to Dr. House’s twisted character role, in the beginning of his stay he tries several methods to get the clearance he needs to practice medicine again. He tries to turn Ward 6 upside down by upsetting patients and coming up with clever schemes, but to no avail. He meets his nemesis in the character of Dr. Nolan, who sees through all his tricks and refuses to let Dr. House get off easily. The arrival of a new patient, “Freedom Master,” turns Dr. House’s supposed “nice” gesture into a tragedy. Dr. House takes “Freedom Master” for a joyride to a carnival to lift his spirits after he becomes depressed about being told he didn’t have powers by Dr. Medina. “Freedom Master” believes he can truly fly and jumps off a parking garage, though he manages to survive. It was at that point that Dr. Nolan gives up and tells Dr. House he can leave, but House admits to Dr. Nolan that he honestly needs his help. Dr. House begins to take the therapy—both group and single—seriously, and he honestly works at getting his medical clearance. Dr. House also participates in the talent show, and even aids his annoying roommate, Alvie, in doing a freestyle rap. The episode ends with Dr. House’s release as he boards a bus back to Princeton.

“House” is basically great entertainment. It’s comical and educational, and it not only gives us a glimpse into a hospital and all the drama of it, but the psychological and emotional insight into its doctors and staff .What else could make “House” so popular and engrossing? Of course, it’s the character of Dr. House himself. Even though we might gasp at his utter ignorance of human sentiment, we admire him. Despite all his sarcasm, and his sometimes too brutally honest personality, Dr. House is a character we can relate to in some way and sympathize with in many. As Fox 5 quotes on their “House” homepage: “His behavior often borders on antisocial, but House is a brilliant diagnostician where unconventional thinking and flawless instincts afford him a great deal of respect.” He goes to and beyond places that others might fear even when there might be dire consequences. Despite his hostile and careless demeanor he truly cares about finding the diagnosis to his patient’s diseases and illnesses. With all he has suffered, the loss of friends and loved ones and dealing with his own physical pains and demons, we can’t help but understand why he is the way he is. In this episode, while in therapy with Dr. Nolan, Dr. House says something that stuck with me and highlights a lot about his character: “Successes only last until someone screws them up. Failures are forever.” We see from this line Dr. House’s inner turmoil, and how his successes are only temporary, that it is his mistakes that really haunt him. I’ll leave off with this: is this true of all of us?

- Sabina Santiago

Link to the “House” homepage: http://www.fox.com/house/index.htm

At This Moment

This week, Victor Gurbo and Rachel Weissman asked the Brooklyn College community, "What is your view on Brooklyn College's conversion days?"

Salim Hasbini: I think it's very arrogant for Brooklyn College to think they have the power to control and change the flow of time as they please.

Christina Squitieri: They work in order to make sure we have enough "official" class days to get credit for them and are basically used to shut up people who whine that they paid for x number of class days and got x-1. It's more to avoid lawsuits and keep getting city funding, but it's also annoying for us people who can't keep track of those things and end up scheduling doctor's appointments on "Monday" by accident o.o. Sorry again Professor Natov!

Nicholas Austin Ferrell: I think it's a communist plot orchestrated by Fidel Castro, a still living Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan. That's right Victor, Dylan is responsible for you having an extra 9:00 PM class. Watchya going to do about it? (IE. I don’t really care.)

Daniel Slepitsky: I have Orgo on Tuesdays. I love it.

Ilya Aldo Raine Ryvin: Agreed. Tuesdays are long for me. Monday is fun. This is good for me.

Hillery Caras: Its awesome cause I usually have bio lab on Tuesdays, it makes this week much better

Phyllis Forbes: It reminds me to randomly re-elect other days to suit my fancy. I've decided next Tuesday is Tet, the following Sunday is Guy Fawkes Day slash Lent and every other Friday is a business casual one.

Kathryn Squitieri: I think it works well. Do you have any other ideas?

Frieda Chkouri: I don’t like it... it's right after the holiday and I’m not prepared for it

Caryn Frohlich: I don’t really care so much, my prof did though and he cancelled class on Tuesday because he didn’t want to have it 2 days in a row!

Hadassah Norowitz: I see why the people with jobs are upset but personally I don't mind it. There's logic behind conversion days... as long as the teachers remind us, I'm fine

Feigie Kieval: I don't like it, it throws me off a bit for the rest of the day.

Daniel Cohen: Like Frosted Flakes they're great!

Jonathan Chan: We need it, else some classes will have 27 meetings, while others will only have 20 (numbers aren't exact)... it is really confusing though... if anyone could think of a better way that'd be great!

Victor V. Gurbo: It reminds me oddly of the movie groundhog day. Every time the college has one, I fear being perpetually stuck on a Tuesday...it also makes me question how much power we give the CUNY system if they can rearrange the constructs of time and space.

Neyra Azimov: Conversion days makes me think religion. Every time there's a conversion day I’m gonna come as a new believer…tomorrow I’ll be a Buddhist.

Greetings!

Now that the dust has settled and the fourth week of class is underway, freshmen and BC veterans alike can really dig in their heels and get down to business--or continue to struggle to get back into the fall sleep/study rhythms they perfected last year.
If you need a distraction from all the academia, Professor Natov's English Major's counseling office is accepting submissions for the spring English Major's Zine! Send poetry, prose and art submissions (no more than 8 pages in length) to zinesubmissions2007@gmail.com or stop by 3416 Boylan in person!

-Ariana Costakes

News Briefs

Alan Turing, 55 Years Later, Finally Gets Apology

He isn’t taught in history classes. His name is not placed on pillars alongside his peers—including Winston Churchill—when one discusses World War II. Without Mr. Alan Turing, however, the world would be quite different.

Alan Turing was a computer genius whose efforts were instrumental in creating “the Bombe”—the machine responsible for cracking Germany’s famous “Enigma Machine.” Central to British intelligence during the war, Turing’s machine was able to decipher secret coded messages captured from Germany. These messages included crucial military moves, and historians believe World War II would have been extended by at least two years without them.

