63 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
(10/12/09 12:42am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>If you’re reading this, congrats. You’ve made it out of bed on a Monday, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy. It never is. I could joke about a case of the Mondays, or offer some encouraging words to pull you through the week. But that would be crap, because it doesn’t have to be this way.This Monday could have been different.Remember Columbus Day? We used to celebrate it, you know, in the 1990s. I’m pretty sure we talked about Native Americans and made paper hats. Or maybe I’m confusing it with Thanksgiving. Who knows? I always got those two celebrations of conquest and culture destruction mixed up anyway.The point is, we got the day off from school. But now, Columbus Day is under attack. We already let the liberals ruin Christmas. Once more, normal people everywhere are sitting idly by as bureaucrats in office chairs quietly take away the only three-day weekend in October.I, for one, won’t stand for it.This year, 22 states didn’t give their employees the day off, and the city of Philadelphia canceled their annual Columbus Day parade. Our University isn’t doing much better. A look at the Official IU Campus Calendar reveals no real event designed to bring focus to the legendary event of 1492.Have we no shame?Groups like United Native America, an organization dedicated to the establishment of a federal holiday honoring Native Americans, are fighting to replace the federal holiday with “Native American Day.”While this idea might have mass appeal in the midst of a recession, we can’t get caught in the hype. We must remember the noble grounds upon which Columbus Day was founded.Originating in 1968, Columbus Day was ushered into existence by the Monday Holiday Law, which named the second Monday of October for the discoverer of the New World. The law also moved Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day and President’s Day to Mondays, giving birth to the three-day weekends that now anchor Americans’ social calendars. Our lawmakers knew the importance of relaxation, strategically peppering our year with opportunities to take some time for ourselves. Who are we to question their judgment, putting a 16th-century man of conquest up to 21st-century standards of cultural relativism and respect, denying ourselves rest on ethical grounds?OK, so Columbus took slaves to Spain and paved the way for conquistadores to eradicate native peoples across the Americas. That was then. We’re in class now. Such injustice can’t stand. Don’t we have an obligation to the future to gloss over the errors of the past, especially if it means we can sleep in?This year, it’s too late. We’ve already made it to class. All hopes for rejuvenation have been destroyed.But don’t worry. There’s always next year. And as for today, nobody’s judging you for wearing the same sweats as last week. It’s Columbus Day. Live a little.
(10/05/09 1:31am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I’ve been getting my act together – cutting the crap and finding my purpose. I’ve starting eating right, thinking right, speaking right and working out. I’ve got a life coach, a life plan and a journal. Watch out world; here I come.I’d always thought there wasn’t much power to positive thinking, that my life couldn’t be improved through seven habits, that the chicken soup would be stale for my soul. But I was wrong. I finally broke down and bought a couple of self-help books – and a poster of a sunset over a coastline – to remind me of my infinite potential.I haven’t been the same since.I figured it was about time that I do something. I don’t know why I was so reluctant to join my fellow industrious Americans.Collectively, we spend $11 billion a year on self-help books, CDs, seminars and programs.You can’t argue with that kind of success.Now that I’m in the revolution, I’m loving it. I’d been so misguided for so long, thinking that a good life was made of balance and diverse experience.Now I know better. A good life can be described and improved through simple bullet-point lists. I made my own plan, and I’m ready for change. For example, I’m going to quit talking to that guy who always asks for my advice. Sure, he’s in a tough spot right now, but can’t he figure it out himself? It’s just that I’m always so drained after meeting with him. What’s the deal? I can’t be held down with his worries. Does he realize how much being his friend sucks for me? I’ve got to live my best life now.And I can quit being nice to those people that aren’t ever nice to me. They probably can’t even understand how much they’re negatively affecting my happiness quotient. Seems like they only know how to make withdrawals from my account of good feelings. I don’t have to live like that. Screw them. In fact, a lot of people in my life are dead weight. They don’t offer me a thing. Here I am, trying to get myself in order, trying to make something new, and all they can think about is how things have been.Sure, we used to enjoy spending time together with no real focus. We did the whole “hanging out” thing. It was fun, but I’ve moved on. I just don’t have the time.Now, I’m living the full life. My calendar’s overflowing, and that’s the way I like it. That is, until I need some “me time,” at which point I expect everyone to give me some space. It’s so tiring to live each day as your last. Sometimes, I just need a break.I know this process will be long. And I get that not everyone will understand. But I’m going for it. Because self-help finally got me thinking about what’s most important: me.
(09/27/09 11:51pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Don’t cough in my mouth. Seriously, it’s not cool.Not that I’m one of those swine flu fanatics. It’s just I can’t afford to get sick, not here.I got sick last year, and it wasn’t fun at all. Lying in the dorm room, strung out on Mucinex – which, it must be noted, seems to be the only medication ever prescribed by the Health Center – isn’t my idea of a great time. Sure, sickness happens. But you not coughing in my mouth could be a great way to keep it from happening to me. There are so many cool ways to cover your mouth. There’s the new use-your-elbow technique. Maybe you’ve seen it. Upon feeling the urge to cough, you raise your arm, turn your head and send your expectoration into your sleeve. Not into my mouth.You could get out of my face as well. Do we really need to be three inches away from each other to communicate? I understand you’re probably trying to be personal. And yes, we are friends. But remember that whole absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder thing? How about you make yourself absent from the air I breathe?Oh, now you’re offended? I guess I could have been a little bit nicer. But I’m not apologizing for concerning myself with my health. Don’t give me those put-off eyes when I say: “Cover, please.” Don’t say you didn’t feel it coming. I know you did. An apology would be most appropriate.You did just cough in my mouth.You’re not the only one I know who gets defensive. Every time I ask if someone’s washed their hands or offer them a tissue while they’re sniffling away, I get the same attitude: the “Who made you the health czar?” attitude. But I resent it. You’re offended at making me sick? My health, though I hate to admit it, is something that’s not entirely under my own control. Your actions – particularly mouth-to-mouth coughing – can make me sick. It would be irresponsible not to question your health habits. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but it does. One person’s cough is another’s weekend in bed – or at the Health Center.And that’s a fate worse than hell, if you can even get in.Apparently, you can only get sick on this campus from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. weekdays. Should you need help in the night, there’s Bloomington Hospital. But that’s not within walking distance. Our computers get better care than we do. UITS is open 24 hours – but that’s probably because it takes them that long to fix anything.If I catch your cough, I might as well give in. Throw in the towel. Surrender. I’d fail all my classes with attendance policies and would probably have to get some shots. And I hate needles.So please, don’t cough in my mouth.
