Horizons: More Than Meets The Eye

By Jessica Rougeau

Senior Staff Writer

If someone told me that I’d continue writing for a newspaper after high school, I would have easily bet them a million dollars that they’d be wrong. Thank god I didn’t, or else I’d be homeless, using Horizons newspaper as a blanket.

Journalism was never my thing. However, writing is. So I constantly found myself working for school newspapers to try to get over the animosity.

My first semester writing for Horizons was definitely a learning experience. While I was still harboring the cynicism of previous papers, the overall atmosphere immediately felt different than that of others.

Professor Steve Mark had a great deal to do with acclimating not only me, but each and every one of us. If you've never written for a paper before, the process can be quite daunting and overwhelming if you do not manage your time and keep your eyes open. Steve stressed this, but also provided some words of wisdom. He said that it's a beneficial opportunity to grow as a writer and observe the sights and sounds around you.

I instantly felt comfortable and anxious to start my first story. I clearly remember brainstorming what kinds of things I wanted to write, and thought back to what I had always wished to write on other papers but was never allowed to: oh yeah, music reviews! And it was then that "Rock Your Face Off" reviews were born. I highlight this as an important moment for me because I was never considered in writing them for other newspapers. I appreciated the chance to do it for Horizons.

Besides sharpening my creativity, the class placed me in a position to work closely with every single one of my classmates, more so than any other class I've ever taken. You are constantly put into groups to critique another classmate’s writing or work. One on one, you swap your story with someone else. You have full support and access to new ideas through each drafting stage of your story. Everyone works together. It's almost like a family because many of us return the next semester to do it all over again. I've gotten to know some people on staff on a personal level, and I can't say the same for any other courses I've had.

I returned to the Horizons staff for my second semester knowing what I was in for this time, but open to learning more. I made it a point to try to write different types of articles to make myself more well-rounded. This began to affect my other school work in a positive way.

One of my professors, Joanne Rochman, taught my English class for my first and second semesters; an avid reader of Horizons, she was always the first person to read my articles the day the paper came out.

"I would definitely say that working on the paper has changed the way Jessica writes because she now knows how to organize her thoughts and interviews more readily. The ideas flow from mind to paper in a stream of consciousness. She knows what to ask and how to ask it, so putting the words on to paper is the easy part”, Rochman said. “She knows how to hook a reader, and can easily move from a lead in journalism to a hook in a composition or literature class."

Without this class, I would have no other way of feeling legitimately involved at Housatonic because of my busy schedule outside of school. Horizons gives me a voice to share my writing and ideas with anyone who chooses to open up one of our papers and read them. I’m more aware of things going on at the school, upcoming events and issues that I’d more than likely be oblivious to if I was not working this closely with the reporters who find out this information.  This will be the last article I write for the paper, so I’ll be sure to type this last sentence as slowly as possible…

Want to learn more about writing for Horizons?  Go to the advisor's home page at http://homepage.mac.com/stevemark

Making Love Can Be Rough

Artwork courtesy of allposters.com

By Jessica Spadaccino

Staff Writer

A new sexual position…

The guys got to talk; now it‘s my turn.

 

Ahh, sex. After reading Cody’s and Brandon’s articles on the subject in the "Arguing with the Boss" section of Horizons, I have come to many conclusions about the wonderful and all-powerful experience called sex. The guys got to talk about it, so now it’s time to strip down to the naked details from a woman’s perspective.

In the two articles, Cody argued for "making love," and Brandon defended rough sex. So who is right?

Cody is telling the truth when he says most people do enjoy sex; it has been a hit since Adam courted Eve. But what makes it so great? Is it the way we have sex, or is it more?

According to foxnews.com, a survey was conducted by a doctor in London to see how many women achieved an orgasm during sexual intercourse.  Out of 4,000 women, 32 percent said that they were unable to orgasm more than a quarter of the times they had sex. 16 percent of those women said that they never achieved an orgasm. Some argue it is because of genetics; I say it is performance.

The orgasm is a beautiful thing. It not only physically makes you feel amazing, but emotionally also. According to goaskalice.colombia.edu, endorphins are released into the body when a person orgasms. Endorphins are natural substances created by the body to relieve pain, and when they are released the person’s stress levels decrease and feelings of happiness increase. So if anyone has ever told you “you need to get laid,” you probably do.

There have been arguments that the orgasm isn’t necessary every time intercourse occurs, but I strongly disagree. Without the orgasm, sex feels unfinished. Yes, sex does feel good even without a climax. But come on, girls! Aren’t you tired of faking it? The main goal of sex is to make your partner feel amazing, and an orgasm is the only outcome that will leave you completely satisfied. Now the only question remaining is how to reach a climax.

Making love is something that only virgins dream about. The gentle hugs, the soft kisses, the “euphoric haze” as Cody called it- it’s all crap. Soft-core sex is nice, but I don’t want to have sex with Pooh Bear. I want to feel something other than my partner sobbing on my shoulder. Whispering sweet nothings is a great mood enhancer, but is not going to get your partner to a climax. You have to get physical.

But not too physical. Rough sex can be great, until you are sweating, out of breath, your partner is flopping on you like a dying fish, and you still haven‘t climaxed. In sex, as Brandon pointed out in his argument, it is okay and sometimes much needed to be rough. Going wild during intercourse allows both partners to release stress that has been building for a while, but only if it ends with the big “O”. Rough sex without a climax can only lead to greater frustration, and it won’t be pretty.

A balanced blend of rough love-making is what’s needed for the perfect sexual experience. If you and your partner are having rough sex every night, and you are among the 16 percent of women who have never had an orgasm, tone it down. If you have to ask your partner “Is it in yet?” maybe you two should speed things up.

Testosterone levels in men are obviously high, and that is the reason they crave sex more than women (in most cases). The chances of finding a man who can guess exactly what you want during intercourse is slim to none, so let them know ladies! There is no reason why those percentages should be so high! Men don’t have a reputation for being the best listeners, but when it comes to sex you will have their full attention. If you tell your partner exactly how you want it done (or don’t), they will listen. They’ll take sex any way it comes, and you will be getting it the way you like.

Sex is a very important and necessary part of life - so why not enjoy it? With more sex, the world would be a better place; endorphins would be set free from the prisons of the prude, and people could have natural and legal highs. Rough, gentle, upside-down, backwards: as long as you and your partner are both safe and willing, it doesn’t matter how you do it. Sex is one of the only ways to relieve stress free and legally, so go crazy! Scratch, bite, kiss, lick, touch, have fun! You only live once, so you better live life to its climax.

The World Without Us Shows People Their Own Shadows

New book about a possible new world.

By Brandon T. Bisceglia

Op/Ed and Online Editor

A real world without us in the Bialowieza Puszcza.
Photograph Courtesy of wilki.most.org

What will the human legacy be? To answer that question, perhaps it is best to ask another: what would happen if every person was removed from the planet tomorrow?

That is the scenario that journalist Alan Weisman ponders in his new book, The World Without Us (St. Martin's Press, 2007). Weisman enlists a bevy of experts, from paleontologists to nuclear technicians, to help readers imagine how the Earth would function if all the humans were suddenly whisked away. He travels to such places as the Bialowieza Puszcza of Poland (the last remaining “primeval forest” in Europe), and the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea, to see first-hand some examples of what nature does in the absence of human intervention. The connections he infers from the figures, theories, and observations he collects can often be astounding.

Houses collapse in a matter of years. The Manhattan skyline is toppled in a few hundred. Most “timeless” art is quickly subsumed. In all but a few cases exposure to air, water, and intruding flora undermines human creations pretty quickly. Throughout its pages, The World Without Us again and again reveals the tenuous grip that humanity has on its institutions.

What emerges from this deconstruction is an even more intriguing picture of what we actually leave behind. Bronze art survives relatively unscathed for perhaps millions of years. Our most treasured historical sites probably crumble within a few thousand, but the faces carved into Mount Rushmore survive as long as the mountain does. Most enduring (and disturbing) is the persistence of polyethylene polymers – plastics. Plastic molecules appear never to break down into simpler matter, which means that man’s imprint may be here on a microscopic level in the form of destructive indigestibles for an indefinitely long period of time.

