"A Healthier Way of Life," Kara DeGroote

A Healthier Way of Life

Kara DeGroote

A staggering 67% of the American population today is overweight and 34% is obese. Another 16% have high cholesterol, 30% have hypertension, and 21% smoke. Even 42% of people will develop cancer in their lifetime (Fahey, Insel, & Roth, 2011). Technological innovations sometimes lead us to believe that we are healthier today than early humans were thousands and thousands of years ago. Today we have the benefit of cars, television, cell phones, and readily available food and drink, but could we actually be taking steps backwards in terms of living healthier lifestyles?            

First we must define what it means to be healthy. According to Fahey, Insel, and Roth (2011), leading a healthy lifestyle means being physically active, eating a healthy diet, choosing a healthy diet, maintaining a healthy body weight, managing stress effectively, and avoiding harmful substances. Consequently, obesity, heart disease, cancer, and other common health issues are related to leading unhealthy lifestyles typically associated with sedentary lifestyles, overconsumption along with large portions, smoking, and genetics.  As you may have guessed, unhealthy lifestyles have increasingly become the norm for average people (Fahey, Insel, & Roth).

In contrast to humans today, the earliest humans, sometimes referred to as Cro-Magnons or cavemen, led entirely different lifestyles (Lambert, 2012). These Cro-Magnon people inhabited the earth as early as 140,000 years ago up until about 10,000 years ago with the advent of the agricultural revolution (Cavalli-Sforza, 2002). They were physically the same as modern humans today, but they led successful nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyles. They usually foraged for seeds, berries, roots, and nuts, and hunted game such as mammoth, reindeer, red deer, bison wild horses and fish (Lambert). Since there was no farming, they didn’t eat large amounts of grains (Khan, 2009). They were physically active for the majority of the day (Hutchinson, 2011).

You might be thinking why, in the era of the iPhone 5 and hybrid cars, would a lifestyle similar to that of a caveman be beneficial for a person like me? Hutchinson (2011) answers this question quite simply. He explains that evolution takes place over thousands and thousands of years. The human DNA must develop successful mutations over time which support more modern ways of life.  These successful mutations occur when mutated DNA in a specific individual enables that individual to live more successfully in his or her environment, thus giving that individual a higher chance of surviving and passing on the beneficial mutated gene to future generations. Examples include mutations that allow humans to digest dairy or better digest grains. While humans are evolving faster now that the population is much larger (allowing more chances for gene mutations), human bodies are still not adjusted for their modern agricultural diets and (lack of) physical activities (Hutchinson).

Consider a day in the life of a caveman versus a day of a typical person today. Our aboriginal ancestors might gather berries or hunt some game upon waking (Hutchinson, 2011). Today, a person wakes up, puts on his or her eyeglasses, walks a few steps into the kitchen, and then prepares some buttery pancakes. A caveman would continue his or her day by looking for food or fashioning tools (Lambert, 2012). A person today would walk to his or her car, drive to work, and sit at a desk from nine to five. On a good day, he or she may briefly exercise. Next will be time to watch some television. For a caveman, exercise was necessary in order to keep pace with other nomadic tribal members and find food (Hutchinson). Cavemen were constantly performing a wide range of activities (Lambert). The option to sit still might not always present itself. Now let’s think about dinner. A modern day person might microwave a convenient frozen pasta dish and maybe have a little ice cream for dessert. A caveman would once again have to forage for his or her next meal that would consist of largely of lean meat, fruits, and vegetables (Hutchinson).

First let’s look at why a caveman’s diet is healthier in so many ways than the average human’s diet today. When Cro-Magnons roamed the earth, they were nomadic hunters and gatherers (Lambert, 2012). They ate what they could find which consisted of wild game, fruits (and not the extra sweet and less fibrous varieties we have today), and vegetables (Khan, 2009). The advent of agricultural grain products and animal domestication didn’t come until later, ultimately leading to our modern-day lifestyles (Hutchinson, 2011). Countless diet books advocate cutting carbs and dairy products while enjoying fresh produce and lean meats (Bhatia, 2011).  Thus, a buttered pancake is unnatural for a human body. The flour pancake is filled with carbs, and the butter has trans fats and dairy products.

You might be wondering why our bodies would crave such seemingly unhealthy foods like the carbs found in pancakes. Carbs like grains, potatoes, and sugar were difficult to come by for cavemen, and these agricultural products were loaded with energy (Khan, 2009). This extra energy could make a huge difference for a caveman struggling to find food, so cavemen were naturally inclined to eat as many carbs as they could. Today, however, carbs are in abundance. People typically eat more than 300 grams of carbs per day (like pancakes, pasta, and ice cream), a figure drastically more than the recommended amount of 130 grams (Fahey, Insel, & Roth, 2011). Our bodies cannot handle carbs in excess and react by converting them into fat (Khan), leading to a plethora of problems associated with obesity for people today like diabetes (Fahey, Insel, & Roth).

For all the drawbacks of carbs, there are equal incentives to eat fruits and vegetables (Khan, 2009). Fruits and vegetables filled are not only with nutrients, but also with phytochemicals or antioxidants. Antioxidants help prevent free radicals and cancer. Fresh foods like cavemen ate are far superior to processed foods we typically eat today (Hutchinson, 2011).

Furthermore, cavemen employed a better method of eating. They ate small meals throughout the day because of their hunter-gatherer lifestyles (Hutchinson, 2011). This style of eating maintained their blood sugar at relatively consistent levels. Today, when people eat three meals per day, their blood sugar often drops in between meals. These dips in blood sugar cause them to crave snacks and thus overeat to compensate for the cravings Additionally, eating small meals throughout the day keeps your metabolism active. When you eat big meals a few times per day, your metabolism slows which can result in weight gain (The importance, 2011).