(09/21/09 1:23am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>So I’m in a class about ethics, and I’m not really buying it.Sure, I love the hypothetical discussions of what’s good to do when, but I get so bothered when it all boils down to being relative, when the goodness or badness of something is decided by the context of the culture. Okay, I get it. You’re so nuanced because you see things in shades of gray. But some things just have to be bad. Like Crocs.Imagine this.You’re a moral relativist in need of a vacation. Looking to relax, you escape to a distant corner of the world. On a trek through the jungle, you encounter a headhunting tribe who has practiced their headhunting ways for generations. Though you aim to be friendly, your bright smile and eager wave is culturally interpreted as a vicious insult, which must be punished by death.While your relativist instinct might insist that you respect the time-tested judgment of their culture, your survival instinct seems a little reluctant to stretch out your neck. I guess it’s all relative until your own head’s on the stump.Then, everyone believes in absolutes.But what, you might ask, if someone volunteers for death? In 2004, for example, a German man responded to an ad on Craigslist, volunteering himself to be cannibalized by a stranger.While this may seem to take the legs – and all other body parts for that matter – off my argument, I wonder: What if he’d been stopped by the same headhunting tribe on his way to being eaten? What if he, happy about his coming dinner date, had likewise waved and smiled to the headhunters, earning a condemnation to death? Seems to me he’d be a little upset about missing his appointment. He wants to be eaten, not killed by headhunters. While he’d die either way, I have a nagging feeling that he’d think his run-in with the headhunters was bad.To me, any loss of human life can never be justified as “relatively” all right. Some things are just bad, and killing is one of them.I’m sorry for making such a fuss about absolutes. I know they’re not terribly popular anymore. Once upon a time, most things were defined in clear terms of good or bad, and I’ll admit, for years, such distinctions were abused by those just as guilty as the ones they condemned. While this might make us feel that seeing things in black in white is simple-minded, there are times I have to believe it’s true. I have to believe that everyone who sees the homeless on Kirkwood Avenue gets a little uncomfortable after realizing that some people do make a life on the streets. And I have to believe that everyone who hears about a child that’s been terribly abused gets at least a little upset. Some things are just bad – especially being killed on your way to being eaten.
(09/09/09 1:56am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Apparently, I used to smoke. Or at least that’s what I told my 9 a.m. class.I mean, it never really happened. I haven’t lit one up. Ever. I didn’t even buy a pack on my 18th birthday. I’ll admit, part of me has always wanted to share in that sacred circle of communion around the outdoor ash tray. But I just don’t have what it takes to be part of the crowd – namely, a nicotine addiction.I’ve had dear friends who have smoked. Some have quit. Others haven’t. And I love them all the same. I don’t think smoking makes you a bad person, just like I don’t think not smoking makes you a good person.It just hasn’t been an issue for me until last Monday.I was in a discussion-based class. Perhaps you’ve had one. There’s an instructor who functions more as a moderator than a lecturer. The syllabus most likely outlines a plan to award participation points to active contributors. Generally, the professor will ask that the desks in the room be positioned in a circle, so as to facilitate exchange.But I just think this makes it more awkward when you stare down each of your classmates during that collective silence after every question. This particular morning, the discussion was exceptionally unfruitful. Simple questions (“Tell me about a time in your life when ... ”) asked by an eager and open instructor were dangling in the air.And so, out of frustration, out of boredom, out of sympathy – who really knows where it came from – I told a story of how I quit smoking.I guess it was tough for me. Supposedly I kept the habit to spite my parents. I think it finally got the best of me when I couldn’t afford it anymore. Anyway, I guess I’m glad I quit.It’s good I quit before having the kids that I made up in my afternoon class. I’d hate for them to see me like that. And I’m glad my lungs weren’t totally tar-filled when I ran with the bulls in Pamplona. That could have been dangerous.I rather like these fictionalized versions of myself in class. Something has to keep stuff moving when no one’s engaged with the material. Maybe this could catch on.The thing is, now I have to remember in which classes I smoke and which ones I don’t. Are you the people who think I work as a certified electrician each summer? Or were you the pastry chef group? I guess it would give me something to take notes on during a bad discussion.Or should I even bother? Do people even pay attention to what other students say in a seminar-style class? Or are we just trying to say what the professor will like, despite what we think? I know not everyone reads. And I’m supposed to learn from them? Oh well, I guess I can always tell you about my year in Antarctica.