The World Without Us is a bit sketchy in its presentation of timelines for the decomposition of the human imprint. The shifts from scene to scene can become confusing for the chronological learner. About halfway through the book a semi-clear pattern emerges, as simple deconstruction analysis gives way to a wider speculation about the planet’s future.

This inside-to-outside approach forces the reader to make connections both horizontally and vertically. The effort almost pays off. The book takes the reader to many places, but then sets back down again without really making a solid point.

At moments, there are flashes of purpose. Weisman’s book also explores other ways that mankind’s influence may continue to ripple in concentric waves of devastation. Some catastrophic possibilities are lain out like wildcards throughout the book: refineries and nuclear power stations that could become toxic disaster areas within weeks, for instance. There’s no telling what cumulative impact these calamities would have on the Earth. The increasingly-present issue of global warming also raises major questions. The effects continue to build after we exeunt, but predicting the outcome is literally as difficult as predicting the weather a year from now.

One nearly expects the author to proselytize after several chapters about the terraforming of Europe and the masses of plastic accumulating in the Northern Pacific Gyre. But that never quite happens. Despite all the apocalyptic speculation, there is a prominent focus on the pervasiveness and perseverance of life threaded throughout the text. By considering myriad examples from past to present, Weisman shows how plants and animals adapt to our meddling, even as we drive some to extinction and turn the general environment into a volatile cauldron. An inspiring illustration lies in his description of the post-Chernobyl landscape. Many plants and animals have already evolved to propagate and flourish despite levels of radiation so high that no person could traverse without full radiation gear. The persistence of life is well summed by one scientist quoted in the book: “If the planet can recover from the Permian, it can recover from the human.”

Even barring manmade cataclysms, an ultimately ironic caveat presents itself to the reader. The next ice age, whenever it comes, will quickly annihilate most human achievements as glaciers press over nearly every major settlement currently on the planet.

Although it doesn’t quite muster the force to stir the reader beyond rhetorical detachment, the most general implication of The World Without Us is that, given enough time, there may be nothing recognizable as human on the Earth. In that sense, the message of this book may initially seem somewhat morose. However, what it demonstrates is a more essential shift of paradigms. The struggle for posterity, timelessness, and immortality is at the end of the day based on a fallacious belief in a permanence that simply does not exist.

Weisman seems to say that man’s final legacy, no matter what, will be to become part of the nature from which he has sprung. Our greatest achievements can never be those that attempt to impose on nature. Instead, they might just be those that seek to preserve its endless array, and to make sure that we do not disrupt the balance that holds us, too, on the precipice.

Perhaps that in itself is enough of a call to action. After all, we will each find ourselves in real trouble on some tomorrow.

How to be an American Gangster

WEB EXCLUSIVE

By Cody Quinn
Editor-in-Chief
Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe sit down for a little chat.
Photo courtesy of Yahoo! Movies

To call Frank Lucas (a stellar Denzel Washington) a gangster would be an understatement. In the lore spelled out in Ridley Scott’s new crime drama, American Gangster, Lucas is a vicious businessman who brings all new meaning to kill or be killed ethics.

Gangster is a gripping tale of Lucas’ rise to the top of the underworld on a wave of cheap but high quality heroin. Intermixed with the violence and family life inherent in any criminal enterprise is Russell Crowe, who plays Detective Richie Roberts. If you weren’t sure Roberts is Jewish, the large gold Star of David around his neck is a pretty good hint.

Both actors are at the top of their game in this movie, splitting plot and screen time like the seminal movie Heat did. The two Oscar-winning actors don’t even meet until the obligatory arrest near the film’s end.

Washington gets the meatier of the two roles. He plays Lucas as man who knows how to build a criminal empire, but also knows that the nature of crime and corruption never lends itself to lasting endeavors. Lucas struggles to keep the threads together as long as he can, and he foresees the end to his enterprise long before it occurs. Washington plays Lucas as a man knowingly over his head, but never afraid to take what he wants.

Crowe makes the most out of his detective scenes, and you really get a sense of the difficulty of police work when corruption is near its peak, but he gets bogged down in family moments. Roberts, being a hard working and honest policeman, must divorce his wife (Carla Gugino doing what she has to) and get into a custody battle, as all honest policemen must.

These scenes take away from the main and more interesting part of the movie: Lucas’ rise to power. The end lets us know that Lucas was worth at least $250 million, but you never get a good sense of how large his empire really is. Everything is kept at street level, which lets us see Washington at his most vicious but doesn’t let us appreciate how much Lucas really accomplished.

Scott keeps things moving at a brisk pace, barring a few family court scenes and Robert’s personal problems, and the film is prettily dressed in seventies era clothes, music, and scenery. Add some interesting turns for Cuba Gooding Junior and Josh Brolin, plus eye candy Lymari Nadal as Lucas’ wife, and the whole is pretty good.

However, to be critical (and that’s my job), the ending eerily echoes Catch Me if You Can and leaves you wondering about what the real life characters are doing now. American Gangster is not necessarily the next The Departed, but it’s the best crime move since The Departed.

Concession Stand Equivalent: Milk Duds. Sweet inside and out, but the more you chew on it, the harder it goes down.

Bee Movie Buzzes Along Lazily

WEB EXCLUSIVE!
By Cody Quinn

Editor-in-Chief

Jerry Seinfeld looking for a suitable place to put his stinger.
Photo courtesy of Yahoo! Movies

It’s not every day a movie about insects makes its way into theatres. It must have been at least a year since the last one came out. Bee Movie is Dreamworks addition to the digitally animated insect genre and, with the help of Jerry Seinfeld, it surpasses Antz, and almost reaches the heights of A Bug’s Life.

Bee Movie is the tale of Barry B. Benson (yes, there is no shortage of the letter “B” jokes), who is voiced by Seinfeld, and his interactions with the human world. Throughout the movie Benson takes on the uniform system of the hive, takes on the consumerism of man, and ultimately realizes that everything has a purpose in the world.

If the movie has a fault (which it does), it’s that it was written by Seinfeld and his cohorts from the old days. When I caught a midday show, I was surrounded by families with small children. I didn’t hear a lot of laughter for the subtly disguised irony and the slight pokes at convention Seinfeld made a career out of.

Not that there wasn’t any laughter at all; the movie is beautifully animated, and the sight gags are at least as well done as in the Shrek movies - just not as plentiful. The verbal humor is top notch, especially in a court scene featuring a well-casted John Goodman.

Casting on the whole is pretty spot on. Chris Rock gets a title credit for about ten lines worth of work as a mosquito. Ray Liotta has about as scene stealing a role as an animated character can get playing himself. Matthew Broderick settles for a typecast appearance as Benson’s nebbish friend Adam. And Renee Zellweger voices a disturbingly attractive CGI woman named Vanessa.

The relationship between Vanessa and Benson rides that fine line between sweet and whatever the insect equivalent of bestiality is. It’s hard to fathom what effect Seinfeld was going for, but it seems like he added the relationship only because some form of romance is standard fare for these types of movies.

Which brings me to the main reason this movie never seems to get off the ground: Seinfeld alternates between ditching convention and embracing it. The plot is paint by numbers for children’s animation: character feels different from others, character rebels, character realizes importance of friends, character defeats adversity, character lives happily ever after.

Then again, Seinfeld treats his characters like throwaway prop gags and meanders from point to point on a wing and a joke. Taken in bits, things seem funny enough, but when you try to follow the punch line from point A to “Bee” in the movie, you end up little more than mildly amused.

Bee Movie is certainly not just for kids. Seinfeld’s pedigree dictates that. However, the cutesy elements put it out of date movie range.

In all fairness, Seinfeld has been out of practice for a couple of years. Maybe Bee Movie is just him shaking off the rust. I kind of enjoyed this movie, but I’m anxiously looking forward to his next.

Concession Stand Equivalent: Large diet coke. Will quench your thirst but not as good as it should be.

Turkey Land USA

WEB EXCLUSIVE!
By Donovan G Brown
Staff Writer

Throughout history many cultures have given thanks to something or someone for being generous in providing their needs. One such experience is Thanksgiving - or should I say “thanks for the stuffing day?”