Common knowledge tells us that those who lead more physically active lifestyles are healthier. Cavemen were constantly physically active, traveling average distances of five to sixteen kilometers per day (Hutchinson, 2011). Cavemen also had short bouts of vigorous and intense exercise that modern day health experts are beginning to recommend (Bhatia, 2011) instead of prolonged, less intense exercise.  Today, 60% of Americans don’t meet the recommended guidelines for physical activity, and 25% of Americans aren’t active at all (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2012). The constant exercise of a caveman is a sharp contrast to the majority of modern Americans who aren’t even attaining the bare minimum exercise needed for a healthy life.

One rather unfortunate consequence of our modern-day medical developments means that the human race as a whole is growing genetically weaker. Only early humans who possessed genes that enabled them to survive long enough to reproduce were able to pass on their genetic code. Today, medical advances such as asthma medication allow physically weak people to pass on their weak genes. A caveman with asthma most likely would have died early in life or would not have been able to compete with others to collect food. Today a person with asthma, like me, is able to live a long life instead and perhaps give my own future children asthma. According to Cavalli- Sforza (2002), medicine “allows the survival of certain types of disabilities, which are bound to increase their incidence” (p. E-53).  The author also adds that “curable genetic diseases and handicaps are likely to increase in numbers, both relative and absolute” (p. E-53).  Experts predict that human’s current antibiotics will eventually be unable to compete with infectious parasites that have evolved alongside them over the past 150 years. Thus, technological innovations are creating an overall less fit human race (Cavalli-Sforza).

Last, cavemen lived in an environment that facilitated health and wellbeing. Cavemen lived in a world free of the pollution and carcinogens we must deal with today. They had no cars to produce smog, no cigarettes, no pesticides, and no plastic to microwave. They didn’t have the ease of a grocery store that we do today. They had to work to find wholesome, healthy food. Without the same benefits of shelter, they were forced to be in the sun. With later discovery, we now know that sun is a necessary part of our lives.  Those of us who spend their entire days inside are not acquiring our fill. People need time in the sun to create Vitamin D that is necessary for bone health, and cancer and cardiovascular disease prevention. Finally, cavemen were not only healthier physically, but mentally. They had much lower levels of stress than we do today. According to Hutchinson (2011), “In the typical hunter-gatherer life long periods of low stress were punctuated with short bouts of acute stress that triggered the fight-or-flight response. In contrast, modern office workers often show signs of chronically elevated stress, which can have consequences such as a weakened immune system.”

All in all, cavemen led healthier lifestyles than people today in more than one way. They ate wholesome, healthy foods, all the while limiting their carb intake. They ate small, frequent meals, therefore maintaining their blood sugar. They were physically active for far longer everyday. They naturally maintained only their healthiest genes, thus creating a strong race.  They even lived in an environment that fostered health and wellness.

While we may no longer need to live in caves or hunt and forage for our food, we can still learn something from the caveman way of life. We can take advantage of modern day medical advances and transportation, but still incorporate a diet and exercise similar to that of a caveman.

References

Bhatia, R. (2011, February 06). Adopt a caveman lifestyle. Mail Today. Retrieved from http://www.lexisnexis.com.libproxy.furman.edu/hottopics/lnacademic/?shr=t&csi=365192&sr=("Adopt a caveman lifestyle")

Cavalli-Sforza, L. (2002) Human genetic and linguistic diversity: Genetics and the future of humanity. Encyclopedia of Evolution.  New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2012, March 07). Exercise statistics. Retrieved from http://www.statisticbrain.com/exercise-statistics/

Fahey, T. D., Insel, P. M., & Roth, W. T. (2011). Fit & Well: Core concepts and labs in physical fitness and wellness.  New York, NY: McGraw-Hill.

Hutchinson, A. (2011, November 21). Paleo lifestyle; should you go caveman? The Globe and Mail. Retrieved from http://www.lexisnexis.com.libproxy.furman.edu/hottopics/lnacademic/?shr=t&csi=303830&sr=("THE PALEO LIFESTYLE: SHOULD YOU GO CAVEMAN?")

The importance of eating small portions. (2011). Fitday. Retrieved from http://www.fitday.com/fitness-articles/nutrition/healthy-eating/the-importance-of-eating-small-portions.html

Khan, A. (2009, November 7). Why low carb diets work. Retrieved from http://www.youmeworks.com/whylowcarb.html

Lambert, T., (2012). The Cro-Magnons. Retrieved from http://www.localhistories.org/cro-magnon.html

"First Passion’s Let-down," Lily Statzer

First Passion’s Let-down

Lily Statzer

BOOM!!!CRACK!!!WOOSH!!! As a little girl these simple sounds would drive me into the most sheltered corner of my parent’s room with tears streaming down my face as I shiver from pure fright while my mother would attempt to comfort me while holding back snippets of laughter. Now, why was my mother laughing while her little girl was scared to death? It was probably that ever since I can remember, I would plant myself in front of the television every time my favorite tornado and violent weather TV shows would air.

Yeah, that was me, deathly afraid of thunderstorms, yet I marveled over the magnificent twisters on the TV shows “Stormchasers” and “Storm Stories.” I was caught between reality and fiction. Typical right? The girl whose dreams are bigger than her fears, the girl who dreams for a fairytale ending, although that’s all just in the movies. “Suck it up!” I kept telling myself, “you are never going to be like the storm chasers if you can’t even sit through a tiny storm without crying your eyes out!” I could barely stand to see lightning, crippled over at the sound of thunder, and ended up shivering at the sound of torrential rain and violent wind. Yet, I would be in awe over streaking lightning bolts, crackling thunder, falling  in love in the sheer beauty of tornados.

Some are short and fat, others are tall and sleek. The massive, blacker-than-black twisters appear to be nothing more than an ominous thundercloud approaching over the land, but they bear down upon a town like a pro-wrestler would upon that skinny nerd from math class. The slender ones dance, twist, and turn sporadically in their gray and earth-toned bodies wearing skirts of a transparent black. How this amazingly murderous force of nature is able to draw such love and admiration from a five-foot girl who couldn’t stand a small thunderstorm? Well, that’s a mystery.