(09/03/09 3:03am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I have a question, and everyone seems way too ready with answers. It’s the type of thing where I don’t just want advice from a friend that’s been passed along and believed without ever being examined. I know it won’t be solved with a yes or no – few things ever are – but I need to figure it out quick. So where to look?The news doesn’t seem that reliable. Sure, there are some pretty critical publications out there where I might find some truth if I looked hard enough. But who wants to work? I say that figuring out this whole thing is important to me. And it is. But if it requires that I do more than turn on the TV and listen to a panel of failed actors turned journalism majors share their thoughts on a particular course of action, contradicting each other for the sake of ratings, count me out.Maybe there are some answers closer to home.I thought of asking the conspicuously marked IU Guides for help. They were just standing there on my way to class, their “Ask Me” buttons suggesting they were ready to assist. But I couldn’t help noticing that the only people they appeared to be answering were each other. They must have had a lot of questions too. I guess being a resource for students in need could get pretty boring. If I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t really want to look available and receptive either. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, I kept walking. Resident Assistants are supposed to be trustworthy, but they aren’t always around. Professors sure are intelligent, but they aren’t necessarily in tune with the reality of 21st-century student life. And my desire to live as a fully independent adult keeps me from phoning the folks.Some people have recommended I see a life coach, but that profession just doesn’t sit right with me. Out of all the things to coach, a life seems pretty tough and terribly consequential. There’s so much at stake. One loss doesn’t ruin a football team. I guess it doesn’t ruin a life either. There are second chances, but some mistakes can make things a whole lot harder.And how is one qualified to be a life coach anyway? Jayson Blair, the reporter who was fired from the New York Times for making things up and publishing them, has been working as one for the past two years. Apparently, he’s remarkably good at relating to those he helps. I believe it. The guy got a job at the Times without a degree. He must be good at kissing butt.But I just don’t want an answer that’s tailored to me, one that’s given to reaffirm what I already think in an effort to keep me from becoming angry. I want some real honesty, but all I can find are people with answers. And they’re the ones I trust the least.
(08/27/09 3:16am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Don’t ask about my summer. I’m not going to talk about it.It’s not that I didn’t have fun. I did. It’s not that I’m ashamed of what happened. I’m not. Nor am I barred by a court ruling, written contract or pinky promise from disclosing the details. I have no regrets and a lot of great stories.But if you ask, I’m not sharing. No, nothing’s wrong. Home didn’t bother me, though, next summer I am planning on leaving the country. Catching up with friends was fine, but we’re all pretty different now. It was sad at first. I got over it. Then it was fine.Frustrated? Surprised? Looking for something to say? I know this isn’t what you planned. But old people talk about the weather all the time. I don’t know how to go on for more than ten seconds about the particular details of anticipated precipitation or the relative warmness or coolness of one day compared to another. But it happens.Here at school, we’re supposed to grow up. Perhaps we should try it.Or maybe we could talk about movies. I would love to discuss something I saw other people doing on a giant screen. That’s always fun. I get a real kick out of reciting quotes. Actually, it’s my second favorite type of discussion. Falls right after sharing what we’re going to order while we’re in the car on the way to the restaurant. Please don’t think I’m being rude. I don’t want it to come off that way, though I’m afraid it is. It’s just that I don’t want our first exchange to be so ordinary. It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. We don’t have to begin with stories from our time apart. Can’t we just start something new right now?Maybe it doesn’t work that way. I guess there’s always an awkward time after being apart. We’re just out of routine. Perhaps we have to ease our way back in. I guess we’re starting that now, but can’t it be done already?And pardon my frustration at your question. I know it’s honest and sincere. I mean, you really do care about what I’ve been up to. That’s clear. It’s just that I get this feeling that when people ask about your summer, they really want to tell you about theirs.But not you. This relationship has been forged throughout weeks and months. It’s stood the test of time. We have a very real bond. I wouldn’t suspect that you had ulterior motives or that you couldn’t find anything meaningful to say upon our reunion. I know you didn’t resort to small talk. You’re better than that. It’s true, not every discussion can be a heartfelt one-on-one. In fact, most aren’t. I just don’t want our first time to be like that. But anyway, how was yours?
(08/09/09 10:00pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Any story involving a rabbi, priest and a bar always leaves me laughing. What can I say? A lot of e-mail forwards wind up in my inbox.If you have a grandma, you know what I’m talking about. Lately, forwarded messages have come under attack, specifically those that are politically charged. For me, this isn’t a problem. Such e-mails usually pass right into my Trash folder. But now, they have somewhere else to go: flag@whitehouse.gov.In a statement on the White House blog, titled “Facts are Stubborn Things,” the Obama administration warns of “scary chain e-mails and videos” that “percolate on the Internet,” spreading inaccurate information about the proposal for health-care reform. Such misinformation, the blog claims, “often travels just below the surface via chain e-mails or through casual conversation.”Because the White House understands that it’s impossible for it to “track” all such assertions, it’s asked individuals to send in any “fishy” facts they hear. Hold on a minute.Perhaps I should forward the e-mail “Obama wants you to suffer a prolonged, agonizing death while private insurers watch helplessly” to the White House. I mean, it’s probably not factual. If anything, my prolonged, agonizing death would be an unanticipated result of a bloated federal health-care system – not the aim.While it’s sad that there is misinformation being spread about health-care reform, the fact is there’s always been a healthy exchange of lies in America. We call it democratic debate. While some are deceived, many aren’t. And as a country, we’ve determined that truth is less valuable than free speech.While lies indeed deserve to be combated with truth, turning in those who participate in passionate political exchange just doesn’t sit right with me – probably because many such fanatics are my friends.I don’t wish to fearfully assume, like so many have, that the White House is compiling some super-secret enemies list. I trust, rather, that it simply wants to know what the opposition is sayingso that it may respond to the opposition with the full force of a YouTube video or a press release.I do, however, desire to caution against the habit of reporting “fishy” speech to the government. That’s never really ended well in the past. I don’t think we should try it again. Reporting fishy facts could lead to reporting fishy people. That’s not a good idea. There has to be another way for the government to know what’s being tossed around online, because every angry activist, passionate college student and grandma deserves the right to speak freely, without fear, no matter how incorrect he or she may be.NOTE: If any Obama administration official accidentally stumbled across this humble college column while Googling such serious matters as grandmas going down, I must confess: I am by no means describing or illustrating my own grandmother. Nor am I suggesting that she might be exercising her First Amendment rights. I love her too much to report her for such behavior. She’s a good woman.