In 1621 the Plymouth colonists and the Wampanoag Indians shared an autumn harvest feast. This is now known as the first Thanksgiving. Although cooking methods and table etiquette have changed as the holiday has evolved, the meal is still consumed today with the same spirit of celebration and overindulgence.

This was set as day for giving thanks to God by this great country’s forefathers and foremothers. Now it has become a best-seller time of year, when you can see “Shoppers Gone Wild.” You can purchase yours for only $9.99 while supplies last, on DVD and blue ray disk.

When dysfunctional families like mine gather together (or not), it is to be glad everyone is still alive and well, to enjoy the time we don’t get to spend together all year round. We get stuffed, argue about who’s not coming to whose home because of what happened last year, and then go home.

I decided that it would be interesting to see how many students I could interview to find out more about Thanksgiving in this age. While speaking to art student Lawrence Itoka, I was surprised to hear how he celebrated this day in the country of Liberia. According to him, they celebrate Thanksgiving on the first Sunday of November. The people from the village go to church and bring a plant for the pastor/priest to bless so that they can have an abundant harvest. But in America, Itoka said, the turkey represents Thanksgiving.

Brian Parker, a first year accounting major said, “I look forward to Thanksgiving. I have 11 aunts and uncles. They has a great time as a family. There’s love in this home. We eat, give thanks, and then the men sneak off to watch football.” As he spoke, a big smile crossed his face, and he just lit up.

Walking the halls of Housatonic, I saw many faces. One such face was Cathy Cox. She was busy reading the Connecticut Post, getting ready for her next class. According to her, “it’s just a day to visit with parents, eat and hang out. Nothing special.”

In the country of Laos, they do not celebrate Thanksgiving, but now that Christina Xayath lives in America she “does as the Romans do.”

In other countries – like my country of Jamaica - they also do not celebrate Thanksgiving, even though they may be a part of the old British colonies. However, there are people who have lived in America, and have returned home celebrate it as a new tradition.

Thanksgiving should be a time to reflect on having one more year under our belts, and how fortunate we are. Every day should be an opportunity to give thanks, and especially a day called Thanksgiving. It should not just be a day off, but a day that requires our time to get involved and give thanks.

Ancient Wonders Replaced in Modern International Vote

WEB-EXCLUSIVE!

By Brandon T. Bisceglia

Op/Ed Editor

The Pyramids lose their place in history.
Photograph Courtesy of www.hartransom.org, adapted by Brandon T. Bisceglia

On July 7, 2007, a Declaration Ceremony held in Lisbon, Portgual announced the results of a worldwide campaign to create a new list of the Seven Wonders of the World.

The ceremony marked the culmination of a project launched by the New7Wonders Foundation, established in 2001 by Swiss-born Canadian adventurer Bernard Weber. The foundation is based at the Heidi-Weber Museum in Zurich, Switzerland, and was formed, according to its website, to “contribute to the protection of the world’s human-built and natural heritage and to foster respect for the cultural diversity on our planet.”

Weber, a filmmaker and lifelong aviator, has spent much of his career reliving history. Among other things, he produced a TV documentary titled “The Desert Prince” in 1995 that retraced Antoine St.-Exupéry’s mail route down the West African coastline – a journey that was to inspire the famous pilot’s 1943 book, The Little Prince.

Weber’s love of history and culture was what ultimately spawned the New7Wonders project. It was aimed at updating the famous list of the Seven Wonders of the World established by Philon of Byzantium in 200 B.C. The original wonders were all located around the Mediterranean Basin – a realm which only included southern Europe, northern Africa, and the Middle East. As such, they were a reflection of a smaller world-view.

The ancient list contained such creations as the Lighthouse at Alexandria, which for centuries was the world’s tallest man-made structure. There was the statue of Zeus, a gilded ivory form that once inhabited the Parthenon. And, of course, there were the Great Pyramids at Giza. Of all the renowned wonders, these pyramids are the only left standing. The Giza site was entered into the contest, and made it to the finalist category. By the time the votes were counted, though, they too had been stripped of their glory.

The newly dubbed wonders were chosen among numerous entries contributed through an open-ended submission process over the internet. At the end of 2005, a panel of expert judges – many of them architects – brought the list down to 21 finalists, which were then put to an internet vote. According to the site, more than 1,000,000 people participated in this vote.

When the dust settled, these were the victors:
• The Great Wall of China, China (220 B.C. to 1644 A.D.): The Great Wall is actually a series of many walls built, torn down, and reconstructed over thousands of years. The walls were meant to be fortifications against invading empires (specifically those of the Turks and Mongols). The original walls, which were built primarily of earth and wood, have mostly eroded. During the Ming Dynasty (1638-1644) new materials, such as limestone and brick, were employed to make the walls stronger. These fortifications represent the modern conception of the Great Wall. Parts of it, too, have suffered weathering, particularly in the more remote and harsh desert landscapes.

• Petra, Jordan (? B.C. to 40 A.D.): If you’ve ever seen Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, you’ve seen part of Petra. The city, once populated by the Aramaic-speaking Nabataeans, was located at a crossroads between several ancient Middle Eastern nations. The buildings were carved and hewn out of the sandstone cliff sides that surround the city, so that many of the structures are part of the cliffs themselves. No records of Petra’s original construction remain, but it did develop over time, blending Hellenistic and other architectural traditions. Its decline came when the Romans took over the area and reestablished sea trade, thus rendering much of the site’s functionality invalid.

• The Roman Colosseum, Italy (70 A.D. to 82 A.D.): The Colosseum, also known as the Flavian Amphitheatre, was built by the Romans to host gladiatorial games. Unlike most other amphitheatres built by Romans and Greeks, this huge structure was freestanding. After the fall of Rome, the building was put to numerous other uses, including as a graveyard. Today, the Colosseum is a tourist site, an internationally recognized symbol of ancient Roman society, and the blueprint for all modern sports stadiums.

• The Pyramid at Chichén Itzá, Mexico (C.800 A.D.): The city of Chichén Itzá was a major center of the Mayan peoples from the Late Classic through early Post-Classic periods, and is one of the most well-preserved Mayan sites. The pyramid, which is known as the Temple of Kukulcan, was built in step design with stairways on each of its four sides. The outer structure was actually built over an older temple, a practice not uncommon in Mayan society. The pyramid was constructed so that, on the fall and spring equinoxes, a slithering shadow would be cast on the north staircase during sunrise and sunset. This shadow – which can still be seen twice a year - is meant to represent the divine serpent-god, Kukulcan.

• Machu Picchu, Peru (1460 A.D. to 1470 A.D.): The settlement of Machu Picchu was built in the eastern Andes Mountains at the height of the ancient Incan empire. When the Spanish came to Peru, the city was abandoned and remained “lost” until 1911, when archeologist Hiram Bingham wrote a best-selling book about the city. The architecture of Machu Picchu utilized the shape of the mountain to create terraced steps and walls that appear almost organic. This perception is further aided by its location in the Amazon jungle, which has since enveloped the site.

• The Taj Mahal, India (1630 A.D.): The Taj Mahal is an immense mausoleum. Mughol emperor Shah Jahen had it constructed as a tribute to his third and favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, after she died. The structure is built of white marble and incorporates many Persian architectural traditions. Surrounding the tomb is a garden that is divided into four parts that symbolize the four flowing rivers of Paradise in Muslim mythology.

• Cristo Redentor, Brazil (1931 A.D.): This 38-meter statue stands atop Corcovado Mountain over the Brazilian capital of Rio de Janeiro. It was engineered by Brazilian Heitor da Silva Costa, and then constructed piece-by-piece in France, by sculptor Paul Landowski. The pieces were shipped to Rio, where they were brought up the mountain and put together over a period of five years. The statue is made of soapstone, which is so soft that a fingernail can scratch it, but can stand weathering better than concrete. It is meant to symbolize both Brazilian religiosity and the acceptance of all visitors with open arms.