My love for violent weather events began when I was little, but my passion jumpstarted when I saw one “Stormchasers” episode in particular that compelled my heart and soul towards storm chasing. I sat mesmerized as I watched the team cease their pursuit of the mile-wide EF4-tornado to aid the recently stricken town and quickly realize that they were by far the first ones on the scene. As they rummaged through the rubble, they heard a man yelling for help. When the team dug him out, they discovered he had a serious neck injury and carefully carried him almost a mile to the nearest accessible road where an ambulance was waiting.

I aspired to be like the people on “Stormchasers,” to risk my life researching the sciences behind the twisters in order to better the warning systems and save the millions of people who live in tornado-prone areas. And in order to fulfill my aspirations and passion, there was one place I needed to be: The Rosensteil School of Marine and Atmospheric Sciences at the University of Miami.

You know that feeling when you first discover your life’s passion and you do your best to climb those necessary steps you need to get there, then you discover each step seems to become steeper as you climb and eventually you feel obligated and conflicted to see it through all the way to the end?

I do.

I applied to the University of Miami early decision, I had excellent recommendations—one of whom was an alumni who went on to discover genetics behind multiple sclerosis and teach at Harvard and Yale. I did interviews with the Dean of the Rosensteil School, I kept constant contact, I kept my grades up—I was deferred—I waited, I kept positive, I had even more recommendations calling the President of UM on my behalf, I heard nothing, my friend was accepted early action—I was waitlisted and accepted for spring semester. So I gave Miami a big FU and then went to Furman University instead.

Just to be clear, I’m not hating on my good ol’ FU, but it did mess up my entire life plan. Instead I began on an Environmental Science major narrowed to Earth’s systems and atmosphere so I could continue to Miami for graduate school.

After a little over a month at Furman of learning, growing, and attempting to discover myself as one is supposed to when they enter college, I began to think, “Is environmental science really the best choice for me? Will it take me in the direction I want to go in?” And in that moment, my mind drifted through my past landing on an indescribable combination of shock and excitement. The neuron—dendrites, cell body, axon, Schwann cell, node of Ranvier, axon terminals—I understood it, the one area in my AP Biology class that instantly anchored itself in the depths of my mind. The body’s control center and billions of its workers, constantly sending and receiving packages of chemical signals.

They say when people leave for college that they come back a new person, that they have changed. They’re wrong. What people become in college is what they have always been. That part of them was just buried and slowly dug up with each passing day until eventually they uncover his or herself. Maybe that’s what really happened to me. Maybe meteorology has always been a part of who I am, but just maybe neuroscience was always there hiding in the shadows of my passions slowly being drawn out like a scared child. My AP Biology class, the enthusiasm of the teacher, my friend’s tales of his time as a neuroscience major, and my excited response to the complaining of my roommate about the brain science in her psychology class all lured my interest in neuroscience to a place of serious consideration.

What should I major in, environmental science or neuroscience? What if I change my major too many times and I don’t have enough credits to graduate in time? What if I fail in neuroscience? What do I do if I can’t handle the amount work neuroscience requires? I have no idea what my future holds for me or how I will handle the challenges. All I know is that I am in the process of discovering who I am and I know not going to the University of Miami will not be the first major speed bump in my life plan.

So what do I think about all of this?

Yes, it’s commonly known that the average college student changes his or her major three ftimes or something. Yes, its true that the life you plan for yourself will definitely not be the life you will end up with. Yes, its probable that I will change my major three times or something. Yes, its probable that my life plan will be shot down and twisted until its unrecognizable again.

No, I will not let the inevitable crush me again, I will stand tall and embrace it because I know it will bring me to the place I belong.

"The Failing State of North America," Colin Pitts

The Failing State of North America

Colin Pitts

Mexico has for years been a stable regime under one political party with similar ruling patterns from president to president.  However underneath this regime grew an increasingly influential and sophisticated crime syndicate that has become an international presence and has become known as the drug cartels.  With the money and power that these cartels gained and exploited they began to work their ways into local governments that are easier to infiltrate than better-financed national officials (Zapata, 2012).  As the power and influence of these cartels expand the ability of the Mexican government to react and respond to their influence over the general population.  Is the Mexican government in danger of becoming a failed state and allowing the cartels to take significant power in Mexico?

In order to classify whether a state is failed one can follow several components of Max Weber’s theory regarding failed states (Clark & Golder, Golder, 2009).  The first of these components is that a nation must have a given territory by which they can rule and collect taxes etc.  Mexico has gone over several border control issues over their years since independence from Spain but have never had any serious issue with loss of their or inability to tax certain parts of their nation.  In this sense the nation of Mexico seems to be holding its own and the national government is doing what is expecting by keeping a large landmass under political and governmental power.

The next component regards the use of legitimate force by the state however many scholars have found this definition to be difficult to quantify as the term legitimate has to do with who is viewing the action (Clark & Golder,Golder, 2009).  For example from the view of the cartels or one on the payroll of some of the cartels the use of force to protect your rights to operate freely within the nation of Mexico would seem like a legitimate use of force. 

The third component of Weber’s definition of as state is it must have a monopoly over the use of force (Clark & Golder, Golder, 2009).  This aspect is where Mexico becomes interesting with respect to the cartels and their power.  Just recently in March of 2012 police officers were ambushed by an organized group of gunmen working for a cartel and 12 of the officers were killed (Booth & Kaphile, 2012).  This organized killings shows that while the Mexican army and police force has the man power, funding, and intelligence edge on the cartels, they don’t have the monopoly of force as people are killed nearly every month in cities all over Mexico and the government has no ability to stop it.

The start of this war on drugs in Mexico doesn’t have a clear beginning but one can start with President Filipe Calderon taking office in December and mobilizing 6,500 troops to fight the cartel threat.  This event was the first time that a political leader had taken a stand against the cartels and made an effort to combat their violence.  However, despite the action by president Calderon, the killings don’t stop and by December 2008, just two years after his stand against the cartels, the town of Ciudad Juarez experienced 1,600 homicides in just a year.  This statistic makes Ciudad Juarez one of the most dangerous places in the entire world (Booth & Kaphile, 2012).  The raise in the killings show that not only can a political change do nothing to stymie the cartels ability to operate but introduces a backlash that results in more violence and death.

