Continuum 11: The Tables Are Turned

Co-Editor in Chief Brandon T. Bisceglia takes on the role of interviewee to answer some questions about what running a student newspaper entails with special guest host, Opinions Editor John Slater.

Powered by Podbean.com

Continuum 10: Feeling the Eco-Muse

On April 22, HCC students and faculty gathered in the performing arts center for a poetry jam in celebration of Earth Day called “Feeling the Eco-Muse.” The event was a joint effort between the Friends of the Environment (FOE), the Performing Arts Club (PAC), and the Music Club. These are some highlights from that night.

Powered by Podbean.com

Continuum 9: Steve’s Contingency Plan

Staff Writer Stephen Miller discusses why he believes that the U.S. government’s plans to stimulate the economy will fail as well as what he thinks students should do about it with host Brandon T. Bisceglia.

Powered by Podbean.com

Review: Ultimate Spider-Man Vol. 20: And His Amazing Friends

By Andrew Mathieu
Contributor

Ultimate Spider-Man was the very first comic book I ever read. I first got interested in it when gaming studio Treyarch released an Ultimate Spider-Man (USM) video game. After reading an article about the comic book on Gamepro, I decided to go to my local library and give the series a shot. I loved the first volume, “Power and Responsibility,” and I have been reading the series ever since. Eighteen volumes later we come to one of my favorites, “Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends.”

“Amazing Friends” is the latest story arc from long time writer of the series Brian Michael Bendis and relatively new artist Stuart Immonen. The story takes place a little while after the events of “Death of a Goblin.” This previous arc saw the death of Peter’s first super villain as Spider-Man, along with the death of one of his closest friends. After mourning the loss of their friend, Peter and his friends try to get back to their somewhat normal lives.

The volume starts off with internal monologues from some of the cast of USM, including Ultimate Fantastic Four member, Johnny Storm. He returns to the cast after a short hiatus and contacts his only friends after a bad date with a pop idol. Meanwhile, Liz Allen, Mary Jane’s best friend, has not been feeling well and runs into Johnny at Midtown High. Johnny and Liz had a very brief romance a few volumes back, but it ended when Liz found out about Johnny's powers. She seems to have gotten over it, however, when she agrees to go with Johnny, Peter, and the others on a trip to the beach. That night, in front of a bon fire, one of Peter’s friends turns out to be a mutant, and it’s up to him and one of the X-Men to help her in her time of need.

This volume also contains two one shots in addition to the three part “Amazing Friends” story. In the first one shot we see Spider-Man defend J. Jonah Jameson against Omega Red, while the second features the Shocker kidnapping Spider-Man with Mary Jane and Kitty Pryde desperately trying to find him. While not as strong as the “Amazing Friends” story, both have great character moments and even some character development.

I truly enjoyed this volume. I wasn’t really sure Immonen’s art could beat out Mark Bagley’s record-breaking run on the series, but Immonen really hit his stride. The colors are nice and vibrant and the characters are starting to look like they belong in this style. Spider-Man’s costume is all but perfected in the final issue.

Bendis continues to make this book the best the Ultimate line has to offer. He has a knack for teenager’s dialogue. I actually believe these characters are 15. They not only handle everyday drama, but super hero/villain drama as well. USM’s cast sets the bar for teen super hero comics.

This volume is a nice break from the seriousness of the previous arc. If you have not picked up an Ultimate Marvel comic before, this is a great way to start. It is different enough to justify the Ultimate line, but familiar enough for Spider-Fans to pick up and enjoy a good story. Bendis and Immonen have crafted a truly “Ultimate” classic.

Hearing Loss

iPods Beat the Eardrum Senseless
By Sania Mathakutha
Staff Writer

“Huh? What? What did you say?” Maybe your kids can’t hear you after all. Unless you have been trapped under a polar bear in the Yukon for the past four years, you’ve probably noticed the iPod insurgency in America. One can hardly walk ten feet on campus without spotting a dozen POD People. But recent concerns over hearing damage could force chronic iPod users to unplug and take notice.

According to the Center for Hearing Health, there are three basic types of hearing loss:

1.Conductive Hearing Loss- Conductive Hearing Loss is when the outer or middle ear is disturbed, causing the inner ear unable to receive sound.

2.Sensorineural Hearing Loss- Sinsorineural Hearing Loss is when the nerves of the inner ear are damaged and no proper signals are sent to the brain.

3.Mixed Hearing Loss- If the hearing loss is caused by both the sensorineural and conductive components, it is known as Mixed Hearing Loss.

When asked if she knew that listening to an iPod at high volume could be damaging her hearing, Seyissa Maule, a student at HCC said, “I will keep listening, probably turn it down more.” People often use headphones on trains and buses while commuting, walking through a city or college and in airplanes. They might have the volume on too loud just because they want to drown out the noise around them not noticing the damage they might be putting on the inner ear and risking hearing loss. Our culture likes a big sound. The louder our Hip Hop music is the better we think we are going to “feel” the music. It comes at a cost though, legendary guitarist Eric Clapton told the Britain’s Express newspaper that he suffers from mild tinnitus and thinks his excessively loud performances with Cream back in the 60s is to blame. He said, “My hearing isn’t ruined, but if I stop and listen I’ve got whistling all the time which I suppose is a mild tinnitus.”

Whether you front for a rock band filling stadiums with screaming fans or making music is your business, you might be at risk of going deaf without even knowing it because you are being bombarded by loud sounds. According to WebMD, hearing loss is a gradual process that may not be noticed for years. When it does happen people generally notice that speech is mumbled and unclear. People may report a ringing (or tinnitus) in their ear or head. By that time, the only thing that may help is a hearing aid. To protect your hearing you could spend less time in a very noisy environment, turn your television volume down, wear hearing protection at all times if you work in a noisy environment and cut down on the number of loud appliances running at the same time. Never stick cotton swabs or hairpins in your ears when trying to remove earwax. Stop smoking, if you smoke you are likely to have hearing loss.

Continuum 8: President of the PAC

Kevin Green, a theatre major at HCC and president of the Performing Arts Club (PAC), talks with host Brandon T. Bisceglia about his club’s performances and the experience for a future in the performing arts he’s gained from college.

Powered by Podbean.com

HCC Co-Sponsors Health Fair

By Eric Peterson
Staff Writer

Housatonic and the City of Bridgeport Health & Social Services Department are hosting the 6th Annual City Wide Health Fair. The event is April 2, 2009 from 10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. in the Event Center, Beacon Hall Room 214.

Linda Griffin, Coordinator of H.C.C. Health Services, is responsible for hosting this event. “Our Motto is ‘Building a Foundation for a Health America,” she said, adding that there will be over 100 different vendors at the fair.

The biggest of them will be Bridgeport Health Services, Southwest Community Health Center, Bridgeport Hospital, and Saint Vincent’s Medical Center.

All vendors will be providing free health screenings such as for sickle cell anemia, blood pressure, cholesterol, blood sugar, breast cancer, and kidney screenings.

Chiropractor Dr. Ricard will be providing scoliosis screenings and message therapy.

There will be a variety of other vendors such as several insurance companies and vendors that will help with addition to drugs and gambling, and parenting.

Music and entertainment will be provided by Fairfield University’s radio station WVOF.

There will also be raffles and prizes, including a $50 gift card for the Housatonic Book Store.

Overcoming Adversity

By Michael Litzie
Staff Writer

Everyone’s had an experience that has changed their life forever. Some experiences could have bettered your life, but some could have become an obstacle to forever overcome. When I was only two years old I was struck with an experience that became an obstacle that I am still fighting to overcome.

On one regular summer day, my brother, father and I decided to take a ride in my father’s truck over to my uncle’s house where my father was going to help him fix something. With my father and uncle preoccupied, my six year old brother and I took it upon ourselves to find some source of entertainment. Looking around I’d seen my brother had climbed into the back of my father’s pick-up truck and began playing on this old broken down bicycle. Feeling left out, I wanted in on the action and climbed my little two year old body up there. Now it begins to get kind of fuzzy to recall what had happened next, but I remember sitting on the side of the truck, leaning over and bam lights out. The last thing I seen before I blacked out was my elbow sticking out the skin starring me straight in the eyes. From there I remember waking up scared to death on this rock solid board in the back of an ambulance.

Now you would think everything was going to be okay since I was in the care of Bridgeport Hospital but that couldn’t be more wrong than two plus two equaling ten. After the surgery and sometime into the intense therapy my parents had realized that I was making no progress and my elbow would not open past a ninety degree angle. This is where the real problems began to occur. Going back in for x-rays my doctor notice the bones were growing back together wrong due to a mess up in surgery. I was rushed to Yale New Haven hospital to undergo more intense surgery, but for the first time from a doctor that knew what he was doing.

A year past and I was in the first grade when another catastrophic event happened. I began to get extremely sick and my left arm turned completely red and started forming these little bumps everywhere. The metal pins used to hold the bone in place had a negative reaction with my body and caused a nasty infection, where I needed extreme treatment. What my doctor needed to do was run a tube through my chest and into my heart to pump medicine through my veins to reach my elbow. Seeming easy enough they decided to do it the strangest way, while I was awake. This I recall clear as day; being held down by five nurses and my mother, while they tried to run a tube into my chest. Of course I did not let this happen and the nurse’s hand that was trying to hold my head down has my bit scar to prove it. After twenty minutes of this circus they finally decided to put me asleep.

After a few months of treatment I was finally cured of the bone infection. I was beginning the second grade and I did everything in the world to make sure this injury didn’t hold me back from anything. For the remainder of grade school I played recreational basketball and little league baseball. For four years straight my basketball team never lost a game and for four years straight I made every baseball all-star team as a pitcher/shortstop. Thinking back these accomplishments I realize how amazing it is to have overcome such extremities. However, my elbow today is only getting worse. The degree to which I can open it is dramatically dropping. A normal arm extends to a hundred and eighty degrees but I can only extend mine to about a hundred and twenty degrees. By the time I reach about thirty-five years old I more than likely will need an elbow replacement. Trying to not let it affect me, I am gaining in knowledge what I lack in arm extension. You have to play the cards that god dealt to the best of your ability and no matter what obstacles stand in your future learning to overcome them will make you a stronger person.

Continuum 7: Shake-ing Things Up, Pt. 2

Kaitlyn Shake is a student activist at HCC who ascended to the presidency of the Student Senate this winter, but then left just as suddenly.

In the second half of our special two-part series, Shake talks about the controversies that tore her away from the Student Senate, some of which remain issues to this day.

Powered by Podbean.com

Job Outlook Bleak for HCC Students and Faculty

By Stephen A. Miller
Staff Writer

Desperate times require desperate solutions. The American depression of job losses and home foreclosures is in no way similar to any of the previous recessions including the great depression of the 1930’s. America is now in a class war.

The good news is that the low class would easily win the war against the high class if the low class becomes aware that there is a war. That is the purpose for writing this opinion.

Jeff Faux was the founder of, and is now distinguished fellow at, the Economic Policy Institute. His latest book is The Global Class War. Dr. Faux said this,

“For two decades, leaders of both political parties have assured members of Congress and the public that de-regulating imports and exports would make the typical American working family richer. It was said to be Economics 101: Americans were better educated and harder-working than other workers and had access to the world's best technology. Therefore, they could easily overcome both the advantages of cheaper wages in poorer countries and the government subsidies for health care and pensions in other advanced economies. Indeed, free trade was said to be "win-win" for workers all over. Americans would go up the wage ladder and workers elsewhere would get jobs on the bottom rungs.

When skilled blue-collar jobs started going overseas, policy elites told workers that they -- or their children anyway -- would get better jobs providing services in the new "information economy." Then the call centers, computer programming jobs, and routine technical positions of that very economy left the country too. Soon, accounting, design engineering, and radiology work began to be shipped overseas to places where college graduates could be hired for less than half the U.S. price.”

The massive, endless Wall Street welfare bailout has transferred more than a trillion dollars to 214 financial institutions while millions of average people have been forced from their homes and their jobs. The Boards of Directors of the financial institutions have looted $18.4 billion in full view of law enforcement. They call their embezzlement of funds a “bonus”. President Obama called it shameful. Media broadcasters call it corporate irresponsibility.

"Globalization is a cover for American imperialism, but the beneficiaries are not the American people at the expense of foreigners but corporate executives at the expense of the working class. Jeff Faux offers a comprehensive and devastating analysis."

Faux, founder of the Economic Policy Institute, critiques both Democrats and Republicans for protecting transnational corporations "while abandoning the rest of us to an unregulated, and therefore brutal and merciless, global market."

The issue that needs to be raised to the entire HCC student body and faculty is to learn if we collectively want to fight the class war or do we want to continue losing the war without ever knowing any war exists.

In the past, American workers had nothing to fear from cheap labor abroad. Americans worked with superior capital, technology and business organization. This made Americans far more productive than Indians and Chinese, and, as it was not possible for U.S. firms to substitute cheaper foreign labor for U.S. labor, American jobs and living standards was not threatened by low wages abroad or by the products that these low wages produced.

Outsourcing jobs is the common practice that has been destroying entire industries, occupations and communities in the United States. The devastation of U.S. manufacturing employment was waved away with promises that a "new economy" based on high-tech knowledge jobs would take its place. Education and retraining were touted as the answer.

As the tidal wave of job losses and home foreclosures continue to grow, there will be growing desperation that will result in burglaries, muggings, and other forms of crimes in the Bridgeport area. If the students attending classes here at HCC prefer to ignore the demise of our great country, the future outlook for jobs will keep shrinking. If students decide to fight the class war we need to register a response. Students are encouraged to join in this discussion and tell us their opinions by joining us on FaceBook as well as our online paper “Perspectives”.

A Forced Vacation: Three Days in Ohio

By Brandon T. Bisceglia
Co-Editor in Chief

My girlfriend, Val, and I were keen for adventure as we set off southward from her Newark, NJ apartment onto the Garden State Parkway. My white Daewoo Nubira was stuffed to the brim with everything we could possibly need for life on the road: a closet’s worth of clothing, CDs, various snack foods, books, games, and an assortment of random items that we figured might come in handy. The midday April sun shone down over the black pavement, which seemed to stretch forever ahead of us, beckoning.

We had decided to spend the nine days of our vacation driving out to the Ozarks in Missouri for a weeklong writers’ gathering. Several old friends would be there to greet us, as well as some new faces we were eager to meet.

Even though the trip would take two-and-a-half days, we had opted to journey by car so that we could experience the great American landscape in a tactile way that faster forms of travel couldn’t provide. Besides, I hadn’t taken a real road trip in over a year. I needed to scratch my itching wanderlust.

By early afternoon, the crowded swarm of Jersey license plates had given way to the open expanse of rolling Pennsylvania pastures. We crossed onto I-76, stopping for lunch at a Subway in a tiny town near Reading. We reached the edge of the Allegheny mountain range several hours later. As the car wended its way around the slopes and valleys, the setting sun bobbed into view and then out again.