Yet Turing was not praised for his work. In 1952, only a few years after England emerged victorious, Turing was prosecuted for “gross indecency” after admitting to a homosexual relationship while reporting a burglary to the police. His reward for helping win one of the most violent wars in history was not medals from the state, but instead a “cure”—chemical castration—and the loss of his job at the UK Government Communications Headquarters. Two years later, in 1954, Turing killed himself.

Now, over 55 years after his death, Prime Minister Gordon Brown has issued Turing’s family a formal apology. Persuaded by petitions with thousands of signatures, Brown stated how inhumanely Turing was treated “under the homophobic laws of the time.” “[W]e're sorry,” he said, “you [Turing] deserved so much better." Computer scientist John Graham-Cumming has even petitioned to the Queen to grant Turing a posthumous knighthood.

Yet is this really enough? Turing, considered by many to be “the father of computer science,” was critically important when it came to winning a war, but horrifically abused merely for his sexual preference. What kind of world do we live in where one man’s genius is overshadowed by his choice in a partner? Even now, fifty-five years later, Brown’s response is lukewarm at best. “We’re sorry,” Brown says, as if Turing was simply called a bad name instead of being driven to suicide from the brutality he faced. Thousands of lives were saved thanks to Turing; a world war ended. “We’re sorry.”

Mr. Brown’s public apology is, at least, a step in the right direction, not just because it clears the stigma from Turing’s name, but because of how eye-opening it is to the cruelty humans can inflict on one another. It makes one stop and think about how we are treating people today, and why. Perhaps Turing’s story will force ourselves to look deeper into our own prejudices, and begin to perceive our fellow humans by something more than who they kiss goodnight.

While Turing may not appear in history books anytime soon, let us hope that his story will stay with us. Let us hope, in another fifty-five years, we won’t need to issue any more apologies.

-Christina Squitieri

Fact: Turing, in a letter written to a friend while undergoing “treatment,” stated his greatest fear was that some would use his sexuality to disprove his scientific findings: “I am rather afraid that the following syllogism will be used in the future: Turing believes machines think, Turing lies with men, therefore machines do not think.” Today this finding is known as the Turing Test, and is the foundation of all artificial intelligence.

Sources: http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/news/2009/09/090911_turing_page_nh_sl.shtml
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/8249792.stm
Photograph courtesy of BBC.



Team Twitter vs. Team Obama

What I’d like to discuss in this blog is a Certain Incident involving our President of the United States of America and the results and implications of that Certain Incident, but since that Incident happens to be a consequence of a Certain Catastrophe, I find it imperative to introduce that Certain Catastrophe before I bring up the Certain Incident and the results and implications thereof.
I’m sure there is absolutely no need for this elaborate recap of events, since news of the Latest Catastrophe to have hit the Western World has indubitably already overwhelmed your Facebook page, but for all those readers whose paths have steered them away from this most shocking occurrence and somehow still propelled them in the direction of the Boylan Blog, I will summarize the Latest Catastrophe as it occurred:

The Catastrophe occurred on Sunday night, September 13, 2009 at MTV’s Video Music Awards which took place at Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan, New York. Nineteen-year-old country singer/ songwriter/ musician Taylor Swift won the “Moon Man” (the award) for Best Female Video. Now, in case you don’t know, the winners of these awards are voted for entirely by fans, but that’s really irrelevant, so back to the Catastrophe.

A dazed and ecstatic Swift breathlessly approached the stage in a shimmery silver/champagne colored gown and accepted the award. The following is what she said, verbatim:
“Thank you so much! I always dreamed what it would be like to maybe win one of these someday, but I never actually thought that would happen! Uh…I sing country music so thank you so much for giving me a chance to win a VMA award… I…”
Spoiler alert: Now is when the Catastrophe occurred.
Kanye came onstage (from where, I do not know; the camera had cut to a clip of Pink applauding at this point), and grabbed the microphone. “Yo, Taylor, I’m really happy for you, I’ma letcha finish, but Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time!”
Stunned into a silent stupor, Swift voicelessly took back the microphone. The audience desperately tried to appease her with a standing ovation, to no avail. Swift left the stage without another word.
That was the Catastrophe as it occurred.
***
The subsequent apologies and resulting proliferation of Team Kanye/ Team Taylor T-shirts are irrelevant for the purposes of this article. I will now inform you of the Certain Incident and the results and implications thereof.
It was the morning following the Catastrophe, Monday, September 14, 2009, and CNBC reporter John Harwood was about to interview our great President Barack Obama, but the two gentlemen first engaged in a bit of chatter, as humans are wont to do before an Officially Scheduled Discussion.
The following is what the two of them spoke about, verbatim:
Harwood: Were your girls as hacked off as mine were that Kanye gave Taylor Swift the Joe Wilson treatment?
Obama: “I thought that was really inappropriate, you know? It’s like, she’s getting an award, what are you butting in…? The young lady seems like a perfectly nice person, she’s getting her award, what’s he doing up there?
Questioner: Why would he do that?
Obama: He’s a jackass. (Laughter) Now all this stuff--I’m assuming all this stuff…c’mon guys! Cut the president some slack! I got a lot of other stuff on my plate…’cuz I remember the last time there was the fly thing… (referring to the time he killed a fly on camera and the video went viral).
That was the Certain Incident as it occurred.
***
Would you like to guess what one of the results and implications of the Certain Incident was? Here is a clue: CNBC and ABC share a fiber optic line to save money and that allows them to sometimes listen in to each other’s interviews.
If you guessed that Terry Moran, an ABC correspondent, overheard this exchange and twittered “Pres. Obama just called Kanye West a ‘jackass’ for his outburst at VMAs when Taylor Swift won. Now THAT’S presidential,” then you’re right. And when the Great Authorities at ABC caught wind of this about an hour later, they removed Moran’s twitter. Some Important People said that Moran should not have publicized an off-the-record chat. Others said that New Rules should be made in our digital age to monitor the usage of such applications like Twitter in news dissemination.
Harwood says that while officially nobody had said that they were off the record, Journalistic Courtesy considers pre-interview chit-chat off the record until the interview formally begins. Because Harwood is a Man of Courtesy, he stands by his policy and has yet to discuss what was said.