The killings and assertion of violence by the cartels is always accentuated during the months and weeks leading up to an election or major political action.  The political desires and influence by use of violence can be seen in the street of every major city as elections and political actions flare in Mexico City. While to accurately quantify the amount of people killed in order for cartels to make a political statement, the BBC estimates 12,903 have been killed by January 11^th 2012 (Mexico’s Drug Related Violence, 2012).  This number increases every year and cities become less safe during election time when the cartels make their presence known. 

The war on drugs within Mexico has brought about problems with security with officials being killed like the recent murder of Mayor Gorrostieta on November 17^th (Mexican Mayor Maria, 2012).   Mayors and local officials have become the target of the violence and brutal methods of coercion to keep local governments scared and submissive to the cartels whims.  All these events happening right under the nose of the national government and police forces that are plagued by corruption.

With the start of the campaign against the cartels and the trafficking of drugs came a new concern, some of the worst corruption in a modern law enforcement system.  In recent months violence has been at its peak and Ted Galen Carpenter reports:

In another incident, a bloody gun battle ensued in downtown Tijuana when police attempted to stop a drug trafficker’s armed motorcade. The commander of the police unit and three officers were killed by the trafficker’s bodyguards. Those bodyguards, it turned out, were local police officers.

The real plight of the war against drugs has turned out to be, how well can the Mexican government as a collective entity work towards a similar goal.  This has proved to be a more trying task then originally anticipated by the Calderon administration when they took their stand in 2006.  The fight against drugs has been plagued by the corruption of police and law enforcement agencies that work for, or provide crucial information to, the cartels that ravage the country with violence.  Not only is this a fundamental problem in controlling drug trafficking and violence within the Mexican state, but also a larger issue of being in control of their personnel, and having the ability to in turn control their nation.  The inability to trust personnel has caused several reforms that have slowed and staggered the process of fighting drugs and has transferred focus internally.   Scott Stewart (2012) writes about these reforms:

In addition to consolidating the federal police forces, Calderon's 2008 police reform plan also called for existing agents and new recruits to undergo a much more thorough vetting process and to receive higher pay. The idea was to build up a more professional force less vulnerable to corruption and better able to fight the cartels.

Its speaks to the control that the government has due to the necessity to raise pay and perform more intense and focused cleansing process to ensure loyalty to their duty spells trouble immediately.  The new professional force is the culmination of distrust and internal struggle that has marred the process that has become known as the Mexican drug war.  In the fight against an organized and deeply influential crime syndicate like the cartels, the last incident that is needed, is to have internal issues regarding your own organization and where law enforcement officer’s loyalties lie. 

The state of Mexico’s state is teetering on the edge of becoming a failed state due to their inability to control and tame the violence that has been consistently displayed by the crime organizations that hold so much power in their cities.  The monopoly of force is apparently lacking in Mexico as it has been proven for nearly 7 years that the Mexican government is incapable of maintaining this drug war and effectively stopping the cartels.  While the government has been able to fulfill the first two conditions to be a successful state, the manner in which the cartels have taken the violence to the street exemplifies the fact that there is not a monopoly of force being exercised by the Mexican government whether it is legitimate or not. 

References

Booth, B. ,  & Kaphle, A.  (May 9, 2012).  Timeline: Mexico’s drug war.  The Washington Post.  Retrieved from

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/world/special/mexico-drug-war-timeline/index.html

Carpenter, T. G.  (September 4, 2012).  Corruption, drug cartels and the Mexican police.  The National Interest.  Retrieved from

            http://nationalinterest.org/commentary/corruption-drug-cartels-the-mexicanpolice-7422

Clark, W., Golder, M., Golder, S.  (2009).  Principles of comparative politics.  Washington, DC:  CQ Press

Mexican Mayor Maria Santos Gorrostieta killed by gunmen was defiant to the end.  (November 28, 2012). Fox News Latino.  Retrieved from.    http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/news/2012/11/28/mexican-mayor-maria-santos-gorrostieta-killed-by-gunmen-was-defiant-to-end/

Q&A: Mexico’s drug-related violence.  (October 9,2012). News Latin America & Caribbean.   Retrieved from

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin- america-10681249

Stewart, S.  (April 9, 2012).  Mexico’s plan to create a paramilitary force.  Stratfor Global Intelligence.  Retrieved from

http://www.stratfor.com/weekly/mexicos-plan-create-paramilitary-force

Zapata, E (June 29, 2012).  Drug cartels ready themselves for Mexico elections.  Fox News Latino.  Retrived from

http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/news/2012/06/29/mexican-drug-cartels-work-to-sway-local-vote/

"Chinese Rock," Fuk Yan Chow

Chinese Rock

Fuk Yan Chow

Teenagers of modern China might think the term “Chinese Rock Music” is funny because we do not believe Chinese has rock music by ourselves. Not to mention people outside China—my English teacher from Britain in high school even asked me if my iPod is filled with songs like Peking Opera.  Actually, as Brace and Friedlander (1992) have shown, Chinese youths have turned to Western-influenced-rock and pop-rooted forms as music choices since the 1980s. Moreover, Google has launched a free music download service in 2008 (Watts, 2008). So we are actually embraced by a diverse music world. Like me, I definitely use Nightwish’s (a rock band) songs as an alarm instead of Peking opera.

However, while young people focus on foreign popular music, we seem to forget China’s own rock culture has been thriving.  The first time I realized that Chinese rock music has begun to taken shape was last summer. My friends invited me to the Midi Festival, according to most of rock fans, the most influential rock festival in China (Midi music festival, 2000).  I asked my friend more than once if I would be bored, and my friend, a big fan of Miserable Faith, a famous rock band in China, smiled: “Just watch.”  After the festival days started, I was totally shocked by the enthusiasm of Chinese rock fans. Just like all the fans in the Hollywood Bowl, Chinese fans are crazy about bands they love, and even more fanatical. My friend also said: “Chinese rock fans not only love songs themselves, but also the spirit brought by those rock stars, which have brought a new music world in China. ” During the festival, I gradually sensed that power mentioned by my friend.  Just like Brace and Friedlander (1992) conclude in their essay: “This music represents a serious and critical challenge, both to traditional music form (and to those who make their living with them) and to the hegemony of the government as the legitimate arbiter of Chinese culture” (p. 115). This power, then, positively influenced my attitudes towards Chinese rock--I started to like this music.