It was well past dusk when the last of the foothills fell away from the sight of my rearview mirror, but a constant influx of coffee kept my foot flat on the accelerator. We had driven in darkness a quarter of the way across the flat expanse of Ohio before Val convinced me to find a motel and rest for a few hours. We pulled off in Zanesville at one in the morning, and collapsed.

When we awoke, we felt a renewed lust for exploration. We decided to explore the local attractions. It was a Sunday, so almost everything was closed, but after a few minutes of aimless driving we came across a dusty flea market. The vendors were housed in what appeared to be a small abandoned storage complex; it looked more like a group garage sale than anything else. After scrounging through some of the wares, I bought AC/DC’s album Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap on vinyl and a framed watercolor of some lilies. Val picked up a Bee Gees album.

Our spirits were high as we sped down I-70 towards Columbus. We were going to stop there for lunch at a café I had found on the Internet that sold vegan fare. The city approached, and Val guided me through the various lane changes I had to make to get to the café. At one junction, I accidentally missed our turn. As I veered the car over to the correct direction, something dreadful occurred.

It sounded like this: scruuuunnnnnck!

Almost immediately the car began to lose momentum. I pressed the pedal to its limit, but could not move over 40. A loud whirring sound emanated from the front hood.

We pulled into an empty business driveway and opened the hood. The noise was frighteningly loud, but neither of us could see a problem. The belts all seemed to be whirring. The engine was putt-putting. Nothing was out of place.

“How far are we from the café?” I asked.

“Only about two miles,” Val replied.

I scrunched my nose at the car’s innards. “We can make it that far, as long as I don’t go fast. We can eat and ask them where the nearest repair place is.” She agreed, and we lurched back onto the road.

Some interminable time later, we arrived at our destination. The café was empty, except for a scruffy, aged man sitting at one end of the bar, and two employees behind the counter. I scanned the menu above their heads. Doughnuts, coffee, pastries…

“Excuse me,” I asked one of the employees, a middle-aged woman with brown curls bound into a hairnet. “Is any of your food vegan?”

She looked at me as if I was from a different planet. “Vegan? What’s that?”

“It’s like a vegetarian, except they also don’t eat milk or eggs.”

“No, nothing like that,” she replied. “We don’t serve specialty foods.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

The woman peered at Val and me. “You two want anything?”

I looked at Val. “You can eat. I’ll wait.”

“No,” Val said to the woman, and then turned to me. “We’ll find somewhere else that has something you can eat.” She was always doing that sort of thing.

“Is there a car shop nearby?” I asked.

The old man in the corner spoke up before the woman could respond. “Not that’s open on a Sunday,” he drawled. “Somethin’ the matter with your car?”

“We don’t know. It’s making some noise, but we can’t see anything wrong with it. It’ll run, but I can’t get up to full speed.”

He pondered this a moment, staring down at the cup of coffee in front of him. “Right,” he said. “I’ll come out and have a look.”

The man limped out to the parking lot with us as we described what had occurred. I noticed that he was missing most of his teeth. He looked under the hood, had us start the car so he could listen to the noise, and finally came to the conclusion that we probably needed oil. He told us to walk down the street to the convenience store and buy four quarts. He also suggested that we allow the car to run for a few minutes after adding the oil, to see if the noise would go away.

As Val and I ventured to the store, I voiced my doubts about the man’s advice. “I don’t see how it could be the oil,” I said. “I just got it changed before we left yesterday.”

“Maybe that noise we heard before was something breaking that caused a leak,” she speculated.

“Maybe. That’d be one helluva leak…we’d better buy as much oil as we can.”

We picked up a total of eight quarts at the store – everything they had. We carried it back up the block, and I emptied two of them into the car. We started the engine and waited. After a moment, the clanking sound did improve slightly, but not enough to make me confident. I decided to let the car run for about 15 minutes, just to make sure things were copasetic.
Nothing changed at the end of that period, but we were both hungry and eager not to waste more of the day. Besides, the car wasn’t dying or exploding. We got in and took once again to the open road.

About a mile onto the highway, my Daewoo expired.

Val called AAA, and we sat in the simmering afternoon sun, discussing how we’d have to shift our plans to make it to Missouri. I would get the car towed to a shop, and have them look at it when they opened in the morning. We would have to spend the night in Columbus.

An hour later the tow truck showed up. In the driver’s seat was a weathered but lively man of perhaps 40. He offered to take us to a place that was a little farther, but honest and high quality. Val and I agreed to pay the extra that the longer drive would cost. As we sat with him in the cab, he asked us about our lives, and told us about his. At one point, his teenage son called him on his two-way radio, and they conversed like old friends. They parted with an “I love you.” The driver proceeded to explain to us glowingly about how his boy was an upcoming basketball star, and asked us about the college basketball scene in Connecticut. I pretended to know something about UCONN’s team, though the only thing I really knew was that they existed.

We dropped the car off at a shop in a suburban neighborhood with small but manicured lawns. Then he asked us if we wanted a lift to a motel at no extra cost. He brought us to a spot about two miles away that he said would be inexpensive. I kept a mental note of the route he took, so that we’d be able to find the car again the next day.

The motel was along a main road, with department stores right down the street. We had nothing else to do, so we walked over in search of food. We passed a Starbucks, but no restaurants with anything that would meet my dietary needs. Instead, we rifled around in a Home Goods. I found some prepackaged Pumpernickel bread there, and munched on that as we headed back to our temporary abode. On the way, we stopped in a gas station and picked up a map.

The afternoon had started to give way to evening. Val and I were both starved, and I couldn’t stand the idea of being trapped in a motel room for the rest of the evening. The best thing we could do, I thought, was to explore this unknown place. So, map in hand, we picked a direction that looked promising and began walking. Several miles up the road, we came across a Noodles & Company restaurant. Elated, we sat down for a customized meal of noodles, tofu, and salad. The place was thoroughly postmodern, with exposed piping painted in catchy colors and Death Cab for Cutie streaming over the satellite radio speakers. College kids filled the booths around us.

It was dark by the time we headed out. We passed more college students on the streets as we retraced our steps towards the motel. I observed that every person we had seen that day was white. Having grown up near New York City, something about that felt odd to me.

“I know,” said Val, who was born in Uruguay. “Since I came to the U.S., I’ve never felt like a minority until now.”

Back at the motel, I realized that I would have to trek out one more time. When we had dropped the car off at the repair shop, we had left almost all of our stuff inside, including clothes and toiletries. Even if the people there got to it right away, we’d probably be spending half the following day in Columbus. Neither Val nor I wanted to wait that long to change or brush our teeth.

I trudged alone in the darkness, taking the same route that the tow truck had taken earlier that day. At times there was no sidewalk, so I walked through the grass. I imagined how I must look: some stranger prowling across peoples’ lawns at ten o’clock at night. At one point, my foot came down on a sinkhole full of half-crusted mud. I slogged on, muttering obscenities to myself. I got to the car, stuffed all the necessary items into a few bags, and dragged them all the way back with me. The trip took nearly two hours.

That night, Val and I lay wrapped around one another in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed. As we drifted towards sleep, I told her a story about a man who was following another man because he had been told that he could learn the meaning of life from him. The main character was led into a pitch-dark building, where he found a set of stairs leading up to a door.

“…and as he felt his way to the door,” I whispered, “it opened on its own. A bright light shown from the other side, blinding him. His eyes adjusted, and he saw someone step out in front of him…”

“And then what happened?”

“…I don’t know…I’m too tired. I’ll finish the story later.”

“Kay,” she breathed, and we slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

I woke up with the dawn on Monday morning. I had to trek back to the repair shop again to give them my key, and I wanted to get there right when they opened. There was free coffee in the motel lobby, which I gladly took advantage of. One thing I’ve discovered from staying in motels and hotels throughout my life is that they often have some of the best coffee around. This was no exception.

At the shop, the owner was more than happy to do whatever he could to fix my car. He spoke slowly, with a thoughtful Midwestern accent. I left with no doubt that my car was in good hands.

Val and I had more time to kill, so we walked back up the way we had gone for dinner the night before. We stopped at a tiny store that sold all kinds of yarn and sowing material. I marveled over the plethora of patterns and colors. In the center of the shop was a large poster explaining how yarn made from camels benefited the nomadic peoples of central Asia. Since they were always on the move, they had little means for survival in the harsh wilderness. Camel yarn was one of their vital sources of income.

We passed the rest of the early afternoon wandering around the area. Around two, the sky started to grow overcast and the wind picked up. Before heading back to our room, Val bought an ice cream from McDonalds. I picked up a newspaper and read about the results of some straw polls for the early candidates of the presidential race. In the middle of our respite, my cell phone rang.

It was the owner of the repair place. He had figured out what the problem was: the idler pulley had snapped. He told me that it wouldn’t be more than a few hundred dollars to fix, but that he’d have to get the part sent to him. Unless he could find a local shop that had one on hand, it could take up to three more days before my car was ready.

“I’ll call around, and get back to you today,” he said.

I relayed this information to Val, who suggested we get the rest of our junk from the car and keep it in the motel room. We called a taxi service from our room, asking them to make sure they brought a mini-van. Once at the shop, we cleared all of the clutter from my car in about fifteen minutes, piling it inside the van. Then we rode back and piled it in one corner of the motel room.

We spent the rest of that afternoon in a kind of nervous suspense. Neither of us was eager to go out again. Val wasn’t feeling well, and I was getting progressively more pessimistic about our situation. We also had to be careful what we did with the rest of our money – neither of us had anticipated all these extra expenses, and they were adding up quickly. There were still six days left to our vacation. We’d need cash for those, too.

Sometime near sunset, the owner called me again. He had good news and bad news.

The good news was that they had found a pulley from someone in Columbus from whom they could get it the next day. The bad news was that the pulley had bent a major engine valve when it broke. I’d have to replace the engine if I wanted my car to work anymore.

“I don’t know what you want to do,” said the owner. “It’ll probably cost you more than the car is worth to fix that. But if you don’t, you won’t have a car.”

“I have to think about it,” I mumbled. “I’ll call before you close.”

I paced around the motel’s parking lot for a few minutes, pondering the ramifications of this development. I suddenly had no desire to go to Missouri. I didn’t want to wait around in Ohio, either. I just wanted to go home and spend the rest of my vacation hiding under my sheets.

Val and I agreed that we couldn’t afford to repair the engine on top of everything else. She called one of our friends who had already arrived in the Ozarks to tell her that we wouldn’t make it. Our friend insisted we come, especially because we had been through so much. She even offered to pay for plane tickets to get us the rest of the way. We declined.

Meanwhile, I called the repair shop back. The owner apologized for the situation, told me that he’d only charge labor for the first half of the day, and that I needed to mail him the title when I got home so that he could scrap the car.

“Thanks for everything,” I replied. “I do have one other question, though. Where is the train station?”

“There is no train station in Columbus,” he answered.

I was shocked. How could a major city not be connected to the rail lines? “Are you sure? I’ve seen freight trains passing over about a block from here.”

“Oh, the railroad passes through here, all right, but they never built a station for a passenger line. There’s no place to get on. Have to use the airport.”

“Okay, thanks again.”

I told Val that we needed to get airline tickets for the morning as soon as we could to avoid having to pay for the motel another day. She searched on her laptop, and found some relatively inexpensive seats on a plane that was leaving in the early afternoon the next day. Then we ordered a pizza.

Outside, the clouds overhead had finally reached their saturation point. The wind picked up again, and lightning darted across the sky. A torrential rain broke out. I’ve always loved storms. I stepped out into this one, reveling in the shock of suddenly being soaked by nature. It momentarily distracted me from everything else that had ensued, and lent perspective to the day. No matter what happened in life, nothing could rob me of the rain. I felt a little better.

The following morning was bright and crisp. Val and I walked to a storage facility nearby to buy some boxes to put our things in. As soon as we were packed, we called another cab to take us to Columbus airport. He drove us on the highway past the inner city area, and I watched the high-rises of the crowded downtown slide by us. I wondered just how much about Columbus and its people we had learned from our two-day sojourn in a suburban corner on the outskirts. Was it the true face of the city? Was there a true face to any city?

At the airport, the first thing we did was check our boxes. We had to move items around between them to make sure they all stayed under the weight limits. Then we found an in-house restaurant for lunch. They put cheese in my salad, but I just picked it out. We sat in the “meditation room” for the remainder of our time before boarding, reading religious texts in relative quiet.

A few hours later, Val and I landed in Newark. Never before had the familiar grime of the metropolis seemed so welcoming to me. We loaded our luggage into another taxi and paid it to bring us to the apartment. It was dusk by the time we finally walked in the door. We had no money, no car, and no energy. We didn’t even bother to unpack the boxes. We headed straight for bed.

As we sank into the blankets, I asked Val, “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

She threw her arms around me, snuggling close. “Nothing!”

I agreed.

Continuum 6: Shake-ing Things Up

Kaitlyn Shake is a student activist at HCC. This winter, she became the president of the Student Senate, but suddenly left as controversies unfolded. In the first of this two-part series, she describes her entry into activism, her rise in student politics, and some of the institutional problems she encountered along the way.

Stay tuned for part two in our series, to be released Friday, March 27, 2009.

Powered by Podbean.com

Continuum 5: Plays, Pagans, and Participation

Theatre major Amber Hopper is involved in the costume design for HCC’s upcoming play, “Anonymous.” She is also the president of the Pagan Attitudes and LIfe Studies (PALS) club, an active member of the Gay/Straight Alliance, and a past member of the Student Senate. She discusses all of these things - and more - with host Brandon T. Bisceglia.

Powered by Podbean.com

Dad I Miss You

By Gerry Whitted
Senior Staff Writer

Hey Dad,

When I arrived at my house shortly after coming home from school; the words I am about to share with you have echoed in my temporal lobe, since the first time I heard them. Your father has died. How did he die I asked and quickly followed with will I see him in heaven? “He died from his stroke and yes you will see him in heaven,” my mother said. She, who had just been made a widow at the ripe old age of 32 years of age, was the messenger of this devastating news.

I was hurt and I was angry, I felt abandoned and lonely. I was all that and more. The sad part about this was I did not know how to articulate those feelings. How could I? I was 11 years old and in the sixth grade. I know we have not spoken since your death. I have been using God as an intermediary as a way to get messages to you via prayer.

I am writing you to let you know how I was affected by your sudden and all too soon demise. Every year on September 23 , the day of your birth and March 1968, I am reminded on how much I miss you. That day and year are indelibly etched in my mind and soul forever. A matter of fact that year is one most Americans will never forget. Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King and Senator Robert Kennedy were both assassinated in that year. The world lost three irreplaceable human beings, tragically and all of sudden.