(08/02/09 8:46pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Of course I have a lot of crappy stuff. I’m a college student. That’s just how it goes. Re-gifted furniture and hand-me-down dishes – it’s what dreams are made of.Not that I like having things that are older than I am. Sometimes I dream of a couch that’s not colored in the various shades of powder-puff pink and robin-egg blue that were popular during the first Bush administration. But so be it. All good things come to those who wait, right?Wrong. Thanks to the Obama administration, I can unload my clunker for cash. Well, not really cash. The money goes to the car dealer. I get a rebate for a newer, more fuel-efficient car – that I’ll have to make monthly payments on for the next few years.Not that I mind. In fact, it’s my civic duty to commit to such payments in the midst of this down economy. I have to do my part, even if that means taking on a new financial obligation as unemployment remains high. It’s just too good of a deal to pass up. And I’m not the only American who thinks so.Last week, the Department of Transportation announced the $1 billion allocated to the program had been drained in a matter of days. This led some officials to advise car dealers to quit offering rebates, even as the White House asserted the program would continue. Though the Senate won’t vote until this week, the House attempted to calm the confusion by authorizing an additional $2 billion to keep the initiative afloat. And I’m glad it did. I love getting money for my old stuff. I don’t want it anymore. Where I used to take my chances on eBay, accepting any stray offer that might float my way, now I can get helped out by the federal government.This could be the start of something great.I’d love to get cash for my laptop. Though it’s not more than 2 years old, it does take – please wait, buffering – forever to load videos. And I wouldn’t mind getting one of those fancy black MacBooks that the kid down the hall had. The keyboard lit up. That’s cool.Oh, and there’s a bunch of DVDs I’d like, too. Maybe the lawmakers could take my old ones off my hands as well. I know there’s a few private stores out there that have tried the idea, but I just think the government could do it so much better. And I’d probably get more money from it anyway.Might as well grab a new printer while I’m at it. And though my phone was a Christmas present, it’s got a tiny scratch on the screen. My AeroBed doesn’t inflate anymore and I’ve never had an iPod. With just a little boost from Washington, I’d be more than willing to singlehandedly spend this country out of a slump. I’ll just have to keep all my new things nice so they’ll last me through the decades it’ll take to pay off our national debt.
(07/26/09 9:49pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Maybe in 10 years I’ll be ready for a kid. But not now. I still want to travel at will, wake up at night and sleep through the day, feel free to skip breakfast, lunch and/or dinner, and spend the majority of my money on DVDs and concert tickets.Babies tend to end all that. Not that I don’t enjoy other people’s children. I like to look at them, smile big, think how weird it was that we all started off that little – and then promptly say goodbye. Promptly, because newborns are just plain scary. I guess I should be relieved that I’ll never have to fully experience childbirth. Don’t get me wrong; when it ultimately happens, I plan to be present, helpful, supportive and filming (if she’s OK with that). But the task of nurturing a child within will never be mine.While this saves me from breastfeeding, having to watch my diet for nine months and potentially facing postpartum depression, it doesn’t help me escape that long period of anxiety and uncertainty that strikes men shortly after they learn they’ve got one on the way.We call it “fatherhood.”There’s just so much that can go wrong. You have to feed them the right way, buy them the right clothes, teach them the right things, and put them to bed on their backs. You need to set boundaries and enforce rules while trying to create a happy, nurturing and loving environment. Too much of this or too little of that could mess the whole thing up.And if anything would go wrong, you’d feel at fault.Last week, I learned my kid-to-be wouldn’t even have to be out of the womb to be scarred for life. The name I choose can ruin everything. In a study published in Social Science Quarterly, Shippensburg University professor David Kalist asserted the more uncommon or unusual a baby boy’s name, the greater the likelihood that he will wind up behind bars. I guess this means there never will be a Bartelby Palumbo Chernesky. I just can’t be responsible for that kind of threat to society. With so much at stake, it’s hard to see how anyone could ever be ready. I can see how many could be naive to all that awaits, how many could find parts of parenthood attractive, and why it might seem like a good idea when they don’t really think about it. It makes you wonder why a reasonable person would ever want a child. Parenting is selfless, and that kind of work is never really attractive. It’s a lot of work and there’s no guarantee of success or thanks. But maybe that’s why it’s so nice when you see it done right. Because the love of a parent is irrationally beautiful. Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about the miracle of life. Who knows, despite all better judgment, maybe one day I’ll nurture and raise a needy, crying baby. Just give me 10 years.