But never mind Harwood; should ABC have pulled the tidbit? Should they have apologized? Does off-the-record matter when it’s spoken in a public venue? And more specifically, can a president expect that his public statements will be off-the-record?
Kelly McBride is an Expert in Journalistic Ethics for the Poynter Institute and she does not think so. “If you’re sitting there with a microphone on, you don’t have a reasonable expectation of privacy…If you’re a governor or president, you know that.” She also admires the journalist’s usage of the informal medium to disseminate the news item. "The president calling Kanye West ‘a jackass’ is perfect information for a tweet. In fact, that’s the ideal format. You can do it in 140 characters. There’s not much else to say.”

But while West and Swift duke it out on talk show appearances, and while we argue about Twitter as an official medium for news dissemination, McBride raises an even more controversial question:
Should news agencies ever agree to go off-the-record with the president?

- Rachel Weissman

Listen to Barack Obama call Kanye West a ‘jackass’ here:
http://www.tmz.com/2009/09/15/obama-calls-kanye-a-jackass/



Let the Bell Ring

A 315-foot structure, roughly 16 stories high with a 14-inch long minute hand, has just celebrated its 150th birthday this past May. And Big Ben, now 150, looks marvelous for its age! London’s favorite clock towers above the House of Parliament. On September 19, 2009, there will be a special exhibition opening for Big Ben located in the vicinity of the Parliament. Visiting the interior of this magnificent structure is free; due to security reasons, however, very few will be permitted inside. If you are allowed in, you just might burn some calories since there are no elevators, rather 334 twisting limestone steps to the top. Not even old age can stop the wonder and accuracy of Big Ben. Although this gigantic grandfather clock must be wound three times a week, its time is almost perfect. Big Ben does not shy away in the shadows of London, as its vibrant BONG! is heard every hour.

During World War II, Germans dropped explosives in the night, which almost obliterated most of the House of Parliament. One of the bombs splintered the south dial of Big Ben and smashed the stonework. Yet the enormous clock did not miss a beat- literally. This incident may have boosted the confidence of the British people at that time, but it also created many distressing memories for others whose family members were killed. When the clock was first established on May 31, 1859, many were uncomfortable with the irritating noise. But eventually, London’s united ear became accustomed to hearing Big Ben. Thus, it became not only an esteemed part of the city, but also a major landmark for the rest of the world. On September 19th, 2009, the 21st century is celebrating the immense clock with a grand exhibition that will undoubtedly be a memorable event.

- Alana Linchner

Culture Corner

The Chukchi: An Endangered Culture?

Can you imagine living in below-freezing temperatures? Or living without liquid water or electricity? Occupying the Chukchi Peninsula and the shores of the Chukchi Sea; within the Bering Sea region of the Arctic Ocean, the Chukchi are an indigenous people who did just that. After watching a documentary for my Anthropology class entitled “The Journey of Man,” I have a newfound respect for the strength and resilience of these indigenous people. There are two different types of Chukchi groups: the maritime and the reindeer herding. I am particularly interested in the reindeer Chukchi. Given to them by Russians, the name “Chukchi” derives from the Chukchi word “Chauchu” which means “rich in reindeer.”

Imagine reindeer being not only your source of income but also what you survive on? In the past the reindeer Chukchi domesticated reindeer for a living, ate them, and drank their milk. They used the skins of the reindeer to build their tepee houses and to protect their bodies against the extreme conditions in which they lived. They worked all day long to keep active and prevent frostbite. The Chukchi also migrated along with the reindeer during seasonal changes; their transportation consisted of sleds pulled by the reindeer.

Then, during the 17th century, Russian explorers and traders—soon followed by—American traders began to take an interest in the Chukchi and their territory. The Russians tried to penetrate, but due to the Chukchi’s’ fierce resistance they were unsuccessful in their attempts. In 1778, the Tsarist government signed a peace treaty with the Chukchi. The Soviets brought about substantial changes, not only to the Chukchi people but to their settlement. Such changes included mineral exploitation and massive immigration.

Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, many Chukchi have tried to get back to their traditional ways. But the biggest issue that the reindeer Chukchi face is the generation gap induced by decades of Soviet acculturation. The older Chukchi are still invested in their native traditions, whereas the younger Chukchi want to lead a more comfortable life. Due to the fact that the Chukchi youth were raised in Soviet boarding schools, they lack the experience and stamina to survive in the tundra that was once the home of the ancestors. The survival of this culture depends upon the success of hundreds of Chukchi that are trying to return to their former tundra lifestyle.

While some of the Chukchi have returned, they have not found the transition easy. The Chukchi have established a local organization to increase their rights and are attempting to restore their traditional activities. But tundra life is declining with high mortality rates of the Chukchi people and the reindeer herds. They used to consume whales and use their fat, but now there are anti-whaling campaigns. Plus, the Chukchi are also dealing with a waning economy. You begin to wonder: if they were never taken over by the Soviet Union, would they still have lived like their ancestors did? It is sad to see just how much of their native culture is lost, and we see this not only with the Chukchi, but throughout history and within many cultures when people and places are taken over by globalization.

-Sabina Santiago

Links to Articles:
http://www.mnh.si.edu/arctic/features/croads/chukchi.html
http://www.answers.com/topic/chukchi

Poem of the Week

“Letter to Hermione”
by David Bowie

The hand that wrote this letter
Sweeps the pillow clean.
So rest your head and read a treasured dream.
I care for no one else but you.
I tear my soul to cease the pain.
I think maybe you feel the same,
What can we do?
I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to do.
So I've been writing just for you.

They say your life is going very well.
They say you sparkle like a different girl.
But something tells me that you hide
When all the world is warm and tired.
You cry a little in the dark,
Well so do I.
I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to say,
But I can see it's not okay.