The New7Wonders website is now hosting nominations for its next project, a list of the Seven Wonders of Nature. The nominations will continue through October 8, 2008. For more information, or to submit an entry, visit http://www.new7wonders.com/index.php.

(All information on the Wonders was acquired through the UNESCO World Heritage website, or through the official web pages for the Wonders.)

Creative Non-Fiction by Senior Horizons Staff

This semester, as the beginners on staff were learning more about newspaper writing, advanced students were asked to write personal essays that would give readers new insight into an important situation or issue. The following are the results of this assignment. Senior Horizons reporters wrote on a wide range of issues, including:

• finding something to do between classes
• returning to a treasured spot from childhood
• dealing with an absent father
• coping with a rare medical condition
• the effects of divorce
• And many more!
  

Happy Reading!

Professor Steve Mark
Advisor to Horizons

It’s Too Late for I’m Sorry, Dad…

You can’t control your destiny, but you can cope with it.

By Jessica Spadaccino
Staff Writer

My mother and father a few years before I was born. His rockstar lifestyle led him on a "Highway to Hell".
Photo Courtesy of Jessica Spadaccino.

“What’s the most confusing day in Bridgeport?” he asked. I knew what was coming, so I just raised my brow at him and shrugged. “Father’s day!” He exploded into laughter; I didn’t. I hardly knew the man, and that explains why he wasted his breath telling me that ignorant piece of information he called a joke.

Although I didn’t feel it right away, something about that statement seemed to cut right through me, and I had to step out of the crowded room at my friend’s party. I thought about that statement all night.

As I was growing up, it was only my mother and me. I guess when my mother grew tired of my nagging, “Am I adopted?” question every father’s day, she decided to let me meet my maker. I met my father for the first and last time at a broken down McDonald’s in Bridgeport, my hometown, when I was seven years old. My Godmother brought me to meet him because my mother couldn’t stand the sight of his thin frame and pale skin. I was scared upon first sight. I remember it was like looking into a mirror, but he was a stranger to me. He wanted to hold me, but I wouldn’t let him. He compromised and sat me down next to him, as I clenched tightly onto my Muppet Babies Sticker Book (I loved those things). He loosened my grip, opened to a random page, and looked at the colorful characters. “Who’s that?” He asked me, pointing to a fuzzy little creature holding drumsticks. I didn’t know.

Every day I think about my father. His ghostly white skin, the bags under his eyes; I understand now why my mother didn’t want me around him. He died of a drug overdose in an alley by himself in November, just a few months before I turned eight years old.

I know for a fact that there are a LOT of parents here in the Housatonic Community, but are you really there for your kids? How often do you tell your children you love them? How much time do you really spend with your child? According to the U.S. Census Bureau, fifty-nine percent of American children will live in a single-parent home at least once during their minor years. According to www.Fatherhood.org, an estimated 24.7 million children do not live with their biological fathers, and about forty percent of these children have not seen their fathers during the past year. This is a serious issue.

There is a reason it takes a mother and a father to create a child. It has been proven, according to www.dadsindistress.asn/au, that seventy-two percent of adolescent murderers, sixty percent of rapists, and seventy percent of long-term prisoners grew up in father-absent homes. About sixty-nine percent of victims of child sexual abuse came from homes where the biological father was absent. Eighty-four percent of teens hospitalized for psychiatric care come from single parent homes, and seventy five percent of teens who commit suicide are from single parent homes. According to www.children-ourinvestment.org, Eighty-five percent of all children who show behavior disorders come from fatherless homes.

My father wasn’t there for my first steps, or the first time I rode my bike without training wheels. He wasn’t there to kiss my “boo-boos” when I was hurt. He was not there to tell my boyfriends to take good care of me. He never told me I was worth more, or that he loved me no matter what. My father wasn’t present for my proms. He didn’t tell me he was proud on my graduation day. He wasn’t there to protect me from all of the other men who physically and emotionally hurt me over and over again. He wasn’t there when I got my driver’s license, and he won’t be there to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day.

Thinking of these memories is dangerous. I like to think of myself as a strong person, but to this day it upsets me when I see a father and daughter holding hands. When it comes to my father, I put on an act like I know everything, and nothing emotionally phases me, but I am wrong in doing that. I am not a drug addict, an alcoholic, a murderer, or anything else those numbers try to tell me that I am, but I do have emotional problems that will never be fixed.

To all of the parents reading this article that have never met your children before, or have not been there for your children- go out and find them. Look at the statistics above. You can help stop this! You helped to create a human life - and you could help them become something amazing. You will make an impact in your child’s life whether you are with them or not. Even if the child doesn‘t want you to hold her at first, she will still be happy she got to sit next to you for that moment or two.

To the parents who have stuck by your kids no matter what - Thank you. Even if your children don’t always tell you they love you and appreciate you, remember that they do. If I didn’t have such an amazing mother, I wouldn’t have lived this long. My mother has helped me control my anxiety attacks, separation anxiety disorder, and depression that I have been battling since I was five years old.

To all of the parentless sons and daughters reading this article; don’t add to those statistics. I have found that not having a father is by no means easy, but it has made me stronger in ways I never understood until recently. Being angry at the world or at a father who doesn’t care about you is not hurting anyone but you. It won’t be easy to let it go, but it has to be done. The past is called “the past” because it has already passed us by. I try to take the anger and pain of being without a parent and use it to motivate myself. Everyone who knew my father told me I was just like him, and I was determined to prove them all wrong. I will not become a negative statistic, and I hope all of you parentless children reading this article will find peace in knowing you are not really alone.

I didn’t ask to be born without a father, no one does, but there is nothing I or anyone else can do to change their destiny. It breaks my heart to look at the one picture I have of my father, but I can’t let myself become bitter. I need to take a step back every time I have these thoughts and count the things, like my mother, that I have been blessed with.

As much as I want to put my dad behind me and forget all about him, I still wish that there was a way I could tell him that the Muppet Baby Drummer is “Animal.”

I Lost My Sight, Not My Vision

If life’s hard knocks have beat you up to the point that you
rather give up here is a blueprint on how to fight back.

By Gerry Whitted
Staff Writer

Bang! Went the sound in my head when my eye hit the corner of the dresser in my bedroom, after a two-foot free fall. One half of my world went dark instantly and the other half was curious with fear, to find out what happened.

As I removed my hand from my eye to investigate, I realized that the beet red warm liquid sensation in the palm of my hand was blood. I went to the three-quarter-length mirror in the hallway. The reflection I saw alarmed me. I didn’t recognize what used to be my eye, and I knew I was in need of help.

“Oh no,” I said, while my head began to throb and feel like a woodpecker with a headache. I began to bargain with God with the typical, “If you get me through this one I will change.” I began to list some of my shortcomings. If I were to keep my end of the deal I would look like the Second Coming of Jesus Christ.

Do I call 911 or do I look for a neighbor at 8:30 a.m. in this predominantly working class condominium? I chose the latter. I rang the doorbell of Mr. Singh and, as he opened the door, he said with a distinct East Indian accent “Jedee, oh sheet what happened?” I explained and asked if he would take me to the emergency room. He nodded his head yes and put up one finger as to say one moment please.

When he returned, in what seemed like seconds, he was wearing a jacket and I proceeded to my unit to get mine. We moved quickly towards his car on this brisk mid February morning and after a short ride we were in the emergency room. Little did I know that my life was about to change, forever.

The trauma to my eye was so great that, not only was my retina detached, it was outside of the eye. It was determined that I would need specialized surgery and Dr. Stein, one of only five surgeons in Fairfield County qualified, was chosen to perform the task.

By this time my wife, Gail, summoned four of my closest friends. Dwight from the Bronx, Jeff from New Jersey, Mike from New Rochelle and Glenn from Bridgeport. My two sisters, Candice and Judith from New Rochelle and Yonkers, were there, so I was not lacking in the support department.

Dr. Stein, who had examined my eye earlier in the day, came into my room with that positive doctor persona that put us all ease. He put his hands, with manicured nails, on my shoulder and explained the procedure he would use to repair my damaged eye. He also added a piece of information that would crush my world.