(07/19/09 10:10pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I still can’t believe it happened.“Mr. Teacher?”“Yeah, buddy?”“Could you type in ‘birthday sex’ for me?”He just said it like it was nothing, like he shouldn’t even be embarrassed for asking. An 8-year-old, sitting in an 8-year-old-sized chair at the 8-year-old-sized desk in the ages 12-and-under computer lab at the public library where I work asked me, the adult charged with supervising him, to help him find the lyrics to “Birthday Sex” by Jeremih.If I’m not mistaken, that’s the one that goes, “Don’t need candles or cake / Just need your body to make good birthday sex,” that mentions “sexy jeans” and “switchin’ positions.” And how old are you?I guess I can’t say it was the first time I’ve been surprised by what I’ve seen in the computer lab. After guiding a young girl to addictinggames.com, I returned a few moments later to find her playing “Dress Code Nightclub.” The object of the game: dressing up a virtual sorority girl in the skankiest clothes possible. Like the description says, “If you don’t look dope, you’ll never cross the velvet rope!” Some might argue that such games aren’t targeted to kids. They might assert that their intended audience is older and more mature – specifically, bored college students who wear sweatpants and sit in the back of class, playing hour upon hour of “Fantastic Contraption” to pass the time – not that I’m confessing to anything.Though that might be partially true, I can’t concede that these Flash game Web sites don’t realize that a good chunk of their audience is much younger, nowhere near the age to wear the leather miniskirts and lace stockings that they choose for their online dress-up dolls.There’s nothing like working with children to show you the trashiness of our culture.It just can’t be avoided. Whether it’s the content of the site itself or the ads featured in its margins, something sexual can’t help but pop up on the screen of even the most innocent Web site. And though I’d never be one to advocate censorship (honestly – I work for a newspaper), I can’t help but feel this is wrong. Studies have shown that young people who view more sexual material on television and in the media have a higher likelihood of engaging in early sexual activity themselves. While I understand it’s impossible to raise children in a safe bubble, free from advertising, culture, fashion and Hannah Montana, I can’t help but think that we could lay off the sexualized messages until they are at least out of elementary school. Yes, at some point they should discover sexuality, but not before they’re tall enough to ride a roller coaster or big enough to be out of a car seat.Because there’s something wrong when a kid who still gets recess and snack time at school asks me about birthday sex.
(07/12/09 10:52pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I can’t say I’ve ever thought of myself as manly.Not that I’ve doubted my manhood – I mean, I see it every time I step out of the shower. It’s just that I don’t always like to get dirty, eat bloody meat or shop at Dick’s Sporting Goods. There’s a bike rack on my jeep, but I’ve never used it. I find no pleasure in a well-mowed lawn.And my aversion to grills doesn’t mean I can’t be one of the guys, right? There has to be more to being a man than a love for sport and an extreme pleasure in scratching.I mean, could someone point out the ideal man? Is it the grill-master bass pro? Or the well-groomed, courteous nice guy, who never offends anyone, but never really wows anyone either? Perhaps it’s the rebel who loves to shock and awe, but never achieves stability. Is it the metro, manicured Mr. Timberlake? Or the bearded, bad-mother-fighter Chuck Norris?Stupid question. Sorry, Chuck.But looking around, I haven’t really spotted many men (in the Texas Ranger sense). I’ve seen a lot of guys that got old and fat, complained about how much their wives nag them and settled down to wind up constantly talking about the glory days of things past.Is this what it’s supposed to be?I’ve always felt that manliness couldn’t simply be defined by interests (which can be too varied), actions (which are entirely irrelevant) or appearances (which can often be deceiving). It seemed like there must be something more – beyond that dangling piece of anatomy between the legs – that made a man.And I don’t think I’m the only one alone in my search. A bunch of guys seem to be looking for the definition; and, finding little to imitate or observe, have ended up in all sorts of trouble.Maybe that’s why, from 1995 to 2005, men had a suicide rate 4.6 times higher than women or why the majority of violent crimes in our country are committed by young men between the ages of 15 and 25. It can’t simply be male aggression run amok. Men have always been fiery and passionate – we’re wired that way. We want to test our strength and prove it, which is why even the first cavemen didn’t ask for directions. But it’s not in our blood. Don’t get me wrong. Being civilized is good. I enjoy living in a law-abiding society. I say please and thank you. But at what point does cultivation become emasculation? I mean, we have a wild side, don’t we?Modern thinkers have been quick to blame these problems facing men on poverty, lack of education and even gang sociology. But the fact remains that the single most reliable factor in predicting violent and disruptive behavior among young men is fatherlessness – the lack of a male role model. Whether they’re gone for good or just consciously absent in the La-Z-Boy, we really seem to be missing out on what it means to be a man.
(07/05/09 10:17pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The United States is getting old. At 233, she’s made it through a lot. And though she’s aged gracefully, time’s definitely taken a toll. In fact, sometimes when you look back, she’s hard to recognize. Some like how she’s turned out. Others don’t. But regardless of whether you feel she’s aged well or can’t believe she’s let herself go, you can’t help but celebrate her birthday on the Fourth of July in that patriotic, flag-flying, beer-drinking extravaganza that rejoices in everything red, white and blue. From fireworks and backyard cookouts to lazy lake afternoons and hours traveling the highways, this giant birthday bash certainly lives up to its all-American reputation. Friends, family, food, fun and fireworks – what more could you want?Dad’s at the grill. The kids all have sparklers. Mom’s screaming, “Be careful!” The family unity is palpable. And if you’re not celebrating with family, you’re probably with your friends. Indeed, there’s little more that draws people together than a mutual love of our nation. Well, that and a well-stocked cooler.And the food. Everyone loves the food. Especially the hot dogs.We might be called the great “mixing pot,” but that doesn’t mean we have to scrape the meat from the bottom of the bowl, shove it into a thin casing, cook it, freeze it, heat it up and slap it on a bun. But then again, what’s more American than indulging on food that has no right to be eaten?And the great thing about hot dogs – beyond their delicious taste – is that they’re so incredibly cheap. That’s especially important around the Fourth, because you’ll need every spare penny you can find for fireworks.Many enjoy them for free, attending large community displays, reveling in the comfort of their lawn chairs, batting at mosquitoes while watching the burning metal oxides light up the sky.But some just can’t sit by and let the professionals have all the fun. Lining their own explosives down the driveway, they light the fuses themselves, watching their own hard-earned money explode in the sky. I’m all for these do-it-yourself displays. It’s the American way. But I must admit, something about drunken men with powerful explosives just doesn’t sit right with me. I guess I’d hate to see a perfectly fine mullet go up in smoke. But that’s America – windswept, God-blessed, McDonald’s-fed and gasoline-fueled.And I love her. For better or worse. She gives me the freedom to say what I want in a college newspaper, to get upset about something that needs changing and to do something about it. And I can ask questions of her, freely, without fear, because she’s confident enough in the richness of her character to withstand it, and brave enough in her desire to welcome it. She might not have it all together. But who does? She’s beautiful in her old age and I’m glad I could make it to her birthday party.Because, honestly, where else could I wear my cut-offs?