He makes you laugh.
He brings you out in style.
He treats you well
And makes you up real fine.
And when he's strong,
He's strong for you.
And when you kiss
It's something new.
But did you ever call my name
Just by mistake?
I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to do.
So I'll just write some love to you.



A young Bowie’s heartfelt words to his first girlfriend, the honesty here is what makes this poem a gem. One may have a hard time believing a rock star’s heartbreak—the way they diverge from bragging about their machismo to affecting a torturous love is more their character—but there is no problem believing that, at least for a short while, David Bowie is standing in the rain, and it’s beyond his control. He’s not just saying, “Hey baby, I miss you, and want you.” He sees both point of view, tersely, and he doesn’t blame, and he doesn’t hate. Instead, he just mourns. What’s so refreshing about “Letter to Hermione” is that the scorned is understanding why the scorner is no longer with him. Even though he gets that they are no longer together, he can’t help but sweetly assume that she still needs him, too. There is no arrogance in his presumption. You believe that she truly does “cry a little in the dark.” It may be divine to hate the femme fatale the way Bob Dylan does, but Bowie knows that his beloved is fully able to breathe on her own, and, despite possibly aching for what once was, simply no longer wants to be with him. But Bowie continues to beg that, despite no longer being number one in her book, he will not be at the end of an unopened, dusty folio. He may even be closer to the surface than she shows in the light. And if this were a perfect world, there would be no doubt in his mind.

- David Abady

Currently Reading

Bangkok 8
by John Burdett

Sonchai Jitpleecheep is a good cop; seemingly the only good cop in the “City of Angels”—Krung Thep, that is—known to us westerners as Bangkok. Although born into a life of crime and poverty, Sonchai refuses to accept bribes, which is unheard of among Thai police. His integrity can perhaps be attributed to his years spent in a Buddhist monastery, during which he earned the title of arhat, an especially enlightened being.
The son of a bar prostitute and an American serviceman, Sonchai is an apt tour-guide to his intricate and outlandish culture, able to observe and relate seemingly without predisposition. When Sonchai’s partner and childhood companion is killed during the bizarre assassination of a U.S. marine, Sonchai vows to avenge him. He joins forces with the FBI to seek out the marine’s killer. The special agent assigned to the case, Kimberly Jones, desires Sonchai, but he resists her, fearing she will have the same effect the farangs, or white sex-tourists, had on his mother. Together, they seek out Fatima, the late marine’s ravishing Thai lover, who becomes a suspect when they discover she is a post-op transsexual whose plastic surgery was painstakingly orchestrated and funded by the marine himself.

Though the author, John Burdett, is British, the novel gives the western reader exclusive insight into the dark underbelly of Thailand’s “City of Angels.” Even those at the very bottom of Bangkok’s social food-chain are revealed as genuinely decent, painfully hospitable, and spiritually enlightened. The city’s moral bankruptcy is a direct result of the accommodation of the western man's insatiable craving for exotic and anonymous escapism. Ultimately, the supposed criminals are actually victims, and farang thrill-seekers are exposed as the real villains.

-Ariana Costakes

Currently Listening

Bob Dylan:
Together Through Life


On July 23rd, a suspicious-looking old man was sighted wandering around an empty street corner somewhere in Long Beach. Being a predominantly minority-inhabited area, two young officers pulled over to question the stranger. When inquiring the name of the sixty-eight year old man, he introduced himself as Bob Dylan. He said he was killing time, viewing houses for sale, before a concert with John Mellencamp and Willie Nelson. The cops, not believing a word he said, demanded identification—of which the legend had none. They escorted him into their police car, to which he politely obliged, with the one request that they would return him to where they found him after the confusion was sorted out. They drove to the location where the bands were staying (their actual existence was much to the officer’s surprise) and were shown Dylan’s passport. The two young officers were unfamiliar with Dylan’s current appearance, much like the majority of the populace is unfamiliar with his current sound.

Together Through Life, Bob Dylan’s thirty-third studio album, sounds nothing like any of its precursors. Many people claim that Dylan never really had a singing voice, but now say it’s even worse—deteriorated to nothing more then a harsh grating growl of something that never was; an argument I’ve personally fought against many times. I feel that Bob Dylan had a magnificent vocal range in his early carrier—clearly resembling his folk idol, Woody Guthrie. In Dylan’s early songs, such as With God on Our Side, and many live performances (like in the Bootleg Series concert of 1964,) we can hear the extent of his vocal prowess. However, Dylan idolized blues legends such as Howlin Wolf as well. In one of the earliest Dylan recordings, created during his high school years, he is attempting to aspire to the voice that he has now. His new voice isn’t a mistake or accident, not in the slightest—it’s something he’s been striving towards his whole life.

Dylan can use his new voice to sound both harsh and biting, as well as melancholic and mournful—a roar filled with years of emotion. The main difference though, with his new album, is that he has revamped his backing band for an entirely new sound. Modern Times, his previous album, much like Love & Theft, and Time Out of Mind, are mostly electric and based primarily in blues licks and riffs. For lack of better words, these three albums, (especially Modern Times) sound something like an ancient, cryptic and rambling highway-robber-blues-band, In an interview Dylan was quoted as saying that “we’ve milked that sound dry. It was time for a change.” He has added an accordionist to his band for Together Through Life, and for the most part, the accordion leads the band on this album. This instrument completely alters the dynamics of the band, giving Dylan an almost Spanish sound—something similar to Santana.

Dylan was recently asked to write the soundtrack for a movie, and accordingly wrote the song “Life is Hard.” After he finished the compositions, he realized he had enough songs to release an album. The songs are shorter then his usual pieces, but Dylan has once again put out another masterpiece. Together Through Life, like all of his albums, are full of gems, which, at times, take an acquired taste to appreciate. Leading with “Beyond Here Lies Nothing,” Dylan lets us know right off the bat that we’re going to be hearing some love songs this time around. A major contrast from most of his albums, Dylan seems happy. But we still get a variety, such as in the bitterly hilarious song “My Wife’s Home Town.”