So I started listening to Chinese rock music. The first CD of Chinese Rock I bought is Rock 'N' Roll on the New Long March by Cui Jian. According to Steen (1996), the album is “China’s first rock album.” The song “Nothing to My Name” (also in English known as “I Have Nothing”) is commonly referred as the most classic song in Chinese Rock history. According to Cui Jian himself, rock-and-roll is anti-tradition and anti-culture. While I am listening to his songs, I do feel his power brought by his voice as a rebel, but no offensive words can be found in his lyrics even though we can trace his anger and regret towards the society in his sentences. I believe that is the most amazing of Chinese rock itself, after all, under pressure of music press administration and government, nothing obviously rebellious could be published.  Apparently Chong (1991) had the same view as me: “Cui Jian is a master of exercising political criticism in an indirect, poetic manner” (p. 62). Chong takes Cui Jian’s excellent song “Let Me Sleep” as an example. In this song, Cui Jian makes the bridge speak by acting like that bridge. He imitates how the bridge is complaining: “I have heard enough crying and laughing, I have carried enough horse carts, bridal sedan chairs, motor cars, and guns.”  No words in the songs are talking about communism, but I just felt the incompetence of the government, both at that time and this time. The song is about Lugouqiao, known in English as Marco Polo Bridge. All Chinese know this part of history; the LugouqiaoIncident is the first shot of war between China and Japan (Xiang, 2012, p. 6). The bridge would have a good sleep after the war was over. However, Cui Jian wrote “it never had a good sleep” many years after the war ends. Obviously, the society and government at his time did not satisfy him: not only the bridge but also he never had a good sleep. Chong has also concluded the following:

The bridge - famous, old and worn-out - is a symbol of Chinese culture itself. It has had its fill of traffic, commerce, war, progress, and other turbulent events, and its plea to be left alone reflects the desire for peace and quiet of the ordinary Chinese. They are tired of writing history, of making war, of fulfilling, century after century, the demands, which their leaders put to them for the supposed sake of the nation.（p. 63)

So, for me, Cui Jian has a story and has his own understanding of stories of a bridge, a river, a stone, and all living and non-living objects. Once a song expresses a story, the story gives the song a soul. Unlike vulgar loves songs of Chinese music industry, which are sold well but has no actual content just be filled with hollow words. Cui Jian’s rock is more pure and fresh even with his ordinary words. As one of the young and restless generations, we may rather listen to nightwish, nirvana, and other mental bands because we feel relaxed and high when embraced by this music. And it may be weird if you hear Cui Jian’s rock in a nightclub. However, Cui Jiang’s songs are what you will never be sick of after hearing hundreds of times. They help me to settle down, quietly listened to a story and feel the growth of Chinese rock n roll.

Because I went to the second day of Midi 2011, I choose bands performed on that day as my second stop on the way of Chinese rock n roll, including Miserable Faith, Cold Fairyland, Yaksa and so on.  Among these, Miserable Faith has raised my interest. It is a combination of Cui Jian and Nightwith in my opinion. Some of their songs, like On The Road, if translated into English, will not be doubted that they are from Nightwish. The lead singers of the two bans have similar voices. It is rare to hear such voice in China and therefore it is special. Other songs like “Xihu” (also known in English as “West Lake”), has a similar style to Cui Jian, which is a song of a beautiful story. Xihu, one of the most beautiful lakes in China, which is in the city I live and has impressed me strongly, so as this song. I can feel what MF wants to express. When I leave Hangzhou, leave West Lake, and went here to the USA, I suddenly feel sad and start to miss my hometown after a few months. The song not only arouses people’s wistfulness of their hometown, but also families and lovers. In such a indirect description, only people who came with stories would understand.

In conclusion, Chinese Rock has been developing for years and has already formed a complete and mature system. Most of Chinese Rock songs are worth listening to again and again. In this fickle society, people need to find a way to express their anger and release their pressure. In any rock event, I think both listener and performer would be satisfied by music. I hope foreign music lovers would change their view of Chinese music and accept the brand new Chinese rock.

References

Brace, T., & Friedlander, P. (1992). Rock and roll in the New Long March: Popular music, cultural identity, political opposition of People's Republic of China. In R. Garofalo (Ed.), Rockin' the boat (pp. 115-129). Cambrige, MA: South End Press.

Chong, W. L. (1991). Young China's voice of the 1980s: Rock star Cui Jian. China Information, 55-74. doi:10.1177/0920203X9100600106

Midi music festival. (2000). Retrieved August 27, 2012, from Rock in China! website: http://midiweb.rockinchina.com/w/Midi_Productions

Shanghai midi music festival 2011. (n.d.). Retrieved April 4, 2012, from Rock in China! website: http://www.rockinchina.com/w/Shanghai_Midi_Music_Festival_2011

Steen, A. (1996). Der lange Marsch des Rock 'n' Roll: Pop- und Rockmusik in der Volksrepublik China. Hamburg, Germany: Lit Verlag.

Watts, M. (2008, August 6). Google launches free music download service in china. Computerweekly. Retrieved from http://www.computerweekly.com/news/2240086593/Google-launches-free-music-download-service-in-China

Xiang, A. (n.d.). The communist-instigated Marco Polo bridge incident. Retrieved August 25, 2012, from Republicanchina website: http://www.republicanchina.org/homepage.html

"The Car Accident," Caroline Anderson

The Car Accident

Caroline Anderson

Ashley just hit my car. The hood of my 2002 Acura TL is now underneath the wheels of her 1998 Toyota Rav 4. I stare at what I can see of my car from the passenger seat in her car, and I am dumfounded. I am speechless. My friends Matt and Robert open their car doors, stand, and then stare. Matt, the first to state the obvious, starts doubling over in laughter. Robert, clueless, follows in Matt’s example, turns to him, looks at the car, and then also starts laughing hysterically. Through the haze of laughter, my only conceivable thought is why on God’s green earth does all the bad stuff happen to me. Of all the cars in the parking lot, why is it that my car is the one that’s hit? Why doesn’t Ashley pay more attention?