(06/28/09 9:50pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Who hasn’t skipped class?It might be too cold out, or maybe it’s too nice of a day to waste indoors. Perhaps you haven’t read, haven’t listened, haven’t cared, and don’t plan to start. Chances are you’re just tired. It really doesn’t matter. The alarm goes off and you ignore it. There’ll be no trek to Ballantine this morning. The art and culture of ancient Kush can wait. It sure isn’t happening today. And probably not tomorrow either. And that’s all right. At school, a day off here and there can pass without much harm. Notes can be shared and outlines can be copied. I’d dare say that a “personal day” in the midst of a stressful season can be healthy. Sometimes, you need a bowl of Fruit Loops and a marathon of CSI to regain your sanity. Though absenteeism and truancy are strongly discouraged at orientation – by the student leaders, the featured speakers, the tour guides, and the drama majors desperate enough to star in the musical written for incoming freshmen – you quickly learn they’re not that bad in moderation. You just have to be smart. Don’t go over the three- or five- day limit on excused absences in your classes. Don’t miss right before a test. And don’t try to push it; some classes just can’t be skipped. You can tell after the first few days, when it becomes apparent that a particular professor’s lectures are too rich to be properly condensed into bulleted points. By not dropping that class, you make a commitment to the course. You assume the responsibility to attend. And that type of obligation can’t be as easily dissolved. Unless you’re a governor. Then, you can hop on a plane to Argentina, leave your state for six days, press the proverbial “snooze” button in the faces of those who granted you the right to lead them – and afterward insist that you can keep your job. I’m sorry Gov. Sanford, but that’s not how it works. As any college undergrad could tell you: Miss a quiz, get an F. You’ve failed as a governor. And it’s not just because you cheated on your spouse, covered it up, used government resources to facilitate rendezvous with your lover and were ultimately forced into public disgrace. That just makes you a politician. It’s because you abandoned your post. I must admit, it’d be foolish to assume that the absence of any one individual – even the governor – could totally topple a state’s government. We have well-designed systems with safeguards and succession plans in place to ensure the stability of our political bureaucracy.Who could argue that our government’s not slow to change?While your duties should have made you stay, I’m not worried that they wouldn’t have been fulfilled. I’m angry, not because of practical technicalities, but because of personal slight. You campaigned for support but didn’t return it. You asked the professor for an extension and then didn’t show up for a week. Don’t expect sympathy, because it isn’t coming.Not today. And probably not tomorrow either.
(06/21/09 10:45pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I’ve never had the best health habits. Not that I would call myself unhealthy, it’s just that I haven’t necessarily taken an active interest in my body. I haven’t watched what I’ve eaten. So far, I haven’t had to. I know one day that will end. My metabolism will slow, and I’ll balloon to the size of an average adult American. But I prefer not to think about that now. The only thing in my thoughts: Where can I score another box of Cheez-Its?I’ve never really gone to the gym either. I’ve wanted to, especially this summer as the temperature has risen and the shirts have come off. I’d love to wow everyone at the pool parties with my killer abs. But that just hasn’t worked out. I’ve always felt a bit of guilt about my habits, like I’ve needed to start doing something good for my body. Though the signs might not be showing on the outside, I understand that my one-Twinkie-each-night-before-bed habit cannot be doing good things to my arteries. But I don’t have to fret any longer. Like nearly 60 percent of Americans who do nothing to control their diet, I’m actually helping our nation. By not eating right, I’m fighting swine flu. Trust me, it’s true.As more than 44,000 people across the globe have been infected with the flu, I’ve remained unharmed – though I did have a brief scare last week when my stuffy nose resulting from an increase in grass pollen had me convinced that I’d be the first in Indiana to die from swine flu. But research from some Michigan State University scientists suggests my diet might be what’s keeping me safe – or at least that’s how I’m interpreting it.Last winter, they released findings that suggested flu seasons are terrible times to begin diets. Looking at results in lab rats, they determined that low-calorie diets make individuals more susceptible to illness, as their bodies are unable to produce the number of killer cells needed to fight off infection. So I don’t really have bad health habits. I’m just trying to stay safe.These types of studies give me hope, hope that I can keep rationalizing away that gnawing feeling that tells me it’s time for action. I mean, that’s the American way, right? Shoot for the moon and dream big (in areas that are fun, fulfilling and profitable). But in all other endeavors, particularly ones that are painful or might make you sweat, use logic to find a way out. Make a convincing argument. Lie and manipulate if necessary.And that’s why we go to college too, right? To learn how to convince ourselves we’ve been right all along.I know I need to take control of my health, to be responsible for what I eat and to keep my body in motion so that some day soon it doesn’t decide to quit moving. But that’ll have to wait – at least until flu season’s over.