Well I didn't come here to deal with a doggone thing
I just came here to hear the drop of Cymbaline
There ain't no way you can put me down
I just wanna say that hell's my wife's home town.

At the end of the song, we can hear Dylan snickering into the mic, almost demonically. We also get a taste of despair, like in Forgetful Heart, a mournful lament to lost and apathetic love. But if you’re not a fan of Dylan’s new-found accordion, relax; the master has replicated the songs from the album and rearranged them for the stage. I was fortunate enough to hear Forgetful Heart performed live in Bethel Woods, and to my surprise, the piece sounded a good deal like it was played right off Modern Times. It was a hauntingly pleasant surprise, to see Dylan abandon his keyboard and take the mic, singing the ballad with harmonica in hand. Dylan is still alive and kicking, (as well as evading the law.) The jury has been out for many of his fans though, debating whether this album is the best it can be. But music is personal, and (as Dylan well knows) people are going to think, judge, and interpret his songs—string them as far as they can be spun. So, it’s really up to us.

-Victor Gurbo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpX5sxjgIMU

Currently Watching

A Contemporary American’s Guide To A Successful Marriage ©1959

The last few weeks in August are an interesting time for theatergoers. Taking place is the famous New York City “Fringe Festival,” debuting over 200 new plays—many of which are terrible—but some of which are fantastic, cleverly written, well-acted productions. While hardly any hit Broadway, a select few do get into the 2009 Fringe Encore Series, a two-week extension of the talented tenth. One such play is Robert Baston’s A Contemporary American’s Guide To A Successful Marriage ©1959—lovingly called “The Marriage Play.”

The Marriage Play is one of the few gems you’ll find during the Fringe. Designed to mimic the style of 50s “Happy Housewife” films shown to students during their high school years, Baston’s play follows the lives of two newly-married couples. Focusing on their lifestyles—one wife is perfect, one is insane—The Marriage Play is an often hilarious, occasionally serious, earnest (and, frankly, quite sweet) romp through the past.

One of the most exciting aspects of Baston’s writing is that the story is based on his own grandparents. Originally married to dysfunctional spouses, the two met a few years after being divorced at their place of work—he, a doctor; she, a nurse. The story, while at times ridiculously over-the-top (there is one scene in which the two couples, on their wedding night, are explained by a cheerful, Leave It To Beaver-esque voice the detailed mechanics of sex), is played with honestly and kindness. There is a sweetness that the actors bring to the stage, and much care is given to the interactions between characters, an element that is very important in live theater.

The strength of this play definitely lies in the skills of its cast. One of the few Fringe shows with all-stars (Broadway alums are in it, including Spring Awakening’s Frances Mercanti-Anthony and Legally Blonde’s adorable Autumn Hurlbert), each actor brings his or her own brand of magic to the stage. Hulbert is sweetly innocent, molding her character perfectly into a caricature of the picture-perfect housewife of 1950s television—a great foil to Meredith Forlenza’s Ruth, the shockingly cruel (and mentally disturbed) first wife of Daniel, the playwright’s grandfather. A.J. Shively delivers a brilliant performance in the role of Daniel; adorably geeky in the beginning progressing to a strength and devotion by the end.

While design at the Fringe Festival is geared toward mobility, making the set only a few overturned boxes and simplified lighting, the costumes stayed with me. Designed by Lisa Zinni (with assistant designer Kathryn Squitieri), the clothes were perfectly 50s—accurate down to the “Vote for Kennedy” buttons on Sheryl’s shirt. The costumes fit personalities quite well, too, from the passive, bland colors of the passive, bland Mason to the paranoid dresses of mom Dorothy.

There were only a few flaws I found in this play, one of which being a crucial scene in the second act. Ruth, the wife who spends her time drinking and partying despite her child, violently tells their seven-year-old that her father (the one who is actually caring for her) hates her, and “hates mommy,” and “wishes mommy would die.” While this scene may be important to establish what a terrible person Ruth is (especially since the father ends up with custody of the child—only the second person in the history of Iowa to do so), is it extremely upsetting to watch, and I worry for the young girl (Miranda Jackel, who is 7) having this directed to her onstage. The play is also a bit lengthy, and I was peeved with Director Adam Fitzgerald’s choice to have a male (homosexual) nurse act so stereotypically gay.

While The Marriage Play may be improved by some gentle editing (some scenes feel superfluously long), it is, all in all, a funny, fantastically acted, sweet and earnest story of two mixed-up couples who, despite their challenges, finally find each other.

-Christina Squitieri

A Contemporary American’s Guide To A Successful Marriage ©1959 will be playing at The SoHo Playhouse, 15 Vandam Street, on Sunday, September 20th at 8:30PM, Friday, September 25th at 9:30, Saturday September 26th at 5:00PM, and Sunday, September 27th at 1:00PM. For more information see http://www.themarriageplay.com

Picture courtesy of Broadway World Online.

At This Moment

This week, Miriam Harari and Alana Linchner asked the college community, "Navigating through a college campus can be just as challenging as the classes themselves. What piece of advice do you have for incoming freshmen?”

“Don't be scared to ask for help.”
- Claire (Junior, Psychology Major)

“Print out a map…”
- Regine (Freshman)

“Learn how to take public transportation.”
- Doris (Junior, Creative Writing Major)

“Get involved in something early on, such as a club or group, as a way to make friends. Brooklyn College can be a huge place, and it's easy to get lost. Join something you enjoy, such as poetry club, and you'll be making some great friends in no time J”
- Christina (Junior, Creative Writing Major)


“1. Take bio and geology online to avoid wasting time in classes you probably don’t care about anyway

"2. Major in something you enjoy-- you’re stuck for 4 years, so u may as well have fun. You never know, you could end up making a career out of what you love to do!