As Ashley and I sit in the car, the laughter from lunch quickly comes to an end as we stare into the windshield of my car. As her foot releases the gas pedal and quickly finds the brake, she reverses and nearly misses the car parked behind her. I’m sure the redneck that owned the monster truck would be even less pleased than I that his prized possession had a dent in it. I leave the Toyota to assess my surroundings while my brain empties of all thought. Do I laugh or do I cry? So far the appropriate response from everyone else is to laugh. Then again if I had seen a car literally hop on top of another I might find some hilarity in it too. However, my car was underneath the Toyota. Not Ashley’s, not Matt’s, not Robert’s, but mine.

I finally obtain a good view of the hood, and as my brain starts to function, it quickly fills with worry and hysterics. I might be in serious trouble with my parents. My dad is crazy about his vehicles, and the Acura used to be his. I wasn’t even the person driving. I was just a participant, maybe even an innocent bystander. I’m sure when I tell my parents about the incident they’ll find some way to blame me for it though. For example, why didn’t I tell her to slow down or pay more attention to the road? Why was she racing Robert to begin with? This accident would sound pretty ridiculous if I told my dad we wanted a better parking spot than Robert; then I’ll definitely be paying for the repairs.

Accidents happen all the time. I don’t blame Ashley for the accident, even though I did at the time. Yes, I was angry, and wish the incident never occurred, but she is still my friend. No accident would cause us to stop being friends. We have gone through some trials, such as disagreements over boys or school, but we will always be there for one another. We drifted apart our senior year, but maybe that’s my fault for never being there for her. I missed several of her cheerleading competitions and she probably felt like I didn’t care. When I started working at Atlanta Bread Company I wasn’t able to spend as much time with my friends as I wanted to. Whenever I had any free time I usually spent that time sleeping. Overall, I think as we become older and mature, time sometimes pulls friends farther apart from one another.

Relationships are supposed to change between friends, as we age and mature; I understand that, but why? Why can’t we continue just as we have for the past eighteen years? For example, living with our parents hasn’t been that terrible. We complain we want independence, but what for? While we’re growing up our parents pay for everything we do. They provide food, shelter, clothing, and education—not to mention they actually care what happens to us. What would we have if we didn’t have our parents to support us? Family and friends are necessary. Family and friends are supposed to make you happy when you’re sad and help you through the difficult parts of life. Family and friends are supposed to care, and it seems like Ashley, Robert, and Matt clearly don’t care as much as I thought they did. Maybe I am just over-reacting. I know the car is just a material object, a possession people use to travel from place to place, but I feel like the situation means more.

Ashley, of course, was shocked over the accident, but she didn’t care as much as I thought she would. Our friendship over the past few years suddenly tore us further from one another than I thought possible. We’ve lost meaning to our friendship over the course of a few short months because we can’t communicate with each other any more. For example, one day I had a tough day at work dealing with tiresome customers and exasperating managers and wanted someone to talk to. I called Ashley to let her know why the night was so horrible, and she only wanted to talk about her boyfriend, Matt. I’m always interested to hear what she has to say, but sometimes I just need my friend to listen. Our conversations from now on might as well just consist of, “Hey, what did you think of the weather today?” Friends are supposed to patiently listen to one another, but that communication is supposed to work both ways. What does our friendship mean if we can’t talk to each other? Our once close relationship has suddenly become shallow and trivial.

Teenagers hear adults talk about the stories of their youth and the incidents that tore apart their friendships. I thought my friends and I would be different, but as the school year goes on, we might not be close lifelong friends after all. We’ve applied to different schools and started to resent one another for scholarly accomplishments. We’ve become more competitive and less caring about each other’s personal life. I’ve begun to wonder how I could have become so distant from my friends. Our car accident, minor it may be, is the spark of the beginning of the end. These relationships we form in high school are just a part of our journey to something better and different than what we’re used to. They’re groundwork for the person that we want and will hopefully become. High school may seem like it’s the main focal point of our life, but in reality it’s just a stepping-stone. The car accident will be forgotten, and the symbolized damage that occurred might seem like nothing at all. When we’re forty we might look back on that day and just think of the memorable expression on my face instead of the breaking point of our friendship.

We all grow apart; it’s just a part of life, but why is it so hard to accept that one day my friends might not be as important to me as they once were? Thinking that we’re growing apart doesn’t make me a horrible person; it just depicts the change that we’re all going through. My friends will eventually find a job or a hobby more important than I do; we have to accept it and move on. The car collision represents our differing opinions colliding, as friends we hardly ever fought and because of it we never got to release our anger and frustrations to one another. This epiphany finally became clear to me while I stood in front of my car in Augusta Christian’s parking lot that we’re just becoming different people.

The Acura surprisingly didn’t have a single dent in the hood, when I was calm enough to examine it, not even a tiny scratch. Who knew that what seemed like a catastrophe and grounding waiting to happen is actually nothing more than horrific experience about differing ideas and opinions between friends. Friends will change, but we will always have memories to look back on. It’s important to move on; I can’t keep looking back at the past hoping that one day our friendship will be different. We decide how our future turns out. People might not agree with everything I decide, but it’s my choice.

"Home Is Where the Heart Is: What Makes Home Home?," Laura McMullan

Home Is Where the Heart Is: What Makes Home Home?