Daddy! Why did you have to die? I know if you would not have died my life would have been so much easier, and it is your fault why it was not. I became closed, frightened and alone with no one or nowhere to turn. You taught me never to show fear or to be afraid of anything or anyone, God will protect me. You told to me say my prayers every night and eventually they will be answered. God loves you. Well it is hard to tell. It seems as if my prayers have fallen on deaf ears. I do not ask for a lot, matter of fact all I ask for is one thing prayer after prayer after prayer, night after night after night, week after week and year after year after year. I pray for all of this to be a dream and when I awaken you are alive. As I recall these events I begin to cry, after every word I write I wipe away the tears that are streaming down my face and at times obstructing my vision.

I can see clearly now that you and God have both abandoned me. This is not a dream this is reality. I guess I have to wait to see you in heaven as Mom said I would. I just hope my fate is different than yours. I do not want my to son to experience witnessing the effects of a stroke as I did. I found you on the floor after you had yours, and for years wondered if I could have done anything to prevent this from happening. When I went to the hospital for my one and only visit It was something I will never forget. The sight of the four inch scar on your neck attributed to the removal of the blood clot, and your inability to communicate due to your speech being reduced to that of an infant making sounds, ba ba da ta se vu. I could see the frustration on your face as I continually guessed wrong on my interpretation of your words. These images along with questions of my own mortality stagnated and curtailed my growth for some 25 years.I wondered and feared that my fate would be similar to your brief and short 32 years of life.

How could you be so selfish and cowardly to leave and never return to help and guide me through the maze of manhood. I know you taught me how to read, write, play chess, iron and fold my clothes. Also you were my basketball and baseball coach and taught me how to run, paid for swimming,tennis lessons and my Boys Scout uniform and supplies, all these things before my 10th birthday. Most of all you were a great father who showed me how much you care and loved me. The value of honesty, family, pride, hard work and education were staples that I still hold true today. It was as if you were giving me a cram course in manhood as a way to prepare me for your early death.What more could a kid ask for? Simple a father to finish what he has started and you did not do that.

Me, you and mom moved to Hollywood from Harlem after I was born. The plan was for you and your singing group to have a hit record. Being the owner of the publishing and songwriting rights you would be able to quit your job at the post office and live off the royalties. This would be a family business that I would inherit when I graduated college and passed down the same way to my kids. After you died that too died, along with life in Hollywood, California.

Mom has no family here so back to New York we went. The Flight attendants were great as we transported your body to Washington D.C. to be buried. Your mother, brother and two sisters were there to meet and greet us. I never felt so uncomfortable in my life, and being forced to go someplace I did not want to be did not help.

I was being punished for your death and I do not know why. I wanted to graduate with my friends and go to the junior high school. I have been looking forward to doing this since I was in the fourth grade. But you so selfishly died and so did my dream.

Once we were settled in New York the transition was one for the ages. It seemed as if everybody had a father except me.Those who were fatherless appeared to take the most abuse. They were picked on, laughed at for no rhyme or reason other than being fatherless. Relocating from Hollywood, California to New Rochelle, New York did not help either. I was an outsider and the new kid in the neighborhood, with that comes rights of initiation. My defense was to run home fast after school and lie about you being dead. I never talked about you and I never was asked about you. I finally graduated and gradually my problems increased and you were nowhere to be found.

I continued with the charade. I told everyone you worked at the post office as if you were still alive. Than I was given an award for being an honor student and I had to answer a questionnaire and be interviewed by my guidance counselor. It just so happened he retired from the same post office I said you were working. I was busted, there was not to many things worse than being caught in a lie .Although it was the best thing to happen to me and afterwards a burdens seemed to be lifted.

I was afraid, ashamed and missed my father and for the first time I spoke to my mother and adviser about it. They let me know that it was alright to cry and you teaching me otherwise was wrong, it was just your way to make me tough and that you meant no harm. From that point on I had no problem of saying that you were dead but that did not eliminate the burden that I still carried.

How do you kiss a girl? How do you make love? How do you ask a girl to be your girlfriend? What do you do to keep a girlfriend.? How do I know she likes me? How do I protect myself from the bullies?
What college should I go to? Should I go to white Ivy League school in the area that is recruiting me or black college in 1500 miles away in Dallas, Texas? Should I drop out of school and work? Should I get married? How do you deal with how a woman feels when she is pregnant? My wife lied to me about her fertility, I found she can not have kids what should I do? I think my wife is having affair what should I do? Our pastors niece is pregnant and I am the father. I am unhappy and lonely.

I would follow these questions with another question. What would my father do? How would my father act or say in this situation? I still was unhappy. I would not have had all of those situations if you were here. Life would have been so much easier and happiness would be a common occurrence.

I could not tell my mother because remember you told when if you died I would become the Man of the house. Well the man of the house does not come home and let his family know that he is coward, who is afraid to talk to girl and needs alcohol to have courage to even ask a girl to dance. Looking back I do not know how I got through it all and kept all that stuff a secret.

A mother can only do and have the answers for only so much. I needed my Father and you were not there, at times I wish I never met you. You made me believe that if I needed you, you would be there and you were not. You and God definitely have a few things in common. The most significant one is when I call on either of you the invisible man shows up.

Funny how things happen, about 25 years ago I met my current wife. She taught me I was only as sick as my secrets. That the past was a learning experience not a burden or weapon to inflict unnecessary harm to one's self. I could not remember ever being as happy in my life-other than the birth of my children.

I stopped blaming you and God for my transgressions and circumstances. I accepted the eleven years I had with you were eleven more than a lot of people have ever had with their Father. I understand and accepted that I created the burden and it was for me to release it. Once I did this I became a man with a positve and strong outlook upon today. But in order to make this journey complete and fulfilled, there is one more thing I must say and this cycle will be complete and that is... Good Bye.

Oh, the Places You’ll Go

By Victor Rios

Co-Editor in Chief

Guadalajara, Mexico—Home to the second largest metropolitan center in the country, Las Chivas, Tequila and last but not least, mariachi, is the place where I was conceived and given birth to by a suppositious absent father and a 15 year old teenager.

The marriage inevitably failed and my mother—who had married to simply to get away from a small house with six brothers and sisters and an alcoholic dad, got fed up with my father’s abuse, stole money from him and bought a bust ticket to Tijuana, taking me (6 months old) along for the ride.

Once in Tijuana, Motorola employed her at a television assembly line. My mother left me in what she described was a prison for kids, where I stayed five days of the week and acquired the lifelong nickname of el topo or “the mole.” To this day no one has explained why and who gave me the name. But my aunt who soon followed my mom to Tijuana and often picked me up from the hellhole, loved it and branded me for life.

It was as ‘el topo’ that I returned to Guadalajara three years later. Mom yielded to my grandfather’s requests for her return from that decrepit place that was and still is Tijuana.

There are very few memories in my thought-hoard, but I do remember my grandfather teaching me to swim in Manzanillo (one beautiful beach) and often going to outside colorful rustic towns where he still had family, riding on the backs of giant pigs, falling off a donkey, visiting balneareos (hot springs).

I enjoyed grandpa’s company for two years; he died of a stroke in ’91. Unfortunately, I got to see the man fainting and people around trying to pick him up. I was not allowed to see him at his wake because I had a scab in my hand (superstitious bull).

Inevitably, everything changed drastically, my uncle (an ever furious mechanic) made the miniature patio his workplace; my other uncle, who was four years older than me, picked on me constantly and broke the sad news about Santa Clause; and my aunt, who was four years younger than my mom, began sending me on errands and forced me to do chores around the scorpion infested house.

A few months after grandpa’s death I began attending elementary school which was four blocks away: Alfred E. Nobel. The curriculum was not at all different from an American school. Later I would come to find out it was better, with the exception of abusive teachers —and was home to the only two computers I ever saw before traveling to the US (someone stole them, they made a hole in the ceiling and took everything).

“El topo” was well known in the school for being a troublemaker who did surprisingly well in school. This was due to my mom’s rigid rules when it came to school, even though I barely ever saw the lady; she still kept up with the teacher’s notes and would not hesitate to use corporal punishment.

It wasn’t long before mom introduced me to her boyfriend and his family. He amiably took on the responsibility of fatherhood and his family took me in as one of their own. I would go on to make the Cuellar’s house my second home.

The Cuellar’s owned a small corner store. In the back was a large terrace whose bare adobe walls were topped with broken glass and a centered giant guava tree provided solace from the sun to dozens of wandering chickens, a handful of colorful and easily irritable roosters.

Every so often, my new grandfather would take me to the various palenques to showcase, bet on, and fight his roosters. It usually turned out to be daylong bloodbaths in which the cocks were fitted with blades on their talons and pitted to death. The losers were quickly retrieved, cooked and served a few hours later. Depending on the health of the top cock, he would either get cooked or live to see (if they had eyes left) another day and be bred. In many occasions headless chicken would be seen frantically running and flapping their wings as if to escape from the grasp of death.

This leads perfectly into ‘93, when Mexico reduced the amount of zeros in the currency: 1000 pesos turned into 1 (shiny) peso. I remember my grandpa telling me everything would get better now. I, of course, did not have the cognitive abilities to know what he was talking about; the food served was always great and homemade—generally just beans, rice, fresh baked tortillas and a small amount of meat served along with fresh tomato and jalapeno sauce. Mmmm…!

Also in ’93 my mother gave birth to my brother. As a result of this, I had free rein to be the last one of my friends to be home. And as things got “better,” my stepfather could not find a job. Two of his brothers had previously made the jump to the US in the mid 80’s, it was a natural jump.
Late in ’95 he headed north; my mother followed two months later.

Both of them left with hopes of returning for both my brother and me. They had high hopes, lots of people had “made it;” it was their turn to ride the American dream to its full potential.

During their hiatus, Mortal Kombat and Killer Instinct arcades were my best friends. I would hang around establishments with arcades just to watch others play; until regrettably getting kicked out of the arcades for reaching over the counter to get coins.

Coin scarcity forced me to make a choice between staying home with the grandparents (I did not go to school while my folks were away), or find a job—which I did for a few months.

It was simple, get up every morning, get a red dolly with a crooked wheel, and go around to small business’ to pick up their garbage and take it to a dump behind el mercado. I made enough money to go to the arcades and buy myself a small pizza every once in a while.

The ten months my mom was gone for were wonderful—I had none of the usual yelling and ass whopping sessions—then for better or worse, she came back. In protest, I decided not to go to the airport, and instead I played Congo’s Caper at a friend’s house.

Coming to America

Two weeks later, I would go on to leave the country—the prevailing thought was for some reason the Statue of Liberty. Crossing the border was as easy as Rush Limbaugh’s drug pr. The coyote paired me and my brother with an older lady who would pass off as our grandma. Our instructions were simple, “say ‘US citizen’ and that’s it.”

Surprisingly it worked. The first blue eyed, blond haired person I had ever met actually fell for my lie (Even today I ask myself “what if he had asked for my papers?”).

There could not have been a more stark contrast than that particular border crossing: on one side there was a dusty desert city, sheet-metal-roofed adobe and brick homes with hundreds of thousands sappy foreign faces. While on the other side (San Diego), well, the first store I saw was a Burger King sitting on a small mound with perfectly manicured green grass and tall trees around it. The taste of the air itself was of a different nature, cleaner and most of the folks were white.

After a brief stay at my uncle’s house in LA, where I celebrated my 10th birthday and received more gifts than I had in the whole previous year, we set out via plane to NY. As the plane began its decent, the land gave way to millions of moving lights as well as to the bright tall buildings seen only in movies and news in Mexico. The trip home was even more spectacular; we rode on the White Stone Bridge and like a fly continued to stare at the bright lights.

The astonishment was not to last too long. Two days after my arrival I found myself at a red bricked school (Jefferson Elementary) in New Rochelle, NY. First order of business was inoculations; I—like a maniac—had to be strapped down by a couple of people for that to happen.
Next, I was tossed in a fifth grade classroom with only three other Spanish speakers. For a while, they would become my guides, they too had only been in the US for less than a year. Logically, I gravitated towards the other Spanish speakers and the only thing I did know, and knew well, was math. For that reason, the teacher came to like me, and during lunch she would help me with my ESL work.

When I found out that I would be passed to next grade (with good grades), I was so excited. So in one of the graduation practices, which took place in the auditorium, I told my buddies in Spanish “Pase! Y con buenos grados.” The girl sitting in front of me, Hope (whom I befriended a few years later) turned around, and with an angry gesture told us “why don’t you go back to Mexico?” Being a smart ass myself, I responded in broken English, “Why don’t you go back to Africa?” The argument ended right there and then. We then proceeded to practice R. Kelly’s “I Believe I can Fly” while holding each others hands (which was part of the show).

Unfortunately, the next three grades I spent 70% of the time learning and convening with other Spanish speakers in Spanish. I was inducted into a bilingual program whose classroom was located in the basement, next to the special ed. class. The effects of which was segregation from the rest of the student population, constant bullying, and an English deficiency right when I needed it most.

At home, the relationship with my mom remained the same as the one we had in Mexico. She continued to give priority to my younger brother, despite the progress I had made in school, so I grew evermore resentful. My stepfather, whose efforts provided the means for a brighter future was, much like a survivor contestant, driven out of the house.

My middle school years were marked by an increase in testosterone and an intense dislike for my mother and brother. I became a cocoon, shielding everything other than Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Korn and most of what K-Rock played back then. The time I spent listening to music was really the only enjoyable time of those days.

By the seventh grade, my mother had met another gentleman who would go on to be my stepfather. He had three kids, and for a while, his older kid and I fought in and outside of school—don’t remember why, probably carrying the torch for both our mothers, they were doing the same thing.

In quite the turn of events, when my mother decided to follow my stepfather to Bridgeport, I ended up being welcomed at my stepbrother’s home. He and I, for a while became inseparable friends; until unfortunately the Board of Ed found out I was not living with my parent and forced me out of a very diverse (mutually segregated) High School in May 2001.

So I transferred to Warren Harding High School in BPT. The experience was unlike any other I had ever experience. I suddenly found myself being considered a bright student; a change from being an average student in New Ro High. The situation there was and still is dire. Students were out of control; I experienced everything from students punching teachers to teachers chasing students down. There were a few unavoidable conflicts I had over stares, a girl
I found solace in smart senior students whom I often hung out and tried to imitate. I was the first sophomore to take AP Bio along with seniors, I often found myself being played the jokes the rest of the student body played on these “smarty pants.” I must admit, I met a handful of true friends and teachers that truly cared for students.

At home, my mother never changed, she never acknowledged any of my accomplishments and treated me much like you would an indentured servant—I can not blame her, all the while she’s been taking orders from yuppies, she had to let it out somehow. Still, I had to move out, and I did at 16.

The following five years were years of self discovery. After graduating from Harding, my life lost its meaning and purpose. After a six month hiatus from education, I attended HCC for three consecutive semesters on my own reconnaissance.