"3. Don’t discount every core as stupid (even though some of them are). For the most part they do help you to become a well rounded person with knowledge of things beyond your field. I'm an art major but things that I learned in philosophy and classical cultures core played into my area as well- all knowledge is connected, so be open to it instead of trying to fall asleep during class."
- Lenore (Junior, Art Major)

“About Boylan.. the hot chocolate is pretty good on a cold day.
Otherwise: explore! Campus is full of surprises.
Most importantly, remember life is a journey, not a destination, so have fun with today instead of stressing about tomorrow.”
- Colette (Junior, Math Major)

“Ratemyprofessor should be your homepage.”
- Rachel (Senior, English Major)

“I would tell freshmen to not declare a major right away just because they think it's what they want. Better off giving yourself a feel of everything before you decide what you really want to do.”
- Meaghan (former intern)

“Be prepared to be on your own and check the academic calendar often.”
- Mandy, Speech Pathology Major

“Bring your papers to the Learning Center before they are due. Also,
use the books on reserve in the library instead of buying them.”
- Fen, Business Management

“Get lots of sleep.”
- Dalit

“Buy your books online, it will save you money and they’re cheaper.”
- Heather Green

“Remember to manage your time well so you don’t fall behind in classes.”
- Danielle

“Take the Core Biology class as soon as possible.”
- Tony

Greeting

Well, summer has come to a grinding halt and cooler, wetter weather is upon us. Assignments are piling up and we wonder if we will ever snap out of vacation mode. Again and again we sit ourselves down to finally knock out some work, only to find ourselves hours later browsing Craigslist for free kittens or googling "frottage." Here's hoping the third week of classes finds us better able to focus, stifling memories of a seemingly endless summer.

News Briefs

Scientists find clue in search for a solution to drug-resistant bacteria

As of Thursday, researchers at New York University are a step closer to resolving the ominous threat of drug-resistant staph infections.
Scientists have discovered that certain bacteria resist anti-biotics by releasing nitric oxide-producing enzymes. Inhibiting these enzymes with certain drugs could increase the potency of anti-biotics and overpower previously incurable infections such as Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus or MRSA.
This discovery will allow researchers to formulate a cure out of existing anti-biotics instead of creating and testing new ones.
Drug-resistant staph infections are usually contracted by hospital patients and are responsible for the deaths of over 19,000 people a year in the United States.
-Ariana Costakes



Fountain of Youth Discovered?

Brooke Greenburg weighs a total of sixteen pounds and is thirty inches tall. She laughs when amused, and has the necessary cognition to recognize her mother, father and three older sisters. She cannot speak nor eat on her own, but she enjoys trips to the park and possesses all the ordinary mental faculties of an ordinary toddler; in her raw form, there is nothing abnormal about her in any way. The fact of the matter, though, is that Brooke Greenburg is actually sixteen years old and has not aged a day over sixteen months. Scientists are baffled by this extraordinary genetic defect which has not only stunted, but also entirely stopped Greenburg’s growth, both mentally and physically—something the likes of which medical history had not yet, insofar as we know, seen.
What might be even more astounding than her not aging is the fact that her body has not matured in full, but in separate and disconnected parts. She still possesses all her baby teeth but her bones appear to resemble those of a ten year old. She has also suffered from a series of medical illnesses which have, for one reason or another, been conquered by her body. In addition to having had a series of perforated ulcers removed, she once suffered a seizure which was diagnosed as a stroke—but a few weeks later her brain showed no trace of the damage (or that the event had even occurred). She was once diagnosed with a brain tumor and fell into a coma-like sleep for fourteen days; miraculously, shortly after her family had purchased a coffin and prepared for her death, she woke up with all trace of the tumor gone. She still has no diagnosed medical disability, and all the problems mentioned arose and vanished without cause.
Brooke now has the appearance of a healthy toddler despite her actual age. She goes to school, goes on outings with her family, and enjoys being pushed around the house on an ottoman by her father. She has to receive nourishment through a tube in her stomach because her esophagus is too small, but aside from that, she has been living her life like an ordinary child. Brooke’s family loves her, takes care of her, and arranged its schedule to accommodate her needs and wants—but, when other parents ask them her age at the park, they say sixteen months instead of sixteen years. Scientists tried, to no avail, to accelerate her aging using various growth hormones.
While this bizarre medical oddity has impaired the child, (and must be trying on the parents—can you imagine having a toddler for sixteen years?) her family adores her, and she may yet yield major scientific discoveries. If scientists can successfully isolate whatever part of Brooke stopped her biological clock, they might be able to discover the gene for eternal youth.
Imagine for a moment—if you’ll indulge me—a life without growing old, without the aches and pains of old age? While this may seem wonderful at first, I’d like to call into question whether or not this is actually a good thing; we could be standing on the threshold of eternal youth within mortality, completely disrupting the life cycle of the average human as we know it. There’s a sense of order and beauty in the natural rise and decline of life on earth, and while if there was a way to opt out, I, too, would be one of the first to grab it—what are the long term ramifications of eternal youth?

-Victor Gurbo



Is There Such a Thing as a Light Cigarette?

The next time you stop at your local pharmacy or corner store for a pack of smokes think twice about how the cigarettes are packaged. Working at a pharmacy myself, I notice a lot of customers coming in to buy cigarettes; more often than not, they say to me: “I’m trying to quit,” and decide to go for the cigarettes advertised as: “light” “ultra light,” or “mild.” I was unaware as well until I came across an article about how cigarette labels on those cigarettes are actually misleading. But, don’t we all know that no cigarettes can be good for? So, we have to wonder what the purpose of banning certain labels on cigarettes is. It comes down to ensuring the consumers that “light” cigarettes aren’t the safer or healthier choice to smoking.

Professor David Hammond, from the Department of Health Studies and Gerontology in Canada believes that the packaging on cigarettes is simply a way to attract consumers. Hammond states: “The truth is that all cigarettes are equally hazardous, regardless of what colour the pack is or what words appear on it…these tactics are giving consumers a false sense of reassurance that simply does not exist,” and this remains a concern. One major concern is that consumers believe that lighter cigarettes are less harmful. Hammond argues that consumers end up smoking more of the “light” cigarettes because they believe it to be less harmful, when in truth they are actually doing just as much harm to their bodies as smoking one of the regular cigarettes. A lot of anti-smoking advocates believe putting “light” “smooth,” or “gold” on packages promotes smoking and leads consumers to believe that they would find it easier to quit while smoking these “lighter” cigarettes.