Dr. Stein said, “I am not saying give up hope and stop praying, but it is a 99% chance you will not regain the vision in your eye. I’ve done many like this and yet to have one regain their vision. We will know more after the surgery, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up to high.”

I nodded my head and said, “I understand.”

What a blow; I had never felt this way before. At least when my legs were amputated I could get a prosthesis and wheelchair to aid with my mobility. Loss of vision is just that, lost and gone forever.

I would have missed too many classes to go back to school that semester. I would have to quit the Connecticut Wheelchair Basketball team, after training so hard and buying a $1800.00 sports wheelchair. I would have to give up my independence due to not being able to drive. What is the sense of continuing my education? Who is going to hire a no legged wheel chair bound black man with one eye?

The story of my life, it seems, is when things are going great something happens to take away my joy. Did I mention that after almost 25 years of procrastination I decided to go back to college? I even changed my major from Accounting to Journalism after working the corporate offices of IBM, Frito-Lay and The Zales Corp. Obviously my interest changed. Being an auditor was cool but repetitious.

“God what did I do to deserve all of this? Both of my parents are gone, my legs are gone and now my vision. How much more can I take? What more must I do? I try to be a faithful servant to you; yeah I know I can do better. But as I understand it you don’t expect perfection and you will forgive imperfection. Why do I feel you have abandoned me maybe you don’t even exist. Maybe I would be better off being a loser and quitter, while being a negative influence in society. Better yet I’ll stay home and medicate while I am vegetating that would really be cool wouldn’t it? NOT!”

Realizing I had just uttered words questioning the existence of my creator and protector, I grew uncomfortable feeling sorry for myself. I could have lost consciousness and bled to death or I could have hit my temple and died instantly. Though I am one eye from being blind, I am one eye from not being blind. This could have been a lot worse.

At that moment I realized I better make a call before my request to be a loser, quitter and some other negative things I would hate to become. I said “Yo, God you know that conversation we had few minutes ago? I was just venting. I would like to rescind my original request too. Please give me the courage and strength to challenge life’s hardships and challenges in a responsible way.” This was the beginning of the healing process.

After the completion of my successful surgery I called my wife and told her to call school and let them know I would be absent because of surgery. I called my sister Joan and asked her to contact my basketball coach and inform him of the situation.

I returned home after a week of hospitalization and found out how much I had taken for granted. For instance, depth perception, I could not pour any liquid into a glass without concentrating. Cover one of your eyes and do the same and you will fully understand.

My eye healed, and I was cleared to go back to normal duties, whatever that means. The only restrictions were to wear goggles when I played basketball and wear unbreakable lenses in my prescribed glasses.

I went back to school and spoke to my professors to let them know that this was not a visit; I am back. I refused to defer because I was afraid if I chose to, I would never go back. I had to make up at least three weeks of work and, being a full time student,his was going to be a challenge. And a challenge it was.

I could not put it into words for it to justify how hard I worked in spring 2007. I never gave up, though at times I didn’t think I would succeed, but I did.

I finished with a 3.20GPA, so you see there is room for improvement. If I gave up I would never feel the joy that has engulfed my life. Yeah, I have my bad days, but I realize the great days are right around the bend.

This summer I created a newsletter for our condominium tenants, something that has been in the works for about two years. I am still having eye examinations on a regular basis and it was determined I would need a prosthetic eye to make me handsome again.

I have gained a renewed excitement and appreciation for education that has been absent for years. So much that I am, once again, a full time student and working ever so close to meeting my goal to graduate in May 2008.

Changing Currents

As we mature, familiar places take on different faces.

“Long, long be my heart with such memories fill’d! Like the vase in which roses have once been distill’d: You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.” - Thomas Moore, Farewell! But Whenever You Welcome the Hour


By Brandon T. Bisceglia
Op/Ed Editor

One recent afternoon, I had to run to the office supply store and pick up an ink cartridge that I desperately needed for a project due the next day. It was no big deal – at this point in my life, I’m accustomed to rushing.

After retrieving the item, I noticed that the sun was going down, and became momentarily nostalgic. On a whim, I changed course, and drove to my favorite haunt: the boat launch in my hometown.

Photograph by Brandon T. Bisceglia

The boat launch is essentially the parking lot termination of a dead-end street. The pavement at one point falls into the marshland mouth of the Housatonic River, which serves as the demarcation between Stratford and Milford, CT – and also Fairfield and New Haven counties. I imagined in my youth that the road must continue under the water, and up the other side of the river. Later, of course, I understood that one would drown.

The rest of the area known as the launch includes several small piers used mainly for fishing and small sail or motor boats. In summer, the parking lot also houses an outdoor restaurant that was once owned by an older Greek fellow who used to sexually harass my high school girlfriend when she worked for him. It’s okay, though; she quit, and I never liked the food much anyhow.

What has always attracted me most to this spot throughout my life is the relative solitude. As a teenager, I would walk down the precipitous rails and planks, and sit on one of the floating docks that wavered near the shore, letting the currents pull me back and forth. Once I owned a car, I would spend my Sunday evenings parked in front of a swath of reeds at one end of the lot, listening to ambient music and watching the wind roll over the stalks as bugs twirled in the infinitely far-off street lamps. If I was up early enough on certain mornings, I would catch the sun rising over the river, painting it in ascending hues.

The boat launch is popular among the locals during the summer. The fishermen prop their poles in chunks of white PVC tubing that are mounted on the pier, then idle through cigarettes as they wait for their lines to bend. Occasional patrons picnic in their cars or on one of the benches scattered around the area. And on the river, the paper wisps of sails glide blissfully down the lolling waters.

During other seasons, though, the place is mine alone, and that is when I enjoy it most. The frosted grasses in winter, the near desolation of autumn – the area tells different stories at different times.

One late October, for instance, a series of torrential rains over the period of a few days flooded certain sections of the town. In the evening, during a lull in the precipitation, I stopped at the launch, parking perhaps 40 feet from the gentle slope where the pavement was subsumed by the river. I watched as it spread slowly outward, crawling up and over the parking lot. I was mesmerized by the sight of the black liquid that, with measured complacency, rose to replace the solid blacktop. Only when it had come well past the limits of my vehicle could I compel myself to discontinue my presence in this ominously beautiful scene.

Throughout the procession of seasons and years, the boat launch has seemed only to change cyclically, remaining in an overall sense the same. Time draws into the more familiar natural step that I expect of it, and stretches out in expanses as endless as the gulf where the river continuously meets the salty ocean.

It was that broadening circular sensation that drew me on my detour from the store.

I sat on the fringe of a wooden walkway, eavesdropping on the entire world. A stocky, gruff fisher walked past me with his bucket and tools, stopping a short distance off to chat with another man who’d just arrived.

“Catch anythin’?”

“Nah.”

“Long y’ben here?”

“Couple’a hours. Not much doin’ today – yuh just get here?”

“Yeah.”

“Good luck.”

As the two went their separate ways, their conversation sparked images I had never associated with this place. I saw depleted fish counts from the pollution upstream, and remembered that the organization American Rivers listed the Housatonic as the 7 th most endangered river in the nation in 2004. I saw the spreading dead zones in the Hudson Bay, and finally, the awesome cesspool that Long Island Sound – where the Housatonic makes its exit - had become. I recalled the tracking of these trends, the alarm and debate all of these issues had spurred. It was all connected, of course, and I’d always known of the environmental problems that coursed deep within the waters of the area. Until that moment, however, such concerns had not intruded on my reveries. Now they sent me on tangents of cogitation.

The walls of my mental sanctuary fell, and I understood that it, too, was part of the forward projection, no longer an isolated realm.

Fish stocks might return. The river would eventually wash itself clean, if given the chance. But a deeper truth lay in the fact that, even if this rejuvenation were to happen, the boat launch could never be the same. Just as Pangaea would never reconstruct itself, just as Neanderthal man had been lost forever on the precipices of the Iberian Peninsula.

Like the phoenix, the reborn river would be a new and different creature.

With this insight in mind, I bid salut et adieu to a place that could no longer match my memory of it. And as I drove away, I realized something else – I still loved it anyway.