(06/14/09 10:49pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I’ve got six days, and then it’s here. And I can’t blow it again. I mean, it is sort of a big deal. I already messed it up on Mother’s Day. I just didn’t see it coming. It snuck up at the end of finals week. Sunday morning arrived and I had nothing but a mom saying she loves me no matter what – that really brought on the stinging guilt. But this time, I see it coming and I’m ready. Father’s Day 2009 will be a holiday to remember in the Chernesky household. Maybe. I mean, the gift used to be so easy. All I had to do was pass along whatever half-baked craft we’d made in day care. Construction paper masterpieces and a bunch of clothespins glued in the shape of a human being would be readily accepted and summarily praised. But crappy art just doesn’t do it anymore. And honestly, what do my parents really need?They’re the ones who have jobs, who actually own the house where I live and who bought the car that I drive. If there’s something they’ve needed, they’ve bought it. And seeing as they don’t have a coffee mug reminding them of their status as world’s best parents or a mouse pad plastered with a picture from our last family vacation, they must not want them. I wouldn’t either. And why do I have to show my appreciation on some arbitrary day anyway? I mean, these holidays are just creations of culture, barely a century old. Mother’s Day was first celebrated in 1914, and the observance of Father’s Day was officially recognized in 1966 in what seems to be a national afterthought. Isn’t it kind of insulting to set aside just one day of the year to honor our parents? We have Arbor Day to remind us of the importance of trees, which, I’ll admit, is easier to overlook than the significance of your parents. And we celebrate Labor Day, spending a day at the lake only to reflect upon how so much rots. Father’s Day and Mother’s Day appear in the almanac alongside International Talk Like A Pirate Day (which, in case you’re wondering, is Sept.19). Let’s face it, for many of us, things with our parents just aren’t what they were. We’ve had our ups and downs. Words have been said. Fights have been fought. And there’s been some hurt.Maybe my issue with Father’s Day is that I know him. He’s not a jolly, nice man that lives at the North Pole, bringing me presents once a year. He’s a real guy whom I’ve been around, in good times and bad, for 20 years. I’ve seen him as a man who has messed up, who hasn’t always done what I’ve thought best.But in spite of all that, I love him. And if a piano key neck tie is what it takes to show that, then, I guess it’s what I’ll do.
(06/07/09 10:40pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I hate it when waitresses call me by name. I mean, I know they’ve just read it off my credit card. But hearing it uttered in a cute yet professional voice doesn’t cause me to empty my pockets onto the table, leaving an epic tip. If anything, it just leaves me paranoid. Do I need to cancel this card?Being called “buddy,” “dude” or “champ” doesn’t do anything for me either. I’m none of those. I’m a skinny English major who’s more than 6 feet tall and has stayed the same weight since eighth grade. I’m already insecure about my inability to grow facial hair. A pet name just reminds me of my inescapable youth.Spare me.In fact, the only thing I want to be called by anyone who brings me food, fills my glass, takes my money, handles my tickets or serves up my strawberry frappuccino is “sir.” It keeps the distance between us. It reminds us that our time together is purely for business. Because, let’s face it, being my barista doesn’t make you my friend. If you somehow found me on Facebook and requested me online, I wouldn’t accept. Or would I? I mean, the word “friend” doesn’t mean that much anymore. Exclusivity or time-tested camaraderie is no longer implied. Proximity is enough. Sure, I saw you that one time at the one place. We’ve been there a couple times since. Why not?Friendship seems to be all about collection. Well-connected people are those who are good at creating numerous contacts and generating lots of content (twittering constantly or updating their status every 20 minutes) to keep everyone interested. We’ve all met them. They’re all nauseating. And if there’s anything I hate more than being called a pet name, it’s being advertised to under the guise of friendship. Or, as they like to call it at Kelley: networking. It happens explicitly, in the open, without reservation or the least bit of shame. Grill a steak, expect a check – a weekend at the lake bringing a new contract. At least in the olden days we had to marry off our prettiest daughter to seal the deal. That was commitment.But maybe there’s some hope.A recent study by Facebook’s in-house sociologist shows that the average male with 500 online friends regularly communicates with only 17 of them. His female counterpart will keep in touch with 26.What does this mean? In spite of the pressure to expand and dilute our circle of friends, we’re still trying to maintain intimacy. We understand that though some friends are consistent, most aren’t. Some friends are just for a semester. Others just for a summer. While we should try to be friendly, we don’t always need to forge new, deeper relationships. Nor should we try to transparently disguise business interactions as personal relationships.Not all friendships need to be forever. And not everyone needs to be a friend. Some are simply servers.
(05/31/09 10:31pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Some things just shouldn’t be caught on film. No one looks good sweaty, first thing in the morning, or in a pair of Crocs. All pictures of me from middle school should be burned. And whoever snapped those photos of kittens in “hilarious” poses – you’ve most likely seen these in an e-mail forwarded from your mom or grandma – should be condemned. And it’s not just photographs. A whole lot of video footage is unnecessary as well. Who really needs to see another episode of “Maury”? (Spoiler alert: He’s never the father.) And most of the videos on YouTube do little to enhance society. We get it. Charlie bit your finger. Now get over it. However, for better or for worse, we live in an imaginative society. We love to look, watch, see and witness. We’re obsessed. We’ve uploaded more than 10 billion pictures to Facebook. And we add 20 hours of new video to YouTube each minute. We take pictures with our cell phones and film late-night rants on our webcams.Everything is visually documented, and that’s not a good thing. There are places cameras aren’t appropriate and times photographs shouldn’t be snapped. While we risk being obnoxious, there’s a fate that’s worse. We might become witnesses to our own lives.And that can really mess things up.Take Jon and Kate Gosselin, the parents of two sets of multiples – twins and sextuplets – and stars of TLC’s highest-rated show, “Jon and Kate Plus 8.” Allowing cameras into their home, the Gosselins let audiences watch as they potty-trained their toddlers and took family vacations to Disney World. But between the birthday parties and dirty diapers, things got a little too public. The cameras were around a bit too much. The focus shifted to the public outings and book tours. Somewhere along the way, the family quit looking inward. Jon and Kate neglected their marriage.And now, the Gosselins’ rumored divorce is the talk of the tabloids. Should we be surprised?This is what happens when everything’s shared, when we don’t observe the sacrament of secrecy. From Facebook to Photobucket, the intimacy of relationship is being culturally cheapened and traded for cute, picnicked pictures with the besties. But I can’t conclude without confessing. This past weekend, as friends from school visited me at home, I snapped 114 digital images. Go ahead and call me a hypocrite. But in this case, the addict knows what’s wrong with himself. While their visit was fast-paced, fun and needed after a few weeks away from Bloomington, parts of it were dominated by gathering, posing and plastering on a fake smile. It was in those moments that I sympathized with the Gosselins and shared an imagined bond with Charlie’s parents. These memories would not be my own. They were being recorded – staged for others to see.And though I might gain the thrill of a notification and photo comment, I can’t help but think that something’s being lost. When home movies aren’t just for the home and everyone knows your youngest son loves to bite fingers, there’s a problem. Some things just shouldn’t be caught on film.