These "light" cigarette packages usually advertise that they contain less levels of tar or nicotine, but actually deliver about the same amounts of nicotine to the brain. According to Dr. Arthur L. Brody, a psychiatry professor at UCLA, all cigarettes are equally damaging. After conducting a health study of the nicotine levels of consumers who smoked “light” versus “regular” cigarettes, Brody discovered that consumers who smoked “light” cigarettes had a nicotine level about 1 milligram, whereas, consumers who smoked the “regular” cigarettes had a nicotine level of 1.2 milligrams. Brody believes that consumers who are trying to quit will find that smoking “light” cigarettes will not make the process any easier; because the levels of nicotine being delivered to the brain isn’t significant enough for it to be less harmful than the other.

In the United Kingdom, the move to ban misleading packaging of cigarettes is now being discussed by Parliament. Will the advocates that are against smoking in the UK be successful in their attempt to make all cigarette packages plain? This question remains open, but so does the question of whether the United States should follow suit? This raises a further question of whether it is okay for the government to intervene on our behalf if the advertising is lying or promoting a "healthier" side to a deadly habit. We are all aware that cigarettes are bad for us, so people can’t truly believe that smoking “light” cigarettes makes it better. But, a reason why these tobacco and advertising are successful in promoting these cigarettes, because they prey on some subconscious part of us that believes light or smooth are better for us.

-Sabina Santiago

Poem of the Week

“New Yorkers”
by Edward Field

Everywhere else in the country, if someone asks,
How are you? You are required to answer,
like a phrase book, Fine, and you?

Only in New York can you say, Not so good, or even,
Rotten, and launch into your miseries and symptoms,
then yawn and look bored when they interrupt
to go into the usual endless detail about their own.

Nodding mechanically, you look at your watch.
Look, angel, I’ve got to run, I’m late for my…uh…
uh…analyst. But let’s definitely
get together soon.

In just as sincere a voice as yours,
they come back with, Definitely!
and both of you know what that means,
Never.


For the first poem of the new school year, I wanted to kick off with something punchy, something that is both striking and relevant. What I love about this Edward Field poem—besides its tongue-in-cheek humor—is its special significance to New Yorkers, as evident by even the slightest glance at its title.

Ask any native New Yorker, and he will tell you just how true this poem is—likely by bringing up a few New-Yorkian tales of his own experiences. If you then find yourself in that same scenario, feel free to do as the poem suggests and conjure up an appointment with uh…whomever. Field’s choice word “analyst” is sardonic while indicative of modern-day New York culture, where most everybody seems to require a shrink in his or her life—the typical New Yorker who is too rushed to exchange more than five words with an acquaintance he literally bumped into on the street, but ready to clear his schedule to pour out his earth-shattering problems to a stranger with a notepad for 100 dollars an hour. Aside from mocking the self-absorption of New Yorkers, Field’s use of the colloquial utterance “uh” explicates the artificiality of New-Yorkian dialogue.

This poem brings to light the unique attitude of New Yorkers. They are upfront enough to answer a cursory, “Hi, how are you?” with a truckload of truthfulness, probably even spilling over into Too Much Information. But the way I see it, at least they give imaginative and fresh responses, rather than the banal “Fine, and you?”

The problem of the typical New York attitude, then, lies in the second half of a conversation. As the poem elucidates, New Yorkers can be impassioned talkers, but extremely aloof listeners, if they listen to others at all. This leads to hasty departures, filled with empty promises. Even if both parties know the insincerity in the goodbyes, would it not be easier and more efficient to simply reply with a cliché, “I’m fine, thanks” to begin with? Rather than “launch into your miseries” only to cut off your peer when he starts to do the same, aren’t you both better off avoiding unwanted conversation and false farewells?

The truth is, either conversational route is fraught with falseness. In the first, a person gives the polite auto-reply. In the second scenario, the New York way, the two parties are left cheated of unloading their barrel of grievances and leave off with polite auto-replies regardless (How many times has someone told you “I’ll call you,” and never called? And how about the reverse?). I think a middle ground can be found in conversations, at least for those sincere people who seek it. Try giving someone the time of day once in a while. Maybe even call someone you promised to “do lunch” with. I am a firm believer in “What goes around comes around,” so if you’re tired of pretentious conversations, make them real by acting real yourself. You may be surprised with what you discover. And if all else fails, just chalk “phony conversations” up to the shortcomings of this modern, tech-riddled age.

- Miriam Harari

Currently Listening

Brand New’s Daisy

Originally titled and one head can never die, Brand New’s fourth album, currently being released as Daisy, takes a strange turn from what fans have come to expect. Unlike the band’s last three records penned by front-man Jesse Lacey, Brand New’s latest is written mainly by the band’s guitarist, Vincent Accardi—a shift that changes the nature of the band’s music. Daisy is strangely dark and heavy, loaded down with unnecessary screams that, at times, border on sounding like Disturbed’s “Down With the Sickness.” Daisy is also the most heavily mixed of the band’s four records, containing audio clips that sound (to my ears, anyway) like they were taken from a 1930s recording of a religious hymn, standard sound effects of ocean waves, and a child speaking.

Despite the strange and (often unexpected) moments of shrieking, Brand New has managed to put together another quite good album, although it feels somehow frustrated with itself. “Vices,” the opening song, is a yelling contest, and tries to set an angry mood for the album that feels more empty and lonely. Pieces like “Bed” and “Daisy” are much quieter, with music and lyrics that feel humanly heavy with what appears to be a terrible divorce (“You took my hope/And my marriage license”), while other pieces seem to be lost somewhere in between (“In a Jar,” for example, is ruined for me by the unnecessary yell-yourself-hoarse parts). For a band they always used its guitars and drums to be effective, the yelling, while shocking at first, eventually felt like a boring gimmick, as if the singers were lost for any other mode of expression—fine when you’re home hitting your head against the wall, not fine when you’re recording music.