Being Imperfect and Loving It

After being diagnosed with a rare birth defect, I discovered that not being perfect is wonderful.

By Samantha Bratz

Editor-at-Large

This is a brain scan showing Arnold Chiari Malformation Type I
Photo courtesy of www.uchsc.edu

I remember like it was yesterday, the terrible pain shooting through my head, the sound of water rushing in my ears. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I had been to the pediatrician several times over the last few months, but my doctor could not figure out what was wrong with me so he pawned me off to the nurse practitioners in the office. They all said it was “growing pains,” and since I was 14, I was probably just feeling stress from starting high school.

Every other month or so I would end up back in the doctor’s office complaining that the headaches were getting worse and that I was constantly hearing rushing water in my ears. My list of complaints started to grow - I felt off balance all the time (my friends said I looked drunk when I walked down the hall at school), some days I would be incredibly nauseous while others I would be extremely tired. There would be days where I would come home from school, do my homework, take a shower and then be in bed by 6:30 because my head hurt so bad. I would sleep anywhere from six to ten hours a night, and I would wake up exhausted the next day. I knew something was wrong, but my doctor completely dismissed anything I had to say; he would just send me to have blood work done and each time the results came back showing nothing was wrong.

After months of tracking how severe the headaches were along with what I ate and did every day, my doctor still could not figure out what was wrong with me. At this time I could no longer bear the headaches and with the help of my mom we were able to get my doctor to see that there was really something wrong with me. He suggested I see a neurologist to “rule out a brain tumor as the cause of the headaches” – as he nonchalantly put it. I then became a patient of Dr. Peter McAllister. He reviewed my symptoms and after about 45 minutes of talking he made a referral for me to have an MRI.

When the results from the MRI came in he sat my mom and I down and said “I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is you don’t have a brain tumor. The bad news is that you have Arnold Chiari Malformation Type I (ACM I) and Pseudo Tumor Cerebri (PTC).” According to the National Organization for Rare Disorders (NORD) website www.rarediseases.org, “Arnold-Chiari Malformation is a rare malformation of the brain that is sometimes, but not always, apparent at birth. It is characterized by abnormalities in the area where the brain and spinal cord meet that cause part of the cerebellum to protrude through the bottom of the skull (foramen magnum) into the spinal canal.” In layman’s terms, I was born with part of my brain in my spinal cord. Normally the brain rests on the spinal cord, but, my cerebellum is slightly protruding into my spinal cord, therefore my coordination skills and equilibrium are off.

As for the PTC, it literally means “fake tumor.” According to www.ninds.nih.gov, PTC “is likely due to high pressure caused by the buildup or poor absorption of cerebrospinal fluid in the subarachnoid space surrounding the brain. The disorder is most common in women between the ages of 20 and 50.” PTC in basic english means that I have a big ball of pressure behind my eyes. This built up pressure can cause vision loss, which happens to be the major risk with this disorder. PTC is also to blame for the nausea, some of the headache pain, and the sound of rushing water in my ears.

I will always remember the day Dr. McAllister told me what was causing the headaches and all my other problems. I wasn’t upset or worried; I was ecstatic. I finally had an answer. I could actually go on to the next step and get treatment. Maybe I could actually lead a somewhat normal life that didn’t revolve around pain and exhaustion. I will also always remember looking over at my mom and watching her cry. She felt bad that I had suffered so much and she blamed herself for it. I got her a tissue and sat down next to her and said, “it’s not your fault. This was how I was born. There was nothing you could do to prevent it.”

As we left the doctor’s office I started to think “if I have a birth defect then that makes me a defective person. I’m imperfect. I will NEVER be perfect.” I was upset, but as time went on and I grew older I started to realize that nobody is perfect. Everybody has flaws – whether their feet are too big or they have a narcissistic personality. Perfection is what you believe it is. I no longer think of myself as a defect. I joke around about having ACM I and PTC all the time. In high school I wrote about having ACM I for my scholarship essay, and when I was awarded my scholarship I said to my mom “it’s all thanks to Arnold.” She just gave me a look and laughed.

Today I am a healthy 21-year-old college student. I get headaches from time to time, but I have learned ways to handle them. I have learned how to handle stress so it does not cause headaches. I sew, read or I listen to music when I’m stressed. With the help of medication I was able to get the ACM I and PTC under control and I have not needed to see Dr. McAllister since I was in high school.

I think of myself as unique. I figure not many people can go around saying they were born with a part of their brain in their spinal cord. Not everybody can thank dear old Arnold for getting them a college scholarship. I figure I’ll never be alone; I will always have Arnold. I’m special – because I choose to be. I have my flaws like everybody else; I can be obnoxious at times, I chew with my mouth open, and I tend to crack jokes when I attend funerals. I don’t really think of my flaws as “flaws”. They are extensions of my uniqueness. They are distinctive qualities that I possess that make me one of a kind. My imperfections make me perfect; they show that I am human. In the end I have found that yes, I am imperfect and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

It’s a Concrete Jungle Out There!

The HCC Student’s Guide to Keeping Occupied

Suggestions and tips to help the average HCC student stay occupied during the time they have to spare between classes.

By Kristin Gayda
Editor-at-Large

Thumbs up to B.B. the Bluefish, who’s always down to chill between classes.
Photo Courtesy of Kristin Gayda

A mode of transportation is a beautiful thing. If you’re a car-less HCC student, keeping your sanity intact between classes can feel like something of a hopeless situation. But never fear, my bum-riding, shotgun calling friend – you’ve got a professional on your side! Not only have I endured three semesters at Housatonic without a means of getting to and from school, but my attention span can be measured in nanoseconds. With that in mind, here are some suggestions to get you on your way to having fun and conquering Bridgeport’s concrete jungle!

If you’re trying to stay as local as possible, then take advantage of campus. Walking around HCC requires little to no effort because you’re, uh, already there. Rather than waste all of your time in one place (like the Cafeteria), make an “adventure” out of your quest to overcome boredom. For example, take everything in steps. Start in the cafeteria, grab a soda or hot chocolate, and mentally prepare yourself for the hours ahead. Take your beverage of choice out into the court yard, look around for familiar faces, or simply sit on a bench and contemplate the day’s events.

When you’re finished outside, take a walk indoors and scan the newspaper racks. Of course, you should always pick up an issue of Horizons if you haven’t already (what a shameless plug!), but many times you can find editions of Play Magazine, Fairfield Weekly, and The Connecticut Post (among other publications) for free! Free reading, comics, Sudoku puzzles and calendars of local events always equate to at least a good half an hour of time consumption.

From here you may want to check out the HCC Library. The obvious suggestion here is to take out a book; whether it’s applicable to a class you’re taking or simply for leisure is up to you. I bring my laptop with me everywhere I go, so the Library is a quiet, calm place to relax and do my work with a pair of headphones and some groovy tunes. If you really have nothing else to do, take advantage of yet another library perk – the movie selection. It’s free to check one out, and they offer headphones and television sets to aid in your viewing pleasure.

Once walking down the same hallway and seeing the same people over and over again gets to be too much, consider venturing outside. It’s always good to set a goal for these sorts of travels, so have a mission in mind. I suggest hunting for caffeine. If you do it right, the hunt for caffeine can be both extremely rewarding and time consuming at once!

You have several options in the area to choose from, which is nice because it takes time to figure out where to go and allows you to mix it up every so often. The simplest choice – Dunkin’ Donuts – is located directly across the street from the parking garage. While it may not have the greatest service ever, it’s an easy walk and you know what you’re in for. Plus, they have free Internet access for those of you with laptops.

If that isn’t your cup of tea (or, uh, coffee), and it’s before 3:30 in the afternoon, check out Take Time Café or Avalon Café. It takes two minutes (tops – they’re located on State Street) to walk to either establishment from campus and both are definitely worth your while. In addition to providing gourmet drinks in a “café” atmosphere, Take Time and Avalon’s full menus include a wide array of sandwiches, paninis, salads, and pastries guaranteed to satisfy your appetite.