Music (again) and the greatest girlfriend served as anchors, although they were certainly dragged by a ship overloaded with opposing emotions, I must admit: without them, the tide would have led me astray. Instead, a reinvigorated self arose from the limbo I found my self in and finally experienced true unconditional love.

Today, I would like to think that I have grown much. Which is no coincidence at all, for I have opened myself to many viewpoints that help me frame responses to many situations, which in the past, I would have reacted either violently or by give up on tasks. Not perfect, but better.

It took getting lost in this maze called life to finally figure out where I would like to go. The random nature of life itself may divert from green pastures to desolate lands; it can become an utter contradiction.

[Life] It’s just a ride and we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money, a choice right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your door, buy guns and close yourself off.

The eyes of love instead see all of us as one—Bill Hicks

Open Your Ears and Hear the News

By Nathaniel Greenhall
Staff Writer

There comes a time in a person’s life when you realize you have no idea what’s going on in the world. That’s when you need to start listening to what people have to say about the world. Read the news, listen to the radio, or watch the news. These are three great ways of finding out things that are going on around you, on a day-to-day basis.

I realized that throughout my life I never cared much about what was going on in the world. I thought that it never concerned me and that the news was boring. After my 20th birthday last year I started to work at a Mobil gas station. While working there I started to pick up the newspaper when business was slow. After reading it for a couple of weeks, I realized what I had been missing out on. There are too many things happening in the world, and it’s an insult not to know what’s going on.

I feel that it’s very important for people over the age of 18 to start reading the news. Maybe when you were younger the news didn’t matter much, because all you cared about was the immediate world around you. Once you are a college student you need to realize that the real world is right around the corner. All of the decisions being made in the world are going to affect you more and more as you age. The news is full of information on changing laws, taxes, job opportunities, traffic, and hazardous reports, all of these things can help you on a day to day basis.

People who pay attention to the news closely see things coming before others do. The economic crisis was something that people thought was coming because certain signs pointed to this happening. My father reads the news regularly and he told me that all of this was going to happen at least a month before it really did.

Especially with all of the important things going on in the world recently that are going to have a huge impact in the coming years. As you start forming your life and a family, all of these economic situations come into play. If you don’t read the news and have no idea at all that there even is an economic crisis, how are you going to deal with life situations appropriately? Not only is the news something that everyone needs to make good decisions, but it is a great wealth of knowledge for starting conversations. Not only can it help you fit into conversations, but it can make you come off as worldly and well informed.

The people out there that are writing the news are doing a great charity by informing us on local and world news, and people are taking it for granted. News used to be something that was only local, news from far away came days if not weeks after it already happened because it took time to transport information. Nowadays news is literally instantaneous, you can hear people reporting from across the world live on TV, or the Internet.

If you are like me, the news is just too boring to watch sometimes. You can join the other thousands of people who tune into the Daily Show with John Stewart, or the Colbert Report. While they tend to exaggerate on certain topics they also give great portrayals of news. The two of them are looking at it from a different point of view than normal newscasters. And to some people this makes the difference in paying attention to what is going on in the world.

So news is something that we all need to pay attention to. And not just for the sake of ourselves, but for our families to come. What’s the point of living in America, if you don’t know what’s going on in it?

High Expectations

By Sania Mathakutha
Staff Writer

None of my family members have ever left their comfort zone of South Africa.I’m the first. I’m going to America; America the great, America the beautiful. So they say. I will confirm that when I get there. My father seems to be more excited than me. He believes that this trip could bring about change for the Mathakutha family. My mother, on the other hand, feels completely different. Knowing her I’m not surprised. Don’t get me wrong I’m not saying she is not a supportive person; it’s just that she can be a bit overbearing at times, but that’s another story.

Almost everybody I know, from my friends, aunts, cousins, and “boyfriends” are contributing financially towards my departure.

June 2003 I arrive in Austin Texas. I’m here to be an Au Pair for the Horton family who have two beautiful girls ages 3 and 7. A month later I realize that I will not be able to live up to the expectations and promises I made my people when I left home. Not with the $124.50 that I was making a week. When I was home that amount a week seemed like a lot of money. Boy was I mistaken. All the excitement about being here now is quickly diminishing. What am I going to do? I promised to buy people cars, houses, and clothes. There was no way in hell that I was going to afford all these things. I had to make a plan, and I had to make one fast.

November 2003 I decided to abscond to Connecticut. I started working two jobs just to make ends meet. Things started looking like they were falling into place until April 2006, when I got arrested. At 7 a.m. I just walked into my apartment from my overnight job, and I was getting ready for my next one. I was startled by a knock at the door. I was wondering who it could be at this time of the morning. I ignored it. That didn’t help because the knocking seemed to get louder and louder. Next thing I hear is, “police, and open the door.” My heart started beating so loud and so fast it wanted to jump out of my chest. I was shaking like a leaf as I made my way to the door. I opened it and everything that happened after that was like a movie; or a nightmare. When the cold handcuffs gripped my wrists I thought I was going to die. “We will be taking you to the Immigration offices in Hartford for some questioning”, said the male officer. His voice was so cold. I cried in the car all the way to Hartford.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I always new that as I got older I would go through trials and tribulations of life, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever go to “jail”. Was I going to wake up later only to find out I was dreaming?

Upon arrival at Hartford I was placed in a holding cell all by myself. Fortunately I had my cell phone with me, but when I tried making calls there was no signal. I sat on a cold block of cement for four hours. I was so cold I couldn’t even feel my hands or feet. People would go by looking at me like I was some criminal or vicious animal. “I wonder what she’s in for.” I heard a lady say as she went by. I had stopped crying at that point. I might as well save my salt water. There I was in the land of the “free”, but not “free”, caged up. I felt like I was out of my body, looking at myself “behind bars.” I was told that they were following protocol, checking to make sure that my passport and visa were still valid and that I was in the country legally. Fortunately for me my paper work checked out fine. Finally to what seemed like eternity they let me out and sent me home; just like that.

Two months later I hired a Lawyer and he helped me adjust my status. My life was completely changed. I went home to South Africa a year later. I told my story to my family and everybody was very supportive and sympathetic. A month later after I arrived home my father asked me if I would ever go back to America, and I surprised him with a confident “yes”. I told him I was actually planning on leaving in another month. Not to work though, but to get an education.

Without a doubt, America offers very high quality postsecondary education and I’m happy that I’m a part of that. When I left my father he was more proud of me then he was the first time I left. The second time was a charm because I left stress free. The only promise I made was to bring home a degree.

My Brief History of Time

By Dan Otzel
Senior Staff Writer

My first day of college. On the left is my roomate.

How a wasteland of agony led to triumphant understanding.

In May of 2003 I graduated from high school. My four years at Fairfield Prep had been the best of my life. I received a great education, grew into a man, and partied and partied and partied and partied.

The future was looking bright. I was heading to Florida to party – I mean – study, just outside of Daytona Beach at Stetson University. I was young (18), handsome, smart, funny, athletic, and excited. I had a family who loved me, friends who would take a bullet for me, and a gorgeous girlfriend.

What the hell could go wrong?

Yeah, not only do I have the horror stories; I also have stories that would make your head spin. However, most of my semester-and-a-half in sunny Florida was a blur. It culminated in me waking up one Monday afternoon to my father’s voice. When I finally came too, I heard him utter, “We have a meeting with the Dean.” The next thing I knew, I was in Bridgeport taking biology with a man who, to this day, I couldn’t pick out in a line up.

Why couldn’t I pick him out of a lineup?

Because the mistakes which got me tossed out of Stetson were no longer mistakes – they were a way of life.

Every day I drove to Housatonic Community College wasted. When I woke in the morning the drinking started. As class neared I start drinking heavily. The ride from Milford to Bridgeport was usually quick and filled with speeding cars, loud music, a carton of cigarettes, and, you guessed it, more booze. Once in class, the real drinking began. Most students carry textbooks and pens in their backpacks; I carried a bar.

After getting sub-par marks in classes I should have aced, (I was handing in high school papers still saved on my computer, and after a few successful Horizons articles, I decided I didn’t feel like writing anymore that semester) I had, what some call, a “moment of clarity.”

I called my father into my room and told him I had a problem and I needed help before it killed me. The lifestyle I had been living since high school, a lifestyle filled with booze, drugs, women, and insomnia had caught up to me. I didn’t know what to do.

It was hard for both of us, but what was harder was hearing him tell me he didn’t think alcohol was my only problem. He thought there was something else, something deeper, embedded in my physique.

Once I got help, I quit drinking cold turkey. It wasn’t hard at all. In fact, to this day, I enjoy a drink every so often; it is not a problem. As a matter of fact, it was never the real problem. I used alcohol as a crutch, as self-medication for what was eventually diagnosed as manic-depression. I believe the PC term is bi-polar disorder. Whatever you call it, it blows.

The hardest thing I have ever encountered, or will ever encounter in my lifetime, is fighting this beast of a disease. In the summer of 2008 my life was as back to normal as it ever could be. I picked up the shattered pieces of my past, from 2004 until the 2008 summer, and made my most valiant attempt to put my life back together.

I am quite certain the best wordsmith in the world would have a tough time describing what those four years were like. I am no great writer, but I will try anyway.

Being diagnosed with a more dire case of the illness, I became somewhat of a lab rat for my caring doctors who just wanted to help (except for this one prick). I experimented with dozens of drugs, waiting for three years to find a cocktail that worked.

When the drugs don’t work, manic-depression is a terrible disorder.

The manic side is odd. I would stay up for days with no sleep, working on projects, which, at the time, seemed so grandiose. I would compose the greatest notes ever struck on a guitar. I would write lyrics that made Bob Dylan look illiterate. I would write the Great American Novel, spitting on Huck Finn and Ernest Hemingway. During that time, however, I learned a lot. I was constantly yearning for knowledge; I didn’t care how I got it. But that type of life not only takes a toll on the body, it destroys the mind. An unhealthy body, joined with a disillusioned mind, is a recipe for disaster. I was not Dan Otzel. I had no name. I was an entity who disregarded time and space. I existed, but was lost in that existence. You could not talk to me, converse with me, or relate to me – there was no me, just a false idol, an idol only my mind worshipped.

And then there’s the depression.

I never actively sought suicide, but I didn’t care if I lived or not. Whereas mania lasts a few days to a week, depression is a damned incident, lasting for weeks to months. These days were spent in the layer below Hell. At least Hell is warm and colorful where you can watch miserable souls be tortured for eternity; at least something was going on. Depression, especially when you “crash” from the mania is like nothing you have ever experienced. You wouldn’t wish it upon your worst enemy (well, maybe that prick doctor).

Depression is a black whole. You see nothing, but are totally aware of your miserable existence. But the feeling, the feeling…It is not a feeling of nothingness or remorse…It is a feeling of demise. You can feel death breathing down your neck, and you want to except it, but are too apathetic to do so. It’s a feeling all is lost and it’s all your fault. And what’s scary about it? Nothing provokes it. It just happens. You can’t see it coming and…BOOM! It hits you like a freight train from hell.

My feeble attempts to described symptoms aside, when the drugs do work, you’re at the place I am now. A place where, I’m sure my classmates and professors would tell you, I am completely normal emotionally. But what about when the drugs work too well? When they poison the blood?

Although those occurrences are not as bad as the symptoms, they can delay possible recovery. I have lost my sight, lost my equilibrium, shaken uncontrollably, and gained a tremendous amount of weight. However, I cannot speak for every patient, some get their medication right on the first try.

During that time, I had made my second attempt to earn my Associates Degree at HCC. After receiving an A in my summer course, I had to withdraw from my next 2 courses due to the return of symptoms from the illness. Again, I could not function.

Things were looking pretty bleak once more. But then on July 2, 2007, I checked into Silver Hill Hospital as my last resort. There I was able to get some more help and plan my recovery.

After taking some time off I returned to work. I was working hard, every day, and feeling productive again. Then God looked down and said, “Danny, let’s see how you deal with this,” and blew up the shop I worked at; twenty minutes after I had left (no one was hurt).

So, I decided to come back to HCC.

This is my second straight semester, and I am taking a full workload and excelling. My GPA is up to 2.99 (I’m digging out of a pretty deep hole) and I plan to graduate with honors.

These last six years have been trying times, but it makes the conquests even sweeter.

I have picked myself up by the bootstraps and started over, achieving not only what I could have before, but also learning the depth and magnitude of my character and strength. I feel I have been armed with tools that can seriously help a peer, or even save a life.

I just can’t help but wonder:

When I sit down to revise my story six years from now, what will it say?

Stuck on Repeat

By Gina DellaGioia
Staff Writer

Photo Courtesy of http://www.sciencemuseum.org/

“One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…one, two three, four. Four sets of four. Always even, never odd.”

That’s me every morning, tapping the corner edge of my bedroom carpet with my left foot a whopping total of 16 times, sometimes even 18 just to be sure to ward off any future misfortunes headed my way. Does this behavior hold any logic? I would be the first along with the other 3.3 million Americans with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to say no, this holds no logic whatsoever.

So then why do we sufferers of OCD feel compelled to flick the light switch on and off 28 times, to tap the fruit bowl on the kitchen table 14 times or to repeatedly check that the front door is locked?

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is an anxiety disorder. Sufferers experience recurrent unwanted illogical thoughts and fears referred simply to as “obsessions”. In order to counteract these obsessive thoughts sufferers develop “compulsions”, repetitive behaviors meant to soothe the uninvited thoughts and fears. Simply put, OCD is a developed coping mechanism for the many aspects of life that are out of one’s control.

Those with OCD are not delusional, we know our actions lack any realistic sense but are compelled to continue these actions regardless of how crazy we may appear.

Studies have found a connection between Tourette syndrome and OCD with 28-50% of those with Tourettes exhibiting symptoms of OCD. A commonly shared characteristic between the two is Coprolalia, the involuntary vocalization of obscenities or derogatory remarks. Though most of us with OCD would never utter or act on our obsessive thoughts, we feel as though we need to forcefully restrain ourselves from doing so. Taboos fill our heads, thoughts of incest, rape, murder, suicide, and sex run rampant in our brains. Even before I hit puberty and didn’t possess a full grasp on the human sexuality my 7-year-old interpretations of sexual activities and obscenities flooded my mind and left me feeling dirty and nervous; I’d blurt out the F-word during a math lesson or kiss the school nurse because it was in my power to do so.

Most of us with OCD narrow in on the same objects be it doorknobs, locks, light switches, push buttons, electrical sockets, corners or cracks in the pavement. Among us are washers, counters, arrangers, tappers, checkers, sinners and hoarders. Washers fear contamination, counters and arrangers hold superstitious beliefs on certain numbers and colors and are obsessed with symmetry, sinners fear punishment if a task is not performed to a T, checkers repeatedly check, tappers repeatedly tap and hoarders will just not part with that stack of newspapers from ’92 collecting dust in their closet.