Laura McMullan

On my frequent walks through Blackwell base, I pass a sign outside the bathroom that reads “What are you thankful for?” with a black jumbo sharpie tied to a string, encouraging people to answer. My hall mates are thankful for vacuums, weekends, and turkey. I, on the other hand (even though I do appreciate vacuums, weekends, and turkey) am thankful for my home. Olivia Downing, a best friend of mine at Furman who lives on Blackwell 100, calls Blackwell home when she refers to returning to her room. Every time Olivia calls Blackwell home I am surprised because I do not consider Blackwell home. I have too many memories and traditions with friends and family in Birmingham, making Birmingham, Alabama my home.

When I think of home I see the yellowy golden leaves still dangling on tree limbs in Autumn. I feel the cool breeze on the back of my neck, the same breeze twirling leaves through the air.  I feel the warmth of a fire, the smell of smoke, and the tangy but refreshing taste of apple cider. I feel the coziness of boots, sweaters, and scarves. I interact with friendly, caring people as the giving season falls upon us. October through the winter is my favorite time of year because everyone is friendly and happy. Memories make Birmingham my home.

•

One of my favorite memories that triggers thoughts of home is from autumn of my junior year in high school. My best friends, Ilana Engel, Eileen Barry, and Lia Bargeron, and I were still costumeless on October 30^th. After school we met at the Summit to establish what we were going to dress up as for Halloween. The Summit is a huge, beautiful outdoor mall with great food options and is a central location for the suburbs of Birmingham so it serves as our meeting point. Most of my friend memories include the Summit, whether it be dinner, shopping, or just strolling around. My friends and I have a fetish for Mexican food so we ate at Chuy’s, one of our favorite Mexican restaurants with a great view over looking Birmingham, as we discussed costume ideas.

Ilana, the cheesiest of my friends, blurted out cliché ideas like M&Ms or Skittles. Eileen, on the other hand, my most artistic friend, wanted to dress up as something weird like plants. Lia and I were both starving and day dreaming until an Avatar commercial awakened us both as we smirked at each other. The four of us decided last minute to dress up as Avatars. The excitement flowed through our skin, leaving Chuy’s on a mission to hit every store necessary in Birmingham to complete our costumes. We crammed into Eileen’s car, jamming to one of our favorite mix CDs, on our way to the Galleria, a large indoor mall. We searched Hollister Co. first for four electric blue tube tops. We were in luck! Since blue jean shorts were a known commodity, we drove to Halloween Express next to find blue body paint for the skin that would be showing. Luckily Halloween Express still had blue body paint in stock. The cashier assumed we were dressing up as Smurfs, but we were much more creative.

Back in the car, Lia googled Neytiri, the main female character in Avatar, to see what kind of make up she wore. After analyzing the light aqua colors and shimmers on Neytiri’s face we concluded that we could mimic her exotic look with various eyeshadows we already owned; but, with time to spare, we visited Sephora to explore their glitter shadows. Of course we purchased some shadows because they seemed so perfect for the occasion. We left Sephora as they were closing and drove to my house for a sleep over, content with our purchases from the afternoon. When we arrived home and unloaded our costume materials in my room Ilana realized we should have gotten hair accessories to incorporate into braids of some sort. I searched my arts and crafts box and luckily found feathers and beads that would look perfect hanging at the ends of braids. We were all set for Halloween!

I normally did not have people over on week nights but Halloween day happened to fall on D-day so we did not have any homework to complete. D-day is a school-wide community service day planned by our student government where we give back to the community through various projects. Speakers also come talk to us regarding our schools current theme. D-day is special because it brings our school’s community together, giving back to others while everyone is having fun.

Halloween day and D-day disguised as an avatar with my friends was extremely fun but the previous day makes my memory. Eating at Chuy’s with Ilana, Eileen, and Lia, enjoying the view over Birmingham, and journeying across Birmingham finding the missing pieces of our costumes. Simple memories such as this populate my memory as I remember what makes Birmingham my home.

•

A second memory that reminds me of home has become a tradition in my immediate family. Thanksgiving break has always felt much needed to everyone in my family. My Brother Ryan and I get a short break from schoolwork and my parents get a break from the long, stressful workday. Every Thanksgiving morning I wake up and hurry downstairs to make a cup of hot chocolate in the Santa mugs I take out early each year and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with my mother. I have always loved seeing the big floats cruise through the streets of New York City. While the parade is underway my dad usually begins to smoke the turkey in his Big Green Egg we got him for Christmas one year and Ryan sleeps, of course.

Once Ryan wakes up and we are all ready for breakfast we bring Kodiak, our English crème golden retriever, outside to the patio to eat breakfast by the stone fireplace, listening to the crackling as the flames eat away at the firewood. We spend the day relaxing outside, bundled up in sweatshirts and blankets, playing Rumy, a card game from my mother’s childhood. I frustrate Ryan when I play four of a kind instead of a sequence that he can build on and continue to get points. Because of the friendly competitive nature of my family we keep score to allow for entertaining in-game alliances and enemies. This keeps the game interesting. As the afternoon goes on we take a break from the outdoors, moving into the den to watch marathons until dinner. We usually choose to watch the ever-popular Harry Potter or James Bond marathons.

Our Thanksgiving dinner is fairly extravagant with multiple dishes and casseroles but I can only remember the food I put on my plate year after year. My plate always consists of two slices of smoked turkey, a large portion of dressing—gravy covering the turkey and dressing, of course—macaroni and cheese, and salted green beans, to fill the veggie portion of my meal. I have mastered exactly how much food to put on my plate, ensuring I eat it all. The best for last, my dad and I love the delicious chocolate roulage for dessert.

Our stomachs full of a fantastic Thanksgiving feast, we go down stairs to the basement to enjoy a family movie in the media room. The movies we watch are mostly action and thrillers with dramatic plot twists. As much as my mother and I enjoy family movies, we are more concerned with getting our rest for a full day of Black Friday shopping at the Summit, beginning at the 4:00 am Belk early bird sale. We are not quite insane enough to be at Belk’s 2:00 am extra early bird sale, but we joke about how that might be us one day. Some people wonder how fighting through desperate, ruthless crowds at 5:00 in the morning is considered fun—something to wake up for—but I wonder what parts of Black Friday shopping is not considered fun? The entire atmosphere is somewhat insane, but beyond the craziness, the holiday spirit is still present. The charity people ringing bells at the front of department stores make me so happy because they are constant reminders of the caring, holiday season.