So, where do you go next? Well, if you’re the collegiate type who likes to feel cultured every once in a while, be sure to check out City Lights Gallery and Rainy Faye’s. Both are located just a block away on Broad Street, and are, as far as I’m concerned, hidden gems many HCC students are unaware of. City Lights Gallery is a great spot for all you art enthusiasts out there to visit. The selection is always changing, as the gallery displays a new themed exhibition every six weeks or so. Each exhibition aims to showcase local artists’ sculptures, paintings, prints, and photography. Admission is $0, so feel free to walk in and browse some of the area’s best artistic talents.

Situated a short distance away is Rainy Faye’s. Serving as the area’s only bookstore, it provides much more than a diverse selection of today’s best sellers. Live jazz concerts, poetry readings, lectures, and book signings are offered on a regular basis, so be sure to browse their schedule. If purchasing books doesn’t tickle your fancy, Rainy Faye’s also sells art prints, CDs, handicrafts, and gourmet coffees/teas. Who knew?

Now, if you still aren’t sure as to what you can do to kill the time, then you haven’t been reading carefully. There’s clearly a wide variety of things to do on and around HCC’s campus. Remember, these are only a few suggestions – there’s still a whole lot more to explore in the area! Read flyers for events, ask around, meet new people, and do all you can to quell the boredom (at least until your ride arrives). Believe me, in the end you’ll be a happier, more productive student. Good luck!

The Power of Divorce: How Can You Cope with It?

How to overcome one of America’s most common problems.

Divorce is a growing problem in the United States.
Graphic Courtesy of United States Census

By Vinny DeLillo
Staff Writer

Divorce has the power to turn a once happy family into a broken home. It can tear families apart, it can make enemies out of friends and most of all, it can deeply affect children throughout their entire lives. In this day and age, divorce is becoming more and more common among American families. As a matter of fact, according to DivorceMag.com, 10% of the population in the US is now divorced. That may not seem like a lot, but this number has risen 2% every ten years since 1980. If that’s not enough for you, here is another shocking statistic: According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, in 2001 alone, 50% of all marriages ended in divorce, and the number has only been growing as time has gone on. And speaking as somewhat of an expert on the subject, I believe there are a number of ways to cope with it.

Divorce happens for a reason and more often than not, the aftermath can be hard and troubling for some. When my parents were first divorced, I didn’t know what to do. Since I was so young at the time (6 years old), I wasn’t completely sure how to deal with it or whose fault it was. I felt like I should be taking sides, but I didn’t know whose side I should’ve been on. To make matters worse, my parents would often fight, whether it be over the phone or in person, and it took a toll on me emotionally. I had never seen this side of either of my parents and I didn’t know what to think of it, all I knew was that I was confused and somewhat scared of what the future was going to hold.


Most people will find that one of the biggest problems that comes along with parents getting divorced is the realization that you now have “two” families. That is, you’ve got your dad and his family, and your mom and her family. This may seem like a tall task to undertake at first, but if you balance your time correctly, it can most certainly be done. Whichever parent you’re living with, try to visit the other either every weekend, or every other weekend. When my parents first were divorced, I would alternate weekends staying at their houses. It was a good way to still see my mom, whom I didn’t live with, and at the same time spend time with my dad. Also, try to arrange some impromptu meetings for lunch or dinner with the other.

Keeping the lines of communication open are also very important when dealing with divorced parents. As it is with any relationship, communication is key to maintaining a happy, healthy relationship. Try to make time to shoot your parent a text or a quick phone call during the day, just to tell them that you were thinking about them and you love them. It’ll make you feel better and it’ll let the parent know that he/she is still wanted even though they aren’t in your life as much anymore.

Child psychologists also agree that the best way for teens to cope with divorce is to avoid turning them against their parents. Choosing sides will lead to even more dissension within the family and could possibly terminate the lines of communication for good. Family therapist Isolina Ricci agrees with this theory. “When children are free to love both of their parents without conflict of loyalty, to have access to them both without fear of losing either, they can get on with the totally absorbing business of growing up, on schedule.”

While divorce pales in comparison to many other problems to some, to others it can prove to be quite the obstacle to overcome. Coping with it is a day by day healing process that takes the combined effort of both parents and their children alike, but can be beneficial to both if done correctly. After all, in life, what does not kill us makes us stronger.

Life! The Musical

Life is music, music is art... I don’t know where I’m going with this. Just read the damn article.

By Cody Quinn
Editor-in-Chief

Like so many of you Internet surfers out there, I use music to get me through otherwise uneventful days. Yes, the glory of that $300 piece of plastic I so fondly call Harley (What? You don’t name your iPod?) is truly beyond measure. Without Harley, work would be a drab experience, I might have to say, “Hello,” to people when I walk down the halls of our beloved HCC, and, worst of all, I might have an attention span somewhat longer than that of the average squirrel.

However, without the proper listening material, my iPod would be about as useful as President Bush’s diction coach. My precious Harley contains roughly 3,000 songs nestled in her tender little hard drive, with each and every song tailor fitted for all the tiny nuances of my life.

Perhaps at this point you are wondering how you can have a perfect mp3 player like I do. You may also be wondering if I will somehow find my way to giving you some handy dandy examples. Furthermore, you may be curious as to how millions of dollars in untraceable cash could be lost on the way to Iraq. If you are wondering about the last question, you are too smart for this article and must leave before your brain is irreparably harmed. You’ve been warned.

When looking for music to download on to your digital storage device, there are two, and only two, ways to go about it. The first is the easiest: take a look in the mirror. By using the handy tool known as “stereotyping”, you will be able to find music that suits you perfectly.

For example: does your hair come to a laceration-inducing point? Do you wear Che Guevara T-shirts, “Fight the Power” patches, and a jean jacket with the Union Jack on the back and have no clue what any of them symbolize? Then rock is for you. If you haven’t already, look into bands like Bad Religion (older stuff), the Sex Pistols, and the Meat Puppets just to take the edge off.

From the Sex Pistols to Mos Def, you can use any music to describe your life.
Images courtesy of www.theage.com.au and www.dustygroove.com

Can you decipher words that are spoken at roughly the speed of light? Do you believe that, “Pimpin ain’t easy,” and know that it’s hilarious for little kids to be singing, “Skeet, skeet, skeet?” Then rap is surely for you. Of course, trying to recommend rap groups/artists is like tip-toeing across a minefield of allegiances and personal tastes. Having said that, Mos Def, Immortal Technique, Common, and Kanye West are always worth a listen.

The second method of finding music is somewhat more personal: selecting music to suit your many moods. The best way to do this is to find out where your mood most commonly lies. If you’re a melancholy person, you’ll want to load up on artists like Brand New, Snow Patrol, Plain White Ts, or any other band that handles a breakup by throwing on some make-up and clumsily strumming an acoustic guitar. “Sowing Season” by Brand New and “Run” by Snow Patrol are bound to keep you sullenly content.

As in life, if you are of a generally happy temperament, you have more options. A joyous person has more genres to choose from, including 90’s alt rock, rap, and pop. The sky’s the limit for you, but some songs that will never let you down from the cloud you’re floating on are “Steal my Sunshine” by Len, “Taxi Cab” by Gym Class Heroes, and “Calculus” by 2Gether.

Finally, I know lots of you out there are uncertain when it comes to selecting music that best fits your “romantic” moods. Let’s face it: being equipped with the right song can mean the difference between playing patty cake with you partner, or giving yourself a low five. Of course, there are the old standards: “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye, anything by Barry White, and for the super subtle, “Too Close” by Next.

You’re better than that, though, so consider widening your approach to more thoughtful music. Want to make a girl go weak in the knees? Try “Into the Mystic” by the Wallflowers. Ladies, want to show your man you mean business? “I Love My Sex” by Benny Benassi is perfect to let him know he’s in for the time of his life. If you want to have a song on that signifies some kind of “love,” “21 Questions” by 50 Cent is surprisingly sweet.

That is only a glimpse into the process of custom fitting the music world to your particular lifestyle. If, on the very off chance, you find my two methods ineffective in finding music, there are two outside sources that are pretty good at filling out your collection. Websites like www.pandora.com and www.lastfm.com are great for opening your mind to artists similar to the ones you already like, and learning what type of music people like you like.