(05/27/09 11:15pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The sky is dark; the city’s in crisis. Thunder booms. Lightning strikes. All hope is lost. Atop police headquarters, the commissioner flips the switch bringing a giant spotlight to life. A dollar sign flashes in the night sky summoning the aid of the most powerful. Gates, Buffett, Bloomberg and Winfrey respond – clad in tight leather and spandex, equipped with explosives and wielding massive sums of cash. OK, so maybe it didn’t quite happen like that.But earlier this month, the world’s richest convened at Rockefeller University in New York City. They met in secrecy to discuss the nation’s economic woes and their collective role in the solution. Everyone at the party was a billionaire. From prominent hedge fund managers to entertainment tycoons, a “Who’s Who” from the pages of Forbes assembled. Someone forgot to invite the uber-rich Olsen twins – so it wasn’t quite a full house. Regardless, those gathered en masse had an impressive history of philanthropy, having donated a combined $72.5 billion to various charitable organizations over the past 13 years.Though Ted Turner’s mouth may have once betrayed his heart as he said, “Life is a game. Money is how we keep score,” it must be assumed that his consensual presence at the meeting suggests some sort of emerging belief in serving humanity. Indeed, I hope he feels obligated to help his fellow man. As Uncle Ben told Peter Parker, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Turner certainly has great power, and his friends do, too. He personally commands $2.3 billion while 80 percent of humanity lives on less than $10 a day. I’d take that over superhuman strength any day. It’s nice to know our planet’s richest people are finally uniting in an effort to create substantial change. Much of their conversation focused on how to disseminate their vast fortunes and to improve philanthropic efforts. We can only hope that these verbal commitments and imagined strategies will soon be backed with financial might. I have no doubt that they will. But to be honest, I’ve always found this type of giving a bit comical – the kind that is overwhelmingly massive and highly publicized. Though the billionaires held their meeting in secret, I can’t help but question if they truly wanted their plans to remain private. If we learned anything in middle school, it’s that a secret will only make people more curious.In fact, I’ve always found the title of philanthropist a tad comical as well. To me, it references one who gives away massive quantities of money that have been crudely and astutely taken from another – one handshake and pen stroke at a time. But I guess if you’re going to make a living off screwing others over with a smile, you might as well use that cash to make a good name for yourself – and then put that name on the foundation you establish.
(05/01/09 1:15am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>How could all this crap fit in one dorm room?Let me explain. This week, I’ve begun packing up my belongings. It’s not because I’m particularly ready to leave Bloomington for the summer. In fact, I rather like it here. I just needed something to distract me from studying for exams and writing final papers (I can only take so much Elizabethan poetry). As I began to go through my room, I was not prepared for what I would find. During my nine months here, I’ve accumulated a lot of stuff.There are sweaters and hoodies, and of course, I had to buy a pea coat and scarf to fit in with my fellow English majors. There are drawers full of DVDs, and since I’ve moved here, my iTunes library has grown by 3.2 gigabytes. In my cabinets I have 17 Easy Macs, 18 applesauce cups, two canisters of Pringles and a box of doughnuts. This past week, I charged $155.54 to my credit card. I definitely have all the stuff I’ll ever need. I always complain about what I don’t have, and I always describe myself as a “poor” college student. But packing up all this junk made me realize I’m not that poor. As I was cleaning, I gathered $13.04 in change while 1.4 billion people live on less than $1.25 a day. I have two power strips – a total of 17 outlets – in my room while 1.6 billion people live without electricity. There’s a bottle of Tylenol and a box of Mucinex (the standard prescription from the IU Health Center) in my desk drawer. Approximately, 2.2 million children die each year because they do not have access to immunization.And it doesn’t stop there. My shower caddy is overflowing; two bottles of shampoo, a bar of soap, two brushes, shaving cream, a razor and a toothbrush. About 2.6 billion people lack basic sanitation. In my fridge, there are two bottles of water and a Brita pitcher. I worry about being adequately hydrated while 1.1 billion people don’t have access to clean drinking water. When it is all said and done, I’ve boxed up 49 books to take home. Almost one billion people worldwide entered the twenty-first century unable to read or sign their name.And I complain about two final exams in one day?I’ve got it pretty good. Truthfully, I’m swimming in wealth. (I never thought I’d say that about Teter.) From the screened windows to the showers with lukewarm water, there’s so much here. And I move back to a home with even more, to a summer job with good hours and great pay and to a lifestyle of extreme comfort. I can’t even grasp the extent of my richness. On this vast campus, brimming with service organizations, sobering statistics of world poverty are tossed around and publicized daily as students are encouraged to ‘make a change.’ I thought I was, but now it seems like most of my change in the world is sitting in a Buffa Louie’s cup.