Most with OCD are not confined to one specific group. A counter may also be a washer just as a hoarder may also be a checker. Many, including myself, happen to fall into multiple if not all categories.

There are four members in my immediate family dubbing the number four as my favorite. Four has and will always play an important role in my daily rituals but single digits are child’s play, I’ve graduated to the double digits now. As the years go by compulsions change and numbers grow, my OCD evolves and advances right along with me. The earliest memories I can remember of numbers beginning to run my life was around age 10. I despised traffic lights, not because they made me late for appointments or school, which is something at age 10 that I welcomed, I despised traffic lights because of the swallowing. It started out with the harmless number of four times that I would need to swallow before the light turned green and slowly escalated to the number 16. I can’t express how thrilled I am about that compulsion being dead and buried.

With OCD everyday simple mundane tasks become hour-long processes of painstakingly tedious rituals. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder complicates the uncomplicated. Something as absent-minded as having a drink of orange juice is turned into a life or death situation, which requires the purification of the drinking glass and the orange juice however only after the cabinet has been tapped as many times as seen fit, you know, whatever special number wards off evil today. Only then can I take a sip of my hard-earned O.J. but, only to have weighing on my mind, which side of the glass is safe to drink from?

These tasks are certainly anything but mundane. I can’t recall the last time I’ve had a shower that’s lasted under an hour or the last time I’ve read a book without tapping the page 18 times before turning.

I have stumbled across some loopholes over the years however, instead of having to perform the burdening task of preparing for meals, I can now have my mother get me my “special fork” out from the kitchen drawer and my father pour me my glass of milk. Now there’s an upside of OCD for you, I am waited on hand and foot. I once held in my urine for 10 ½ hours to avoid or at least delay the dreaded bathroom ritual, that loophole isn’t as cushy as the previous.

I sometimes find myself giving into the urge to obsessively bless myself even though I am not religious. This makes sense to me seeing as I grew up in a Catholic household and the Church is filled with obsessive-compulsive behaviors. Religion and OCD are so easily intertwined. Well known figures of Christianity like Martin Luther, John Bunyan and Saint Therese of Lisieux are known to have suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Although my family was never the strict church-going Catholics my Grandmother may have wished we were and even though we no longer attend, there are remnants left behind in my life.

OCD is truly a well-rounded disorder often peppered with overlapping disorders. Common accompanying disorders range from Hypochondria to Anorexia, both of which I can personally attest to.

Just like OCD Hypochondria turns the uncomplicated into complicated. A simple nosebleed becomes Leukemia; a minor headache becomes a brain tumor; a cough lung cancer. Hypochondria behavior shares a similar pattern of repetition and disruptive thoughts with OCD. Hypochondria’s cycle goes as follows:
1. Intrusive thoughts, i.e. “I think I have cancer.”
2. Check i.e. go to doctor
3. Repeat

My Self-Diagnoses
1. Systemic Sclerosis
2. Dermatomyositis and Polymyositis
3. HIV (Go figure this one out, I’m a virgin and avoid drugs at all costs, I won’t even take Tylenol unless the situation deems it necessary.)
4. Herpes
5. Lupus
6. Lyme Disease
7. Perry Romberg Syndrome/ Progressive Hemi-facial Atrophy
8. MRSA
9. Necrotizing Fasciitis (I have a difficult time listening to The Temptations due to Melvin Franklin’s bout with this specific flesh-eating bacterial disease.)
10. Various Cancers
11. Tuberculosis
12. Schizophrenia
13. Meningitis
14. Multiple Sclerosis
15. Deep Vein Thrombosis
16. Brain Aneurysm

With its excessive preoccupation with food and calorie counting and its strong focus on control, Anorexia’s correlation with OCD can be easily sighted by even the most blind, uninformed individual.

I’ve dabbled in calorie counting, allotting myself a set number for my daily caloric intake. Some days it was 800 others 900, maybe even 1,000…but that might be pushing it. While this may no longer be a consuming factor of my life in the current day, I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t carry around a calculator with me.

While what causes OCD is still not fully understood many theories loom about. Is OCD psychosocial? Biological? Maybe it’s Strep Throat? At least that’s what researches from National Institutes of Mental Health suggest. I’ve unquestionably had my fair share of Strep Throat and Tonsillitis growing up, connection perhaps?

Well, whatever the cause you can bet there’s going to be someone out there who can “cure” you. Once treated with exorcism, OCD in the present day is now treated with medication; I say give me the exorcism. It’d certainly be more fun, I wouldn’t balloon up and I wouldn’t have to worry about Stevens-Johnson Syndrome or any other pesky allergic reactions, because at the end of the day, is either one of these methods really working?

So, I’ve tried the medicated path, not for me. Next came therapy. I’ve run into a couple of therapists who have refused me help because of my unwillingness to work with their partnered psychiatrists and I’ve had my encounters with a snake-oil salesman or two. Where does all this leave me? I suppose a bit cynical, but maybe it’s me, not the therapists, psychiatrists, or medical companies, see Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is hard to let go of, while it may plague my life, I’m not quite sure what I would do without it.

It’s not my intention to knock the psychiatric medical industry. I recommend psychiatric help 100% to those who are left un-functioning and with a ruined quality of life due to OCD. Therapy and medication can work for some but you have to be willing to cooperate. You have to be willing to let go. This is a common fear among OCD patients and a backbreaking one to overcome at that. Call OCD my crutch, my source of amusement, my cure for boredom, a nervous tic, whatever you want, but whatever it is I’m just not ready to let go of it yet, plain and simple. Old habits die hard.

Continuum 4: Cleaning Up in a Recession

Horizon’s Outreach Editor Deb Toresso talks with host Brandon T. Bisceglia about the growth of her cleaning business and her personal gowth as a writer.

Powered by Podbean.com

Waiting for a Happy Ending

By Stephanie Mallozzi
Staff Writer

Learning to wait for the right person can teach you a lot about life.

Conveniently placed on my small night stand is my cell phone. The radio waves seem to be keeping me awake at night. There it is, just gawking at me without ringing, singing, or even vibrating. The “Battery Charging” screen is all I see.

Here I am, waiting. I’m waiting for that phone to do something. Maybe I’m waiting for my life to begin, and love is that missing piece to the jigsaw puzzle. I’m independent, right? I steal another quick glance of my phone.

There was one summer in particular when all I did was wait. I had no choice in the matter. My boyfriend was fighting in Iraq. I waited by the mailbox that whole summer for letters from him. The summer dwindled away, and he came home in the fall. Like the flowers of the summer, our love story wilted away with the autumn air. It was like I was cast as “girlfriend” in a love story. There I was, halfway through the script, and the script was just blank pages. I needed to move on, find a glimmer of hope.

There are so many shades of waiting. I was in a relationship that was on and off for a very long time. I was always waiting for less disappointment, the person I met years back. I never found that person again, but I decided that I couldn’t wait for things that just weren’t going to happen.

What is there to say about waiting? There are countless things to be said about waiting, actually. Good things supposedly come to those who wait. Waiting isn‘t something entirely new. Whether we’re waiting for a commercial to end, or a relationship to finally work, it’s not usually something we enjoy. See, when we are “waiting” for something bad to come along, all of a sudden we call it living.

Me? Well, I thought I was waiting for Prince Charming, but maybe that’s a bit hopeless. I’m going to be honest, I think about it sometimes. You know, seeing Prince Charming on his white horse ride toward me, in the forest. There I am frolicking and singing with the woodland creatures on a white and red checkered picnic blanket. Our eyes meet. Suddenly Etta James’ “At Last” magically playing in the background; maybe even some wind blowing in my hair. We meet and fall and love, a happy ending. Back here in reality, there is no wind blowing in my hair, but I’m still waiting for my happy ending.

It’s a strange sensation to wake up one morning and realize that I was waiting for something that never existed. All the obvious thoughts pop into my head, time being the most relevant. I feel like I have wasted time waiting around. It’s disenchanting to know that I have wasted my time on some kind of modern day version of a fairytale. This story doesn’t have a happy ending because it was never a fairytale to begin with. I think about what I would do if I didn’t “waste my time”, and when it comes down to it I would get up and live life the way I do every other day.

Maybe I’m not really waiting. This is life. There’s no waiting. Life is happening all around. Maybe I’m arrogant to think I’m really waiting, like this moment isn’t good enough for me because it’s not perfect. Maybe now has the potential to be worth the wait, if we give it a fighting chance. I don’t think that’s a fair philosophy to have - to wait until life is magical, and to just make it magical or whatever life is supposed to be.

It’s funny when it’s 12 AM and you are waiting for an IM, text, call, something to make you feel like your life is moving in a direction. It seems as a society we’re so afraid of being stagnant for a little while - even if it is just to look at the scenery. Here we are, jealous of five-year-olds because they get to play fun games. Kids know how to live in the moment. See, this whole waiting thing has to be a “grown up” problem, because five-year-olds wouldn’t put up with it.

When does it all stop?

Sometimes it just doesn’t stop. Sometimes waiting becomes this kind of relative term. Sometimes there are things that we never got to say, or people we never got to love. Sometimes life gives us situations where waiting isn’t an option. Where waiting doesn’t exist. In this reality, everything is black and white. The waiting is silenced. That kind of waiting is forever. Life doesn’t wait for anyone. In turn I’m not going to sit here and wait for life to begin. It’s already happening.

I glance at my phone out of the corner of my eye. No calls, but it’s okay. I don’t need an ending to be happy. I’m going to let you in on a little secret: this is just the beginning, and there aren’t any rules that say that the beginning can’t be happy too. Happy: that's all it has to be, regardless of what chapter of life it is.

My Life in 3-D

By Peter Glagowski
Staff Writer

What it's like to grow up a gamer.

My life hasn’t been characterized by much more than Video Games. Since I was four years old I’ve had a controller in my hand. I may have even been born with one. Not all of my experiences with games are positive, but starting at such a young age has shaped the way my character has developed over the years.

Ever since I started preschool I had a very active imagination. Thoughts of playing Super Mario Bros. would crop up in my head during recess. I would dig little holes and jump them, set up obstacles for me to clear and even create little sand creatures for me to jump on. I wanted video games to be real.

Come kindergarten, I was even more engaged in games. Having just purchased a Super Nintendo, my mind was even more hooked. The graphical technology powering this new system was so much more advanced to me. This was like heaven: staring at a television screen with life-like technology filling my mind with wondrous images. I saw people connecting fists and kicks with each other and I knew that I had to be a part of that. I found ways to supplement my imagination. Action figures would have all-out brawls when I got my hands on them.

Lego blocks also allowed me to build towering infernos like the creatures I saw in my games. I would stack those blocks to the ceiling, it seemed, and then send them crashing to the floor. My stray hands would sometimes even connect with other kids, though I never meant for that. Having my head filled with such impressive thoughts often made me a singular child.

My early life with video games has allowed me to expand my intelligence. Since video games had fairly low budgets and little to no production values back in the early 90s, I spent a lot of time reading text. Old-school games are notorious for having a lot of on-screen text, so I was never absent from reading.

While grammatical errors were never really apparent to me, I would sound out words that confused me at a young age. I would ask my mother what they were and I would spend time in class asking the teacher correct ways to spell words. This led me to have a better understanding of grammar than most kids my age.

As technology advanced, so did my thoughts. Seeing true 3-D for the first time was like a dream come true. Nothing had ever seemed more realistic to me before. When I would dream at night it would be about Mario in 3-D. I was taken to different kinds of worlds without ever leaving my home.

More recent trends in gaming have shifted into modern warfare. Games like Rainbow Six, Ghost Recon and Call of Duty all show a hyper realistic and more modern approach to shooters. The games also bring you into the world of being in a tactical squad without any of the real danger. These types of games have shaped my thoughts and views towards the Armed Forces. While I may not approve of our occupation in Iraq, I have the utmost respect for people who choose to give their lives for their country.

The rapid growth of the Internet put gaming on websites for anyone to view. Being so ecstatic about gaming made me run to these websites the first chance I got. Since these websites are a form of journalism, video games have led me to my current major.

Continuing games gives me the payoff of exploration. Since my mind has grown through schooling and previous games, I have an urge to visit places. My mind has changed to a more visual style and gaming takes you to far off lands. Through gaming I have traveled to the far ends of the galaxy, been to ancient Greece and Rome and even through Hell.

Video gaming has had some negative effects on me, though. For one, I’m still relatively shy. I tend to not engage in conversations with people or try to look for friendships. The prospect of failing scares me, and that is definitely something learned from gaming. Gaming gives you a continue or a restart, but life only offers one chance.

Another negative effect of gaming has been my growth as an adult. A lot of my actions are still childish, even if my thoughts aren’t. I’ve never had a relationship with a woman because I spend my time in front of televisions. Despite not having a previous relationship, my thoughts about women are very chivalrous. Many video games are about saving a woman you barely know and they show no sexually explicit content after you do, so my thinking is similarly linked to that.

The future of games seems to be going back to basics. Old-school is new again and nothing could be better for me. I can finally relive my childhood with a more focused view. This will also allow me to reanalyze myself and try to fix any blemishes that may be present in my character. Games have gotten more mature over the years and that certainly can be paralleled with my growth.

Continuum 3 - HCC Club Day

February 11th was club day at HCC, a chance for students to get involved in various student-sponsored activities and groups. Co-Editor in Chief Victor Rios brings us this report from the sidelines.

Powered by Podbean.com

Continuum 2 - A Chat with Student Senate Vice President Lillie Nguyen

Student Lillie Nguyen discusses her plans as the newly elected vice president of the Student Senate, her involvement with HCC’s Women’s Center, and her love for neuroscience with host Brandon T. Bisceglia.

Powered by Podbean.com

Continuum 1 - An Interview with New Co-Editor in Chief, Victor Rios

Horizons new co-editor in chief, Victor Rios, discusses his foray into journalism and his views on the college newspaper business with host Brandon T. Bisceglia.

Powered by Podbean.com

How to Live with Squirrels

By Sania Mathakutha
Staff Writer

Image courtesy of www.freewebs.com/playingsquirrels.

Standing by your kitchen door one morning, you notice a gray squirrel in the yard, busily tucking fallen leaves between his throat and chest.

“Ah, he’s making a nest. Isn’t that nice?”

Carefully tending its load, the squirrel hops over the tree outside your window and scrambles out of sight. But what was that “thump” on the roof? You hear the sounds of little toenails scrambling across the shingles, and...oh no! A rustling in the attic! You rush outside and find a neat little hole chewed in the lattice vent of the roof peak. Your attic has become a squirrel den.

“For two days I could hear some noises coming from between the walls in my kitchen. It might have been a baby squirrel looking for food. It has been quiet lately; I hope he didn’t get stuck and die. I will know when I start smelling something,” laughs Mrs. Applegate of Stratford.