With that, and to get you thinking in the right direction, here’s a sample of an average day in my life as outlined by songs from my sweet, sweet Harley.

A Day in the Life of Cody Quinn

1. Pure Morning- Placebo
2. Phenomena- Yeah Yeah Yeahs
3. So Fresh and So Clean- Outkast
4. Working in a Coal Mine- Lee Dorsey
5. Joker and the Thief- Wolfmother
6. ABC- The Jackson Five
7. Orange Crush- R.E.M.
8. Don’t Stop Believing- Journey
9. Amphetamine- Everclear
10. Strawberry Wine- Deanna Carter
11. Sinnerman- Nina Simone
12. Tyler- Toadies

At Least I Am Funny

Me vs. Me
Photo taken by Chris McMahon

What happens when the laughter stops? Uncovering the insecurities masked by a good sense of humor.

By Rebecca Starke
News You Can Use Editor

This idea of self-confidence has always plagued me. I have a loving family, great friends, strong sense of self, and a great sense of humor that I consider my forte. Despite my list of attributes, I have trouble facing certain issues like weight, career, and relationships or lack there of, and replace it with a joke, anecdote, or an impression that will no doubt turn the attention away from these issues and focus on my ability to be witty.

I am going to hit the nail right on the head and address the biggest issue that I think in certain aspects affects the other issues: my weight. My weight fluctuates more than the than the coke scale at Lindsey Lohan’s house. I am not a delusional person. I am aware of the fact that I could stand to lose a few; the step forward was figuring out how I got here and why it’s a reoccurring problem: I eat my feelings. When I am upset, nothing makes me happier that a juicy burger followed by a huge bowl of ice cream. If it’s been a really bad day, I seek comfort in pizza, as if having a salad could somehow make me feel worse. This uplift only lasts about five minutes until I realize that this is the reason I could only wear a black dress/moo moo this summer.

Finding something to wear isn’t my only dilemma, it’s finding the motivation and time to do something about it. I have become one of my biggest pet peeves, someone who constantly complains about something that they are unwilling to change. I will go in spurts of tremendous energy and motivation to get off the couch and exercise. However, those spurts are short-lived and the re-runs of Friends seem much more important when the time comes to make the choice. Hence the fluctuation; welcome to my vicious cycle.

While the rest of my friends made the wise decision to continue higher education, I dropped out when I was 20 to work at TGIFriday’s where my worth was determined by my pieces of flair. I wore 37. I have since quit my job at the home of the Ultimate Hawaiian Volcano and Sesame Jack Strips and moved on to a desk job where the only requirements are that I show up on time, and I don’t get too drunk at the Christmas party. Hats and suspenders are optional. Having a full time job where you are confined to a desk and a phone is a huge element of the weight gain, that and the warehouse guy that insists on bringing in doughnuts every morning,. Thanks, Ron.

I am 27, a sophomore in college, and feeling really behind when compared to those I surround myself with. I wouldn’t say that what I do for a living is an embarrassing job. It’s just boring and not really what I see myself doing for the rest of my life. So to mix it up a little, when I go out with my friends and meet new people, I have adopted an alias thanks to Karen from Will and Grace, Anastasia Beaverhousen, the sex therapist for senior citizens. I am not really proud of this little white lie and I apologize if any of you have been the victim in this little prank, but in my defense, it was really fun.

I am single and loving it! Or am I? I have done a really good job convincing myself that my lack of a relationship is by choice and I just don’t have time for it right now. The truth? I would love to be in a relationship! However, my track record these days consists of a wedding date that fell asleep at the head table at a wedding and a guy who’s engaged, yet failed to tell me. I refuse to believe that this is what’s left for the single gal. The lack of prospects isn’t the only setback; I am surrounded by people that are all married or in relationships. With that being said, my married friends aren’t in the business of “let’s go guy hunting.” There is also the issue of my weight; could that be a reason for the lack of prospects? As I slap myself across the face for being so ridiculous, I remember that although attraction is important, I would like to stay away from those that shallow.

When asked why I am not in a relationship, I usually respond as Bridget Jones would, “Because underneath my clothes, I am completely covered in scales.” That usually ends the conversation! When I do meet possible prospects, by the time I reach that point of interest, this person already thinks my name is Anastasia Beaverhousen, the sex therapist. How does one get out of that lie with an invitation for a date? I might be better off using the “bend~n~snap,” and just tell them my real name.

Despite the fact that sometimes these insecurities get the best of me, I know who I am, and I like that person. I know that regardless of my form, I am a genuine person with a generous heart and I surround myself with people who reflect those qualities. I do know at the end of the day, these issues don’t determine my worth and in the grand scheme of things it’s who you are on the inside that is the measure of a person. But if for some reason I find myself reaching 500 pounds, with a job selling ceiling tiles, and end up an old spinster living with 30 cats, I do know this---At least I will have my humor!

Just Breathe

Sometimes what we think we want isn't always what we need.

By Jessica Rougeau
Senior Staff Writer

This moment seemed to make its way into my life all too quickly. I felt utterly ambushed and came to the startling conclusion that perhaps I was not as ready for this as I thought. The next morning I'd be heading off to college.

As I scanned the old room around me, the room I’d lived in most of my life, I thrived off the comfort that at least things here would be just as I left them when I came home. The leaving really was the worst part in all of this. I'd be leaving my family, friends, and a romantic relationship I knew would suffer, but with mutual promises to work through it, we agreed to stay together. I went to bed that night so nervous I didn't even dream.

Going away to college could have been amazing, if I went there as the person that everyone knew. The person I was before I entered an emotionally abusive and co-dependent relationship. I used to be an extremely outgoing person who welcomed new eye opening experiences, but I found myself holding back constantly and did not have it in me to open up to all these new people I was meeting. As much as I tried to deny it, I knew the cause was this person I was with. This person had been slowly chipping away at all the good parts of me, controlling every single move I tried to make, until I had reached the lowest I'd ever been. I felt like nothing and it inevitably forced me to feel like it was true because I continued to love them and wanted it to work.

This is where everything began to fall apart. I stopped going to class, partied way too much and way too hard, I had an insane amount of trouble sleeping because my mind would race with the worst of thoughts. I kept many of my friends and family up at night worried sick about me, and I was numb to it all for awhile. Everyone did what they could in a powerless situation like this, and the one person I wanted to care the most carried on beautifully without me.

I would come home from school every other weekend to work, and nothing was the way I had left it. My relationship was falling apart. This person was too "busy" to see me, and sometimes we wouldn't speak for entire weeks yet somehow we were still in a relationship. I didn't understand, couldn't understand how a person was capable of treating someone this way. I felt confined and helpless until one night I confessed everything to one of my best friends. I poured out all my pain in front of her, and I finally told her I wanted to die. I was never so serious in my life.

The next morning I heard my mom and brother whispering in the other room. I had an awful sinking feeling that some of what I said last night had gotten to them.

The next thing I knew, I was in a car with my entire family on the way to Yale New Haven Hospital, I was told I'd only stay there a night after talking with a doctor. One night turned into a week. Another car took me to the psych ward and I turned to look out the window at my family, devastated on the sidewalk, as the car pulled away. I repeated in my head "just breathe," like they were the only two words I'd ever known.

During my stay there, I'd met so many girls who had been through much worse, and it motivated me to participate actively in all the programs they had for us and be honest with my doctors because parts of me knew I could do this on my own now.

As scared I was, I know now it saved my life, and my very best friends had everything to do with that. I realized I needed a change of scenery after I returned to school and finished out the semester. I felt it was better to stay closer to home.

I enrolled at Housatonic Community College, supposedly only for a semester, but one semester turned into two and this year I'm beginning my third. Although it took me almost two years to recover from what happened, I know for certain it would have taken longer if I wasn't surrounded by people that love me and good opportunities. My grades have improved, my health and attitude are back to the way they used to be, and my overall outlook on life has completely changed.

I know I've come out of this stronger than I've ever been and learned so much about people, love, and relationships that I refuse to make those same mistakes again.

It's important to persevere through the hard times in order to be grateful for the good ones and to prove to yourself that giving up is not an option.