Although the songs aren’t quite what I’m used to, Daisy is still an emotional wrecking ball. The lyrics are often brilliant, especially when balanced with the music (which, in itself, becomes its own poetry), and, even if someone who didn’t understand a word of English listened to this album, they would be moved. There is a huge push/pull feel in these songs, especially with “Sick” and “Gasoline,” tracks that use the instruments and vocals in such a way that I feel like I am being shoved, even torn, back and forth between the two of them. The music is so powerful, in fact, that one gets the sensation of actual movement—expression through a violent dance that made me think of Billy Eliot: The Musical (a very good thing). It’s extremely effective, and you feel more than hear those songs. This element of emotional listening appears most clearly in “Be Gone,” a song that uses rewind and overlap techniques to make the lyrics indecipherable. This track is one of the most expressive on the album, since it becomes an almost Gertrude Stein-esque piece of poetry. Set to an almost haunting piece of music, this song becomes all about the sounds words and instruments make, conveying more than language by removing the need for meaning and context.

Lyrically, this album is a masterpiece (perhaps due to the influence of wordsmith Lacey), with chilling poetry that haunts the entire album. From the dizzyingly beautiful “At the Bottom” (“Some men die under the mountain just looking for gold/Some die looking for a hand to hold”) to the swimming lyrics of “You Stole” (“You stole/from the cradles they were rocked in/You took the first words that they spoke”), the beautiful language culminates in one of the album’s later tracks, “Bought a Bride,” with these lyrics for its bridge:

Where are all the seedlings
We grew from violets?
Down in Jersey lumber
Stealing prosthetic limbs
Should've been a soldier
I could've fought and died
There's no revolution
So I bought a bride

But something seems missing. I feel like the band is tired, and pushed this album out more due to surrender than satisfaction. It was as if, after wrestling with these songs for years, only to a level where they were still unhappy with them (fellow writers, you know what I mean), they found it easier to just toss them out, unfinished. I can’t help but see this feeling conveyed by the band as a whole, with lyrics like, “It'd be all right, it's all right, it'd be easier that way” (“Daisy”) and “Why won't anyone just close their eyes?/Could it hurt them to rest for a while?/….Well, I've tried. God knows that I've tried” (“Noro”). This surrender is something impossible to ignore, and its presence leaves a hole in the record.

Daisy comes full circle, with its last song wrapping up “One Life’s Highway,” the hymn the first song begins with, way back when you first pressed play. For an album that smashed so much rage inside of itself, the last song ends on an empty note, a woman’s high-pitched wail of, “Father, when my footsteps stray/guide me back into the way.” Stripped down to its bare bones, Daisy, like the listener, ends in a curious way: wracked with rhythm and searching for something more.

Daisy is set to be released on September 22, 2009.

-Christina Squitieri

Currently Reading

Gesturing, by John Updike



The gestures will not be recondite matters, and, to Richard and Joan Maple, they are to be sporadically brought to the surface; to this estranged married couple, it enables them to go on living with themselves, finding a peaceful serenity to counter the inevitability of their calamity. John Updike, in his short story Gesturing, ventures into the aftermath of a marriage that has ended after twenty years – the psychological effects on both parties, along with their children, is what Updike seeks and apprehends; the human condition, and its emphasis on relationships fascinates Updike and, therefore, intrigues us, too. In the story, the separation is amicable, and there is the countenance of relief and satisfaction among the couple. But given a closer look, beyond the charade of smiles and compliments, there lie two people who can only truly find comfort with one another – yet they cannot be with each other, as the need for separate lovers is too strong, and the fear of growing older too much to bear. Updike knows how to find the truth in people; he is able to comprehend their wants and their needs, and how one might triumph over the other. As Richard moves away from his wife and children, he is able find the distinction between his wife and his lover so clearly, and even though he is able to see it, it does not hinder the entropy. Joan we are more detached from; the view into her mind and her feelings by Updike is more restrained, and we can only get subtle understandings of it through the small gestures – the gestures that say, with a profound clarity, that if this were a perfect world, and if they were perfect people, they would be together heretofore; since beneath the illusion they have created for themselves, the only real truth they know is each other, and the small gestures are a simple reminder of the affectation.

- David Abady

Currently Watching

Currently Watching

The Namesake
“We all came out of Gogol’s Overcoat. One day you will understand.”
These enigmatic words, imparted to Gogol Ganguli (Kal Penn) by his father in The Namesake, serve to foreshadow a large part of the plot. But Gogol does not care to solve this enigma. He does not care about his heritage or where his name came from; in fact, he hates his name.
In 1974, when Gogol’s father was a student in Calcutta, Nikolai Gogol’s The Overcoat somehow saved his father’s life in a horrendous train crash. Gogol does not know this.
He is oblivious to the way his parents met, he knows nothing of arranged marriage, and he has never felt the loneliness of immigrating to a foreign country.
Gogol had not yet been born when his mother mixed Rice Krispies with hot chili powder and peanuts in an attempt to adapt to American culture; he never knew her despairing frustration after a visit to the Laundromat left her husband with shrunken sweaters; he cares nothing for all of that.
Gogol is American. He has an American girlfriend. His Indian culture is archaic and embarrassing.
But a family emergency compels Gogol to search for his roots in this dramatic movie of struggle and love.
Directed in 2006 by Mira Nair, The Namesake is absorbing and provocative, detailing the conflicts of a first generation American who attempts to reconcile his western lifestyle with the rich heritage his parents have to offer. The visual effects are at once elaborate but realistic, laced with intricate detail and symbolism, while the sweet sounds of the sitar accompanied by the tabla—an Indian percussion instrument— lend a sentiment of yearning which implores the viewer to feel for the young protagonist. The watcher is truly captivated as she experiences Gogol’s upsets and triumphs in his search for self.
Not your run-of-the-mill flick, I highly recommend you add it to your Netflix list if you’re interested in a stimulating, inspiring, relevant work of art.

-Rachel Weissman