There are two common types of squirrels in the U.S.: abert (grey) squirrels and pine (red) squirrels. Grey squirrels are distinguished from red squirrels by their grey fur, smaller ear tufts and their larger, more robust build. Grey squirrels sit with their large bushy tail arched over the back. Female squirrels produce a litter of about three young in the spring or late summer, after a gestation period of 42-45 days. The young are weaned after 10 weeks and are independent at 16 weeks.

Living with squirrels can be challenging. “I knocked one over with my car one day. Believe me, it was an accident. There was nothing I could do. I think they are cute; I like them,” says Amina Hajji, a nursing major at HCC.

Squirrels are fun to watch until they start damaging plants and property. They rank high on the animals reported to be yard and garden pests. They dig up bulbs, uproot potted plants, monopolize bird feeders, dig holes in the lawn and steal tomatoes and other fruits. They find flower gardens very attractive. Sometimes they shed bark on tree branches - or gnaw on sidings and get into the attic. Large patches where bark has been removed should be coated with tree-pruning paint. Occasionally they chew electric wiring and causes short circuits and sometimes fires.

When squirrels target a particular plant or steal fruits and vegetables, you may be able to foil them by building a fence or cage over the affected plants. Offering an alternative source of food such as corn, nuts or sunflower seeds might distract the squirrels from bulbs and other valuable plants. However, alternative feed as well as bird feeding may also increase the number of squirrels that visit the yard. In some cases it might be best to eliminate feeding altogether.

In general, squirrels carry no diseases that are easily transmitted to humans. They are subject to rabies; however, rabies in squirrels is very rare. Any squirrel that is exceedingly aggressive, lethargic, has trouble moving, or is immobile should be avoided.

Coming to Horizons this Spring!

By Annya White
Contributor

It is once again the end of a semester and Horizons has kept up with us. Though the year has ended, Horizons is always finding new ideas to keep you informed and entertained.

Coming in the spring semester for the first time is my new section called “Caribbean Vybz.” The section will have a Caribbean twist as its title suggests. It will feature different Islands from the Caribbean in each publication. You our audience will be more than welcome to participate in adding to the section and to ask questions in a question and answer section.

The section will include, but not be limited to the following:

- Summary of the Island featured
- Entertainment
- Travel Tips & Guides
- Caribbean jokes
- The people of the Islands
- Phrase of the month/week

The purpose of my section is to inform and entertain, with a fun twist of the various Islands of the Caribbean, through fun and entertaining articles. So look out & stay tuned!

Twilight - The Movie

Photo courtesy MTV Movies

Beware !!!
Vampires are invading Theaters on November 21st

By Margarita Brown

Senior Staff Writer

Everybody has read or seen the first five movies of Harry Potter’ books, soon to be six. Now, it’s time to step aside and welcome the new and expected movie about one of the best-seller authors.

I’m pretty sure every Harry Potter’ fan went into comma when they heard the bad news that the new movie, Twilight, supposed to be released on December 12th, is now replacing the release date of Harry Potter 6th movie on November 21.

However, at the same time, the new movie’ fans call them “Twilighters” were extremely happy about the news.

Twilight is the story of a seventeen-year-old girl who is going to fall in love with a seventeen-year-old perfect guy; but he has a secret. He is a 107-year-old vampire.

Besides being the first book of the phenomenal four book series written by best- selling author, Stephanie Meyer, it is also the first to be on screen Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn are written by Bella’s perspective; however, Midnight Sun is Twilight but from Edward’s perspective.

Before this big movie sensation started, fans had already posted on YouTube trailers about the movie, and there are tons of web pages dedicated to the movie, such as http://www.twilightthemovie.com/, http://www.hisgoldeneyes.com/, http://www.twilightmoms.com/, http://www.edwardandbella.net/, and many more.

Now, with only a day before the big premiere, Twilight has already become a huge success with many teenagers, especially girls, and moms, too.

MTV News has dedicated every Tuesday specially for Twilighters, and it’s called Twilight Tuesday, where they cover every minute of this movie. They have interviews with the cast, the director, the author, and they also show Twilight’s trailers.


The story takes place in the small town of Forks, WA; a rainy and no-sunny place. It is also set in Port Angeles, WA; Phoenix, AR; and La Push, which is the Quileute Indian Tribe. However, the film was shot in St. Helens, OR; Portland, OR; and Vernonia, OR.

On one Twilight Tuesday, MTV had an interview with the person who is the brain behind this movie, Director Catherine Hardwicke. She described the vampires with “No fangs allow.” “These are beautiful, super sexy vampires. They’re stronger enough and powerful and they can kill you any way,” she added.

But as all books that become movies, there are always some things that are left out in the process of being made into a movie.. On another Twilight Tuesday interview, Producer Greg Mooradian announced that “We are not making Twilight the book, the movie. We love the book, and we know the audience loves the book. But at the same time, you have a separate responsibility to make the best movie you can make.”

The last Twilight trailer submitted on You-Tube by Summit Entertainment ends up with Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen saying, “You are [Bella, play by Kristen Stewart] my life now.”

On November 4th, the Twilight soundtrack was available in stores A 12 song CD which includes bands such as Linkin Park, Muse, Paramore, singer Rob Pattinson, and many more.


For more information, check out:
Stephanie Meyer web site http://www.stephaniemeyer.com
Twilight The Movie website http://www.twilightthemovie.com
The Official Twilight Film on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/user/officialtwilightfilm?ob=4

Coming Up Next (Part II)

By Peter Glagowski
Staff Writer

Our previous article gave you all a good guideline to some of the new fall programs, but Part II will go more in-depth with actual critic and fan reception. You can also expect a wider range of channels and shows to be discussed so you can keep your entertainment value high for the entire fall (and possibly winter) programming schedule.

NBC just launched their new season of “Law and Order” on the 5th of November. Though starting the 19th season of a show may appear to be overkill, critics seem to have different ideas. Maureen Ryan from the Chicago Tribune writes that, “All in all, the show is much better than it was when it was rotely doing “ripped from the headline” stories, which was only a few seasons ago.” David Hinckley from The New York Daily News mentions, “As you would expect from a show entering its 19th season, the acting and the pacing are strong and confident. L&O has always been smart enough to stick with what works.” Overall, critical reception has been generally positive and fans seem to have tuned in well to the season start of one of the longest-running shows on television.

NBC also started the 3rd season of the hit show “30 Rock.” The show always had fascinating writing and wonderfully angelic performances from actor Alec Baldwin and actresses Tina Fey and Jane Krakowski, but apparently the cast is bonding closer as the series grows. Verne Gay from Newsday even went so far as to say that, “This is TV's best comedy. And there's nothing in the first two episodes that would suggest otherwise.” The writing is supposed to be even more screwball and hilarious, which should keep viewers in stitches while waiting during the commercials.

Showtime started the 3rd season of their show, “Brotherhood,” to some fairly positive reviews. Gillian Flynn from Entertainment Weekly writes that, “If Brotherhood isn't as brilliant as The Wire, it's just as believable. The cast is so solid.” While not all critics have praised the show as much as Entertainment Weekly, they all do agree that the cast is the main draw to the show. Jason Issacs, Jason Clarke and Annabeth Gish have all been turning in superb performances which are keeping their viewers glued to the television screens.

The Oxygen network has recently started their attempt at Reality TV by giving rapper Coolio his own show, “Coolio’s Rules,” which premiered on November 28. Fans of Coolio have been enjoying the show, but any sensibility or plot is simply missing. Critics have called the show a disaster, but not because of the writing. The show is said to have no cohesive platform to establish conflicts and just ends up being more like surveillance tapes. Ellen Gray from the Philadelphia Daily News says that, “Like so many of the celebrities who open up some version of their home lives to camera crews, Coolio comes off as a guy with way too much time on his hands.”

Starz began a spin-off series on the movie “Crash” with their new TV series, “Crash”. The series stars Dennis Hopper as the lead and continues to take the non-linear approach to storytelling that the movie showed. While the movie received positive buzz from critics (and even won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 2005), the TV series seems to have taken a turn for the worse. David Zurawik from the Baltimore Sun writes that, “Not surprisingly, Crash, the TV series, does not measure up very well against the film in terms of atmosphere and acting.” The show is broadcast for an hour each week, yet the story never amounts to anything. Just like the movie, a lot of the dialog seems to be racist for the sake of provoking people into rage.

Comedy Central started another controversial series this season with “Chocolate News.” The show is a sketch comedy act from Comedian David Alan Grier and tackles ideas pertaining to the press. Fan reaction has been next to awful, which means that the show may not ever see another season, but critics seem to be enjoying Grier’s performances and writing a lot. James Poniewozik of TIME Magazine writes, “In all, not a great debut, but one with potential, and it shows off Grier's versatility well.” This seems to be the general reaction; anything deserves due credit for being different.

ABC has begun their second season of “Eli Stone” to positive reception. Fans see the show as the ultimate “feel good” series on TV, and critics seem to agree. Tim Stack of Entertainment Weekly says, “In this warm, charming episode, the underappreciated legal show proves it's still fit to practice.” Rob Owen from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette also says that the show is, “A quality series that's the TV equivalent of comfort food.”

ABC also launched a remake of a British drama with “Life on Mars.” Jason O’Mara stars as a cop who gets transported back into the 1970’s after a freak accident. Both fans and critics note that the show really does feel like a distant planet with the 1970’s setting. Matthew Gilbert of the Boston Post writes that, “They've [ABC] pulled together a vivid cast and evoked the ideal tone - not comedy, not psychodrama, not sci fi, but an intriguingly evasive blend of them all.” Fans are also taken by the performance of lead star Jason O’Mara. With such an interesting premise, “Life on Mars” will probably be on the air for the next few years before becoming stale.

ABC does have a severely lacking show in their schedule and that is reserved for the second season of their show, “Private Practice.” No response to the show has been favorable, with critics and fans both panning the show universally. Fans have been disgusted that it focuses mainly on sexual tension while regretting leading lady Kate Walsh, yet Critics see the show as merely poorly written. Ken Tucker from Entertainment Weekly writes that, “The combined writing talents of creator Shonda Rhimes and Buffy the Vampire Slayer mainstay Marti Noxon cannot resuscitate the ailing subplots now infecting the Oceanside Wellness medical practice.” This writer watched around 20 minutes of the show and was completely lost and disturbed at the utter lack of characterization in the script.

One of the best networks on cable, FX, started what has to be seen as the worst show of the season, “Testees.” Critics have no love for the show, but fans are taking a more laid back and accepting tone. Ginia Bellafante from The New York Times abhors the show: “All of this might be vaguely defensible if “Testees” were trying to satirize the abuses of Big Pharma, or the limited opportunities for dumb white men, or really if it were trying to satirize anything at all. But it just sits there, inert, like a patient on a gurney.” Having seen the first episode, this writer can vouch for how idiotic the show really is. Fans may enjoy it, but in a way that evokes gross-out laughs.

Finally, CBS launched a new take on the sitcom with, “Gary Unmarried.” The show has been a flop so far and does not seem to be gaining any attention. The show began on September 24, yet Nielsen ratings have been shaky. Fans note that the editing is off and works against the show, but critics seem to think that the show lacks interesting side characters. David Hinckley of the New York Daily News writes, “While they're entertaining together, the show needs other characters to avoid becoming just an endless exchange of the snarky things TV writers love to have exes say about each other.”

While some shows were left out of this write up (Gray’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, which have both been receiving good buzz/ratings), what is included should be enough to sustain viewers for the entire fall season. A lot of shows do have competing time slots, but DVRs and digital streaming off network websites should allow you to watch any show you may be interested in. If readers have any more questions about the fall schedule, please feel free to contract the writer or editor for more information at housatonichorizons@yahoo.com.

Student Senate Meeting Draws Confusion from Clubs, Senators

By Brandon T. Bisceglia
Co-Editor in Chief

October 15, 2008 – Wednesday’s meeting of the Student Senate began spiraling into a cacophony of confusion and consternation during discussions of two items regarding student trips.

The difficulties began when Student Life Coordinator Shanté Hanks introduced a set of new guidelines for bus trips to all present, explaining that increases in fuel prices and questions from club advisors had prompted the revised policy.

The guidelines set prices for students based on average ticket prices and bus fares, with a 25-30% discount per student subsidized by club funds. If, for instance, a ticket for a show or event costs $50.00 and the average 53-seat bus to New York costs $23.00, the total cost is $83.00. Under the plan, the club would pay the $23.00, and the student would pay out-of-pocket the $50.00 for the ticket.

“I wanted to bring this to your attention,” said Hanks, “so that you didn’t think that some higher authority sits somewhere and makes these decisions and isn’t aware of your expenses and thinking of you.”

But some students were not satisfied, including Chemistry club representative Kyle Durkota, who was visibly perturbed by the guidelines, asking how the rules were to be implemented in various situations that the chart did not appear to address. He also wondered aloud why the clubs could not make their own decisions regarding mode and cost of transportation, thereby retaining greater control over their allotted funds. He pointed out that if a club wished to use its entire pool of funds to completely subsidize a trip, it should be able to.

“Why shouldn’t clubs be able to use their money to make things as cheap as they can?” he asked. “We go to a community college. I don’t have a lot of money – maybe some people here do, but most don’t.”

Hanks rebuffed the remarks, saying that her policy was not meant to stifle the autonomy of the clubs – only to offer them a clearer idea of prices. She suggested that local trips with small groups could make use of the HCC’s two vans, which would significantly cut the cost of transportation.

The Senate pressed on despite the dispute, but hit another snag when the topic of the annual Senate-sponsored trip to Italy arose. This time, it was Senator Kaitlyn Shake who expressed doubts. After Hanks explained that the trip had to be held during winter session classes (instead of the traditional spring break) because of Holy Week, Shake pointed out that this in effect excluded any students who were taking winter courses.

Shake and several others then began questioning how the decision to go to Italy even arose. Because the Senate was subsidizing up to $8,000 for the trip, she believed that the choice of destination ought also to rest in the hands of the senators. When Hanks replied that she was responsible for making the choice in concert with the travel agency and with approval from administration, Shake grew perplexed.

“So the discount’s coming out of students,” she asked, “but we don’t actually have a voice as to where we’re going to go?”

Hanks remained unperturbed. “You do have a voice… I tried like a million other places… and they’re all about the same price. But Italy is the one that so many students wanted to go to.”

When asked how the desire of those alleged students is determined, Hanks replied that they come to her personally. “(They say) ‘We’d like to go here,’ or ‘We’d like to go there,’ and they make the suggestions.”

The issue did not end there, though. Shake brought up the Senate meeting from May when possible destinations for the trip had been discussed. “I recall other alternatives we collectively agreed on,” she said. Peru, Puerto Rico, Mexico and Egypt were all mentioned, “but nobody said anything about Italy. I remember because I seconded the motion.”

Hanks maintained that Italy had been talked about at the meeting in question, and the two proceeded to quarrel over whether Shake’s recollection was accurate until President Jackielyn Hudson interjected, ending the debate because of time.

Hudson concluded by saying that Hanks’ office was open anytime for questions or concerns from students.

An Active Turkey is a Happy Turkey

Lending a Helping Hand this Thanksgiving
By Janiece Jackson
Managing Editor

Food, food, food and more food, is the main focus of Thanksgiving for most. Don’t get me wrong it’s up there on my list of important fall factors, but the older I grow the more I am able to appreciate the holiday and the season in which it falls. I’ve learned that more significant than food is helping and blessing others with the opportunity to enjoy the day as much as I do.

There are a plethora of activities that take place during the Thanksgiving holiday that support certain organizations, communities and families in need. From food drives, to 3K races; there is always something to get involved with.

“This will be my third year participating in the Southport Thanksgiving Day Race,” said Alex Carrel, an HCC Student. “The money that runners pay to participate goes to support Non-Profit children’s organizations… That’s a big deal to me.”

I too, along with Alex, will be running that race. And although it will be extremely cold outside Thanksgiving morning, my little Turkey Trot will warm up not only my body but my heart as well.

Pro-Health Chiropractic of Fairfield will be hosting a food drive. However, this is no ordinary food drive. Throughout the commencement of November up until Saturday, November 22, Pro-Health will be offering a comprehensive physical examination that includes an orthopedic, neurological and chiropractic analysis, along with x-rays in exchange for 2 bags of non-perishable food items.

Those that wish to simply donate, and not receive an analysis, are also welcomed to do so. This is a great opportunity to see if chiropractic care could help you or a family member, while also helping out families in need. All food items will be donated to The Center for Women and Families of Eastern Fairfield County to help make this Thanksgiving one to remember.

As always, churches, and clinics will be gratefully accepting donations of all sorts from non-perishables to clothing. These items will without a doubt, be offered and available to families who need them the most.

“Every year my family and I gather bags of clean colorful leaves and take them to schools all over Fairfield County to be used for art projects,” said Meghan Arrea, An Early Childhood Education student. “This may not seem like a big deal, but school officials appreciate this because the kids really love hands-on artwork.”

This simplicity in the act of kindness offered by Arrea and her family is multiplied by the excitement of the students when they are able to put their individual artistic ability to work.

Take the time to find the act of volunteering that’s right for you. But keep in mind that there are many activities taking place all around you. To schedule an appointment for yourself or a loved one at Pro-Health, call (203) 333-2700, or to simply make a donation, items may be dropped off at Pro-Health Chiropractic, located at 1515 Black Rock Turnpike in Fairfield.

So before you get hit with your annual dose of tryptophan, put your holiday energy to the test. Jump on the band-wagon of helpful hands. A little Turkey Trotting never hurt anybody.

Comparison Charts for Presidential Candidates

Posted by Brandon T. Bisceglia

Co-Editor in Chief

Do you want to know what the presidential candidates' positions on various issues are? ProCon.org offers a comprehensive (though by no means exhaustive) list of 6 of the major contenders' positions in a side-by-side format that is updated frequently. To view the charts, go here: http://2008election.procon.org/viewresource.asp?resourceID=1561

Halfway Out the Box

A Picture Essay of Beacon Hall’s First Few Days
Brandon T. Bisceglia
Co-Editor in Chief

The walkways of Beacon Hall are spacious, with lounge areas scattered in seemingly random corners throughout the building. In one such alcove on the third floor, a couple of art-deco chairs stand next to a floor-to-ceiling window with a breathtaking view of… I-95.

This is the glory and the irony of HCC’s new building – lush carpets and fancy track-lighting side-by-side with half-painted walls and empty rooms. In some cases, such as the doughnut-shaped lounge tables, form appears to have trumped function. In others, the planners clearly foresaw the necessities of expansion, with class and office spaces beyond what current enrollment could possibly fill.

Jessica Jarrett, a transfer student who has not yet seen Lafayette Hall, notes that some of the new building’s finished construction has yielded some unsatisfactory results. “I don’t really like the fact that there are no windows in some of the classrooms,” she says. “At least they have climate control, which is nice… but it’s not the same.”

Some areas of Beacon Hall, on the other hand, have some rather unusual views to offer.

This window is typical of what one will see from the second and third stories. The designers were mindful of the potential for disturbance, of course – you will not hear a sound from any of the nearby thoroughfares.

The large student lounge on the third floor has an added feature – the windows contain light dampers to keep out the worst of the afternoon sun. This also obscures most of the busy Bridgeport horizon, as first-term student Samantha Carrano points out. “Those lovely smokestacks over there?” she muses, waving dismissively from her seat in the corner of the lounge. “I don’t even notice them.”


Carrano approves of the ample student space. “I can just chill out here,” she says. Indeed, students seem to have taken an immediate liking to some of the cozier spots.

Other areas, though, are not seeing as much traffic. In the first few days especiallyEspecially during the first few days of the semester, many of the rooms meant especially for students are bare and silent.

Some rooms, in fact, are still only husks. Search for the new bookstore or open computer labs, and all you find are naked wall fixtures.

Teachers, meanwhile, are struggling as much as – if not more than – students to make some sense of their new surroundings. Classrooms are moved, furniture finds its way across halls, and the faculty scrambles to locate their belongings.

In one case, English Professor Stephanie Hart’s boxes end up in the Horizons office. In the interim, she remains at Lafayette. When asked how she’s faring, she replies with a sigh: “It’s been exhausting.”


Because the HCC campus is relegated to a fairly cramped area, some of Beacon Hall’s entrances lead directly to the street. Around the corner from this stairwell, the sidewalk suddenly ends.

Accessibility, however, is no problem. The building can be entered from any side. There is even a patio on the third floor that connects directly to the garage. This spot is bound to be a favorite, with its expansive view of campus and the city skyline beyond.

As time goes on, all of the turmoil and excitement will of course fade into the mist of memory. Beacon Hhall will become as much an established fact as its sister across the courtyard. That, though, doesn’t make the tangible force of now any less important for those of us living in it. After all, this too is part of HCC’s long legacy.

(All photography by Brandon T. Bisceglia)

Beacon Hall Wheelchair UN-Accessibility

By Gerry Whitted

"You can adopt the attitude there is nothing you can do, or you can see the challenge as your call to action." - Catherine Pulsifer

When I finally entered Beacon Hall at Housatonic Community College a.k.a. the new building. WOW!!! This looks and has the aura of something special with the high ceilings, track lights and spacious halls. My olfactory nerve is romanced by the smell of new. The fovea, in the center of my retina, is distracted by the new color scheme.

However, a beacon is a guide to help you find your destination. If this is so why does the wheelchair accessibility at Beacon Hall has me lost. Beacon Hall wheelchair accessibility is akin to playing hide- n –seek, dodge ball, obstacle course or riding on a roller coaster. Remember this is not an amusement park or recess at an elementary school. This is Housatonic Community College, an undergraduate institution that promotes higher learning.

My first day of school I was greeted by one of the heaviest doors in creation. I had to pull the door open with both of my hands in order for me to gain entrance, while sitting in my wheelchair. Inside the vestibule there is a plate that you push that will open the door automatically. But I wondered, why is there not one outside?(hide -n- seek)

It has taken me two weeks to answer this question, and the answer issssssss. It was always there. The entry plate sits about five inches above the brick ashtray. It is difficult to see when all the smokers congregate around the ashtray because they obstruct the view of the entry plate.. But that definitely is not the only problem with accesability.

When I reach the elevator and the doors open, no longer do I worry about rolling over someone's foot. My rear wheels will not obstruct the closing of these doors as I enter. Also absent, are the “do you mind waiting for the next elevator” look on other riders faces, due to the elevator being crowded.

But as soon as I get off the elevator my bubble burst, because I had to battle with these ridges in the carpet. Maybe they are speed bumps to deter excessive speeding in the hallways. Walking you barely notice the ridges, but when you push a wheelchair you expend more energy. It is tantamount to the ridges on the interstate that alert you when you are on the shoulder.

My next problem is the blacktop pathway between Beacon and Lafayette. There is barely enough room for a pedestrian and a wheelchair on this thoroughfare. Many do not chance a confrontation, so instead they move on to the dirt. Imagine two wheelchairs on this pathway going in different directions; 1)you can get off the pathway and chance getting stuck in the mud or rubble 2)you can collide while figuring out who has the right of way 3) turn around and wait for an all clear signal. So much for choices(dodge ball).

If you should survive the roller coaster/obstacle course, beware for what is ahead. There are two sewer drains with grooves that are on the downward slope adjacent to the Beacon Hall garage entrance. It will take an effort to avoid that sewer with grooves--it is very tricky. If your wheel finds its way in there, be prepared to defy gravity or fly (Roller coaster).

In July1998, the American with Disability Act was passed. Its purpose isto assist those who are physically challenged and leveling the playing field for usto succeed. We do not want or expect any special treatment. All we ask is that you remember that the sum of our unlimited abilities is so much greater than the limits of our physical disability.

Great Zone; Dead Zones

Is Beacon Hall missing something?
By Margarita Gomez
Senior Staff Writer

Beacon or Lafayette Hall???

Collage by Margarita Brown

How do students feel about Beacon Hall? Hate it or love it?

Beacon Hall has just been opened to all HCC students; however, it is not yet complete.

Beacon Hall, the new addition to HCC, opened on September 2, just in time for the Fall semester.

Many students were excited about a new place to study, but these possibilities have not been completely fulfilled.

“I hate that building [Beacon],” says Dara Nile, an Accounting student at HCC. “There is nothing in there, no computer lab, no cafeteria... it's a nice building... [but] I only like the lounge.... It will be nice when it’s done.”

Walking around without art pictures on the walls, no cafeteria, no computer lab, no TV in the TV Lounge, makes Beacon Hall feel like an isolated building.

Myra Hudson, a student at HCC, thinks of Beacon Hall as a “headache for everyone... Walking around without art pictures hanging on the walls, lights or more windows it is a complete desolation. She rather spends her free time in the old ‘comfy’ building, Lafayette, where “there are more lights, and more life.”

Aside from the fact that there aren’t many decorations in Beacon Hall, it’s also rather difficult to find your classroom. There aren’t many people around to ask for help, and it’s seems even more difficult to make new friends.

“There is nobody, but next semester there will be more people,” says Jessica Kulak, 18, an Early Childhood student. “…the building is not fully done… [and] makes it hard to meet new people because there is nobody around.”

Even though some people agree with Nile, that Beacon is a “house [building] with no soul”, other students find Beacon as a fresh start.

“I love it [Beacon],” are the simple words that Nicole Catalano, a Human Services student at HCC, used to describe Beacon Hall. “[Besides being] better looking than the old building [Lafayette Hall], quieter [and] beautiful; it has more open spaces and studies spaces, more spaces where you can hang out with your friends.”

Kulak, on the other hand, sees advantages to both parts of the campus.

“I like both buildings,” she says. “…. The old one [Lafayette] has paintings around, art work; the amount of space that the new building [Beacon] has, and that it [Beacon] is attach to the garage makes so easy to go through.”

Get Lost

Finding Your Way Around Beacon

By Samantha Bratz
News You Can Use Editor

The stairs leading to confusion.
Photo By Samantha Bratz

When Beacon Hall opened it was not just the students who could not find their way around, the teachers had issues too.

“I’m so lost. I have no idea where I’m supposed to be or where I’m supposed to go. Does anybody know where room (fill in the blank) is?” These words have been heard quite a lot lately as students try to get around HCC’s latest addition, Beacon Hall. Students are not the only ones who’ve been having issues finding their way around; several teachers have been having the same problem.

On September 2nd when the doors to Beacon Hall opened, we were all shocked to see that though the building looked small from the outside, the inside was ten times bigger and it felt like walking through a maze instead of hallways. Students, teachers and staff members alike could be seen walking all over campus examining the maps that were handed out to help us find our way.

I, like several other students, figured that the teachers would have been more familiar with the building before the first day of classes; but I was wrong - so very, very wrong. I heard one student ask her teacher if she could point her in the direction of her next class and the response she received was “No, I’m sorry. This is my first day here too; I was here one day last week to see my office and I don’t know how to get through the building yet.”

On the first day of class, Professor Claudine Coba-Loh who is the Chairperson of the Behavioral/Social Sciences Department, told her Addiction and Mental Illness in Behavioral Health class, “I’ve found pathways from my office to the classrooms where I teach, my office to the bathroom and my office to the water fountain. I have yet to venture to the third floor.”

Security guards patrolled the hallways trying to help lost and confused students and teachers find their way. This was a great method to help us all ease into life at Beacon Hall – until you came across a security guard that did not know their way around the building either; it was sort of like the blind leading the blind.

As I walked into Beacon Hall on the first day of classes I said to my self “Okay, this is a little bigger than you thought…but you know where you’re going; it’s going to be easy.” I soon lost that confidence when I reached level 2 and saw room numbers like 267 and 291 and I needed to find 232. So I walked around for awhile until I finally stopped and said “Where the hell am I? Is my class invisible?” Then I realized that if I walked past the stairwell I would be taken into another hallway that contained all the classrooms from number 234 down. The map was a very helpful method in guiding people around the new building except that it did not clearly show that there are hallways next to the stairwells that lead to other hallways. If I’d known that I could have saved myself a lot of time and aggravation.

Judith Taylor, a patrol officer in Beacon Hall, said that when the new building opened “everything went well. Having the security guards around really helped and they made sure everyone had a map; the maps really helped people find their way around.” Taylor went on to say that “there really were no major problems or concerns when it came to people finding their way around the building. The only problem that occurred the first week was only having one elevator that worked, making it difficult for people with disabilities to get around. Everyone now knows their way around the building and things are going great.”

During the first week of classes I saw teachers in groups of two or three walking through the halls of Beacon Hall. I have a bad habit of eavesdropping but the things I heard from the teachers were shocking yet funny.

I had to laugh when I saw a group of teachers, two women and one man, walking and talking in the hall. One woman said “I have a class in ten minutes and I don’t know where it is and I still have to go to my office to get my stuff but I don’t know where my office is. Are we even on the right floor?”

The other woman said “Yeah well when I went to look for my office I ended up in the bathroom. I came this close to walking into the men’s room.”

Whether you’re a student or a staff member you have to admit that the first week or two at Beacon Hall was kind of confusing. Though the teachers received their keys the week before classes started it is highly unlikely that exploring the new building was a top priority when they had to unpack their offices and get ready for the new semester.

When asked if teachers and staff members should have had more time to familiarize themselves with the new building Coba-Loh said, “I absolutely do. It was very chaotic (and still is to a lesser degree) with no computers, no telephones, no internet, no copy machines, unpacking to do, and classes starting, it was all very rushed.”

Samantha Mannion, professor of Criminal Justice and Political Science and the Coordinator of the Criminal Justice Program said, “I think any move is stressful and requires time to adjust to. I think even if we had had more time, there would have been confusion and start-up issues.”

So we’ve all survived the first few weeks at Beacon Hall; some of us just barely. Could things have gone better when Beacon Hall opened on September 2nd? Yes. Coba-Loh said, “Scheduled tour dates for students, staff, faculty etc. once the building opened would have been helpful. It should be showed off, it is beautiful!”

“It’s a shame that the printed signs directing people around the building were not in place when the move occurred. It would have definitely made it easier for people to navigate their way around the building” said Mannion. She continued with, “I think it would have been a smoother transition if more of the construction-related work had been completed at the time of the move.

It’s hard being over here without proper resources (i.e. working copy machines, food services, etc.) I also believe it would have been much better if the two college buildings had been connected at the time of the move. Right now, with the construction work in the courtyard, it really feels as if we’re operating two separate colleges.”

With that said, those of you who are still having a hard time finding your way around Beacon Hall should take Coba-Loh’s advice and “take the time to walk around. Give yourself time to orient yourself to the new building. It is a big, beautiful facility and spending some down time going on your own tour is great.” Who knows, maybe we’ll conquer this great building after all.

The Minds Behind The Design

Why Beacon Hall was Built for You
By Dan Otzel
Staff Writer

An incredible amount of time, money, and effort went into making Beacon Hall fit to your exact specifications.

In the coming weeks, Beacon Hall, Housatonic Community College’s newest addition, will have its ceremonial ribbon cut by Connecticut Governor M. Jodi Rell. It will be host to a “Community Day,” where, according to the college’s website, Housatonic invites the public “to the HCC campus to celebrate the grand opening of Beacon Hall.” Faculty will become accustomed to the quarters where they mold young minds, and staff members will comfortably settle into their new offices.

Yes, it seems as if all is well at Housatonic these days. But let’s not forget one important detail; Beacon Hall was built for you – the HCC student!

Once Newfield Construction finished their “full gut and renovation of the 150,000 square foot former Sears Department Store, as well as 25,000 square feet of new construction and a 3,500 square foot renovation of the existing 200-seat Performing Arts Center,” as explained on their website, the decisions of how the new building would facilitate and nurture a learning environment for the eager HCC students was left up to the Housatonic brainpower.

Dr. Paul McNamara, Dean of Administration, notes “the objectives for the new building included certainly meeting the instructional needs of students. But very important to us was the provision of adequate student spaces.”

When speaking of those “instructional needs,” McNamara says that Beacon Hall “is an absolutely state-of-the-art building in terms of technology. Everything over there is cutting edge. We (also) have wireless throughout the whole building.”

According to the HCC website, Beacon Hall will “house the Behavioral and Social Sciences, Business, and Humanities departments, and will have approximately 30 classrooms of various sizes, 10 computer classrooms, open computer labs, foreign language and ESL labs as well as a number of special purpose rooms.”

When speaking of “the provision of adequate student spaces,” Beacon Hall delivers. Shanté Hanks, the Director of Student Activities, says that she “did have a lot of input in regards to the student area. Ultimately, whether it was the offices of the faculty to the Wellness Center…it all affects the students.”

“We wanted to make sure there were lounges and gathering spaces and alcoves and meeting areas; the kinds of things that students should have available to on a college campus,” adds McNamara.

In addition to those amenities, student government and student clubs now have ample space, with “the clubs (having) the biggest office space in the building,” according to Hanks. Beacon Hall will also feature a Wellness Center showcasing “certain classes,” she adds.

The school’s website mentions other appendages, like “an expanded college bookstore, open and accessible to the public, and a second cafeteria area. A large events space, capable of multiple configurations, with support service will provide the opportunity to host college and community programming for up to 500 persons.”

So, how can the Housatonic Community College student demonstrate their gratitude for the new gift?

Respect.

Explains McNamara: “(We) have something really neat, and I think it is something that everybody should enjoy. And it is also something that everybody should help take care of.”

Beacon Hall is just that: a beacon to an intellectual tomorrow. As Shanté Hanks proudly declares, “the possibilities are endless.”

Beacon Hall: A Work In Progress

By Victor Rios

Op/Ed Editor


There are good reasons why Beacon Hall is not yet completed; meanwhile, take a look around; there are plenty of features in the building that you can enjoy.

The hustle and bustle of ongoing construction, students and cars all added to the experience that was the first day of school at Beacon Hall: the state of the art building that has yet to be completed, but is sure to leave students and staff flabbergasted.

So far, the feedback from most students has been stupendous. Beacon Hall has opened them up to talking about their school in a positive light.

“It feels more like a real college,” said Kris Brewer, a transfer student.

It is not just the students who are thrilled. The staff happens to love the new building, especially since each department got their preferred accommodations fulfilled in the new building. “I just love it…especially the event room, where I’ll be doing most of my work,” said Linda Bayusik.

But Conrad, a continuing student, disagrees. “Going up those stairs is a workout, especially when you just wake up. That’s the worst! You look up those stairs and don’t see an end to them.”

The reason for the high ceiling in the public areas and the length of the stairs (17 ft) is simple: Beacon Hall was build off of the core of the old Sears building. “We had limitations as far as the budget, so we looked at ways to reduce the cost and still get a great building,” said Richard Hennessy, Facilities Coordinator.

“If we were to take out the mainframe of the old building we are looking at an added cost. Not only are you taking the concrete and other materials out, you also have to bring in public utilities companies. It would have been too complicated, added a year of work and would have been too costly,” remarked Mr. Hennessy.

Another modest complaint heard throughout HCC is the fact that construction has yet to be completed. “I thought the building was supposed to be completed by the start of the semester,“ said a teacher who chose to remain anonymous.

But that particular problem will not persist. Construction is slated to be finished October 15th according to Dean of Administration Paul McNamara, the person in charge of seeing the project completed with as little complications as possible.

“The reason why we still have construction going on is because no construction project is ever completed on time,” said McNamara. “We knew it wasn’t going to be finished on time, so we went ahead and told the architect to dedicate his (time) on finishing instructional spaces along with the security systems first. And we did receive a certificate of occupancy the Thursday prior to the start of the semesters. That’s why students were able to attend classes in the new building. It sure would be nice to have a fitness center and all the other additions, but we have never had them before, so we could wait a little for the new spaces,” added McNamara.


There were four main goals McNamara set out to accomplish when he was charged with seeing Beacon Hall through.
- Make classrooms sound for learning.
- Create student spaces.
- Create spaces for the display of Housatonic’s extensive artwork collection.
- Security.

“One of the major complaints from the Lafayette Building was that there were no adequate student spaces…now students have a whole floor dedicated to them,” said McNamara.

Accordingly, students do tend to gravitate toward the third floor. A large student lounge is open now. A game room that will be filled with chessboards, video games like Pac-Man, and an air hockey table will be available soon said Robert, a student who works in the student activities center. Also included at Beacon Hall is a meditation room open for anyone looking for a quiet space to perform prayers or silent meditation - but not to hang out and talk!

Media reach (computers, TV, DVD, Projectors) in every classroom was a must; it helps in providing faculty the tools they need to make for a better learning atmosphere. Larger classrooms accommodate a larger number of students, and the new chairs are more comfortable than those old metal chairs that the Lafayette building still has.

When it came to creating spaces for displaying HCC’s art collection, there was a compromise between the architect’s desire to have a collage of different colors throughout the building, and the administration’s desire to showcase HCC’s art collection (which happens to be the largest collection of art held by any two-year institution in the whole country). Every wall in Beacon Hall’s public spaces has 5” x 8” plywood to help support the art (hint: the white walls will be adorned with art).

The security systems in place in Beacon Hall were wholly a creation of McNamara. In fact, the security system is not unlike the systems in place at Lafayette Hall. As soon as you walk into Beacon Hall the first thing you’ll notice is a room with security guards closely monitoring the halls.

“I did this intentionally. When students walk into the building, they know that there are people watching, not for fun, but in order to maintain our status as one of the safest college institutions in the Fairfield county,” he said.
In 1996, when Lafayette Hall (which was also completed by McNamara) opened, there were 2,800 students, of which only 300 were full-time students. Now there are 5,017-plus full-time students in a new state of the art building. It took six years for this project to finally be on the last phase of completion. A few years of planning and filling out paperwork, a year of construction and we can now see the fruits of the efforts put forth by everyone involved in this project.

A lot of meticulous planning was put into this building, and it was done with you, the student, in mind. McNamara gave these words of advice for all students and staff:

“It’s a brand new building. Enjoy it and have fun, but be respectful of everything within it…I will be the one to get a heart attack when I see a student’s name engraved on a table.”

All in all, Beacon hall is a great new addition to HCC and an even greater addition to the flourishing city of Bridgeport, even if it’s not finished yet.

The View from the Top

Places to Relax around Beacon Hall

By Luiz Tassi

Staff Writer

New York City based real estate agents say one of the biggest attributes that sell a high end apartment are the views. Apartments overlooking Central Park sell for millions of dollars, and are often populated only by the rich and famous. But students at Housatonic Community College are being given a small taste of these luxuries. Beacon Hall, Hack’s newest building opened for the first time this semester, contains various large glass windows overlooking different parts of downtown Bridgeport and its local monuments.

While downtown Bridgeport is still a way away from rivaling downtown Manhattan, the views from Beacon Hall still offer a calm, serene view, and comfortable chairs for students create a great looking environment to spend some free time between classes.

The building has three of these pseudo lounges, located on opposite sides of the second floor, one side overlooking Lafayette street, the other overlooking Broad street, and the lounge that takes up the length of the third floor. Each of these views offers a unique setting to students, depending on which environment they work best in.

Third Floor-

The third floor is the most comfortable space for students. There are a number of long couches nearby which lie directly underneath windows that are tough to see through due to the thickness of the glass, and the plastic that covers it in order to keep to heat out. The floor is also lined with comfortable chairs and large tables, which make it easy to sit down and have room to lay all your books, without having to resort to writing with textbooks and notebooks falling all over your lap.
“It’s the best place to study,” says John Bennet, student at HCC, “there’s a lot of room, something that you don’t get in other places around the building.”

Unfortunately, even though it offers the most space, the area is near the entrance and exit to the parking lot, making it sometimes noisy and crowded. During times of heavy traffic, namely at the beginning and end of regular classes (9:30, 11:00, 12:30 and 5:00) people will be walking through the floor, talking on their cell phones and to their friends, and can easily be disturbing for someone looking for some quiet study time. Additionally, the views from the floor are blocked by the sides of the building, and the parking lot, making the environment less relaxing.

The third floor is ideal for people who don’t mind a little noise but don’t want the distraction of a nice view. If you need to get a lot of work done without the luxury of time to relax, just throw on your IPod and take a seat on the third floor.

Second Floor, Lafayette-

While not having the same amount of comfortable chairs, tables and couches as the third floor, or as nice a view as the Broad Street side, the Lafayette side of the has a nice mix of both. It contains a nice amount of chairs and tables, but no couches, and the view outside is decent, but not as good as the view from Broad Street. The view overlooks the intersection between Lafayette, I-95, and the parking lot, with cars driving by.

While enticing, the proximity to the street and the location outside a few class rooms makes it occasionally noisy.
“It can get kinda loud there,” says John Namoli, another HCC student.

But the space and view make it a great place to stay if you and a small group of friends need a place to stop and sit, because it allows a few friends a big enough space to sit down, without as much noise and commotion as the third floor.

Second Floor, Broad Street-

The Broad street side contains arguably the nicest view out of anywhere in HCC.
“It’s really nice there,” says HCC student Joao Maiolino “You can see I-95 and the side of the building. It looks really good.”

Unfortunately there are only two single chairs, which make it both impossible to relax with friends, and awkward to sit around if there are strangers in the other seat. In addition to only having two seats, it doesn’t have any tables, so writing can be a bit uncomfortable.

Even though it’s the most difficult area to get settled into, during slow days at HCC such as Fridays, where the buildings are nearly empty, it provides the most relaxing and beautiful view around.

Beacon Hall Study Environments

Beacon Hall Boasts of More Placid Study Environments

By Chris Albino

Staff Writer

How Beacon Hall manages to handle the lack of quiet space HCC students have.

The often overwhelming college workload leaves many students stressed out about their cluttered schedules. Before the construction of Beacon Hall students did not have much opportunity for quiet study, one of the keys to a successful learning process. The new study lounges Beacon Hall has to offer students must not be overlooked by those looking for a haven from the hustle and bustle of the Housatonic community.

Beacon Hall has seemingly attracted more students to choose Housatonic as a start for their college careers. Over 5,000 students enrolled in Housatonic for this fall 2008 semester breaking the record for most enrolled in the process. While the expansion of Housatonic is an important and essential process, it cannot interfere with the purpose of the schools construction, academia.
The differences in size and space between Lafayette Hall and Beacon Hall are glaring. Lafayette Hall caters to a more intimate school experience where the student is bound to see a minimum of one or two recognizable peers or faculty. While the familiarity that Lafayette Hall has to offer its students’ is desirable, it at times can feel slightly cramped.

“It (Lafayette) wasn’t the best place for study, most of the time I would just go to my classes and head home to study. It was too loud in the student lounges because they’re attached to the cafeteria and the library is busy most of the time” said Housatonic student Mike Roche.

Housatonic is a commuter school and therefore cannot devote an excessive amount of space to its students to spend downtime studying. The Housatonic course schedule does not offer many courses in the middle of the day. Between the hours of two and five in the afternoon there are not many courses for a student to take. If a person gets out of one course at one in the afternoon and has another later that day he or she no longer needs to go home to find peace and quiet.

Before Beacon Hall, long breaks between morning and late afternoon classes posed a dilemma for Housatonic students. Many students chose to leave the building only to come back to attend their later classes. This causes students to spend extra money on gas. Beacon Hall allows for the student with time on his or her hands to go to the study lounges to catch up on readings for class or to simply relax with fellow students.
“I’m pretty excited I can spend entire days at HCC now because kids can just chill and do their own thing in the lounges upstairs. Driving back and forth from school two or three times a day between classes is a hassle” said Adam Wolloch.
The study lounges in Beacon Hall allow for more than just individual study. Many pieces of furniture have clearly been chosen for multiple people to work together. Beacon Hall makes group study more convenient; rather than having to cram five or six students in the tight quiet study rooms of the Lafayette Hall library, students can meet in the student lounges of Beacon Hall where numerous couches and tables have been allotted for those looking to work in a group setting.

“At the end of last semester I had a project due. I had to do the project with three classmates but the problem was we couldn’t talk in the library and the study rooms in the library were always full” said Housatonic student Sarah Russell.
Beacon Hall has seemed to rectify the issue of study space. The new building offers students multiple study lounges with various tables, comfortable chairs and couches for students to utilize while studying. Rather than having to be crammed into a library with every other student who has a big exam later in the day, the savvy student will retreat to the respite of Beacon Hall’s study lounges.