My mother and I enjoy a nice, much needed, shopping break and eat lunch at Flip Burger Boutique overlooking the rest of the Summit and Birmingham. After, we stop into one of our favorite stores, Williams-Sonoma, to enjoy a tasty sample of steamy apple cider and a sweet piece of peppermint bark, while browsing the new Santa and reindeer shaped cookie cutters. When 6:00 pm rolls around we bring shopping to an end and head home to begin the rival football weekend, watching Alabama and Auburn battle in the Iron Bowl. My family loves college football so we watch all of the games but we are huge South Carolina fans, so the real game is on that Saturday when South Carolina plays Clemson. Things as simple as watching movies or college football bring my family together, enjoying each other’s company.

•

Everyone has a different idea of home depending on the types of memories made. The statement “Home is where the heart is” is applicable for everyone whether he or she knows why or not. For me, home is every color-changing leave blowing through the wind; home is the view of disappearing ashes from the fireplace floating upward; home is the comforting sigh I release when around my family; home is my realization of wholeness and certainty.

Home can be a physical place, or a sense of closure that you only experience. I have realized that home for me is a little bit of both. Something about Birmingham is friendly and inviting. But then I imagined all of my memories with the same people and the same outcomes in a different city. Of course it would be different, but the homey feeling remains in my soul. The heart of what makes home home is every thought, memory, photograph that makes you feel warm and sentimental. The emotions evoked by memories are priceless because no matter how much time has passed, home—physically or mentally—is never out of reach.

"The Premonition," Timothy Millison

The Premonition

Timothy Millison

Seventeen years, three hundred and sixty-four days seems like a lifetime to a young man. Josh had just returned home from church on a Sunday night. He was excited because tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday. Finally! One of the most exciting days in your life: The day that you are legally recognized as an adult. Exhausted from a long day lifeguarding in the hot sun at the community pool, he had missed church in the morning, and his mom and dad insisted that he attend the evening service. He didn’t feel like dealing with all the crap anymore. He just wanted to go to bed and wake up tomorrow. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on top of his bed still fully dressed in his brown suit. Within minutes, he was out cold.

Josh was a young man, who by age ten, had experienced more than his share of adversity. He was only three when without any warning he was ripped from the only loving environment that he had ever known and thrown into a foster home. He was too young to understand why, but later would learn that his birth mother had a drug and alcohol addiction and couldn’t maintain a steady job. Poof! In the blink of an eye, everything that meant anything to him was gone. At seven, his foster mother passed away, and once again, he found himself floating. An upscale family in a small North Wilmington neighborhood adopted him and his two brothers shortly after. You would think that Josh’s life would have had a positive turn by now; but that is far from the case.   

Dusk is an awkward time in the city. Wealthy executives scramble for their cars tucked neatly away in the parking garages after long days in their offices. Small businesses close their doors and slam down the safety gates. Vendors fold in the hot dog carts and haul them away to the suburbs to work soccer games. The only life you find uptown in the city after dark is for symphony lovers or upper-class theatergoers. Downtown, however is another world. Cop cars fly by with sirens blaring; ambulances rush gunshot victims to local hospitals. Streets teem with gang members looking to start a brawl, and the homeless meander the streets looking for a warm corner to make a bed for the night. 

The local police usually do a decent job of keeping the homeless out of the uptown locale, but on this brisk autumn evening a young man in a tattered brown suit had seemingly slipped through the cracks. There he sat, slumped in a ball against the Grand Opera House back door. He appeared lost both in body and soul. He wasn’t much older than I was and my curiosity was driving me insane. I sat through the first act of Les Miserablestotally unable to concentrate on the performance. All I could think about was the young man. At intermission, I told my mom that I was going to the restroom, and instead, I slipped out the front door and headed around to the back of the building.

“Hi,” I spoke cautiously to him, not really knowing what to expect.

“Oh, hi,” he answered.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“No, I am just hanging here for awhile. How about you?”

“Actually, I was inside watching a show with my family, but I saw you here on our way in, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. You look so lost and alone…”

“Yeah, well, I sort of am. My adopted parents gave me this for my eighteenth birthday.”

I didn’t understand at all what he was saying. Gave him what? I was unsure how to respond. I didn’t want to appear stupid, or too nosy, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt an unexplainable connection to him. I needed to reach out.

“Gave you what exactly?”

“Well, this brown backpack and my independence. They cut me loose!”

I still didn’t quite understand what he was trying to say. I knew my mom would be wondering why I was in the bathroom so long, and would be worried when I didn’t return to my seat before the second act started, but something wasn’t right. I felt this uncontrollable urge to set things right, somehow. I leaned up against the building and slid my backside down the wall to the ground.

“What do you mean?”

“It is very simple, actually,” he responded in an empty tone.

“August third, my eighteenth birthday, my mom and dad walked into my bedroom and woke me up, handed me this backpack and escorted me to the door. I have been wandering aimlessly since.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What kind of parent would turn their back on a son? What did he possibly do that could warrant such a drastic expulsion? I had so many questions, so little time.

“Wait here,” I said as I clambered to my feet and raced back into the theater.

I had to find Mom. I felt the overwhelming need to help this stranger. We had to do something. We had plenty of room in our house since my sister left for college a couple of months ago. I had it all planned out; I just needed mom to say yes.

“Mom!”

“Where were you? You missed the entire second half of the show. I was really worried about you.”

“Mom, I met the homeless teen outside, and he needs a place to stay and I want to take him home with us…”

Josh sat quietly against the cold brick building. The wind began to rip through the dark sidewalk and a chill that had become commonplace to him dug its way into his very core. He wondered if the boy would return. He shut his eyes and memories of his adolescent years played like a TV marathon. He remembered the Christmas that he got no presents, not even one cause he was bad, and he sat and watched his princess sister open gift after gift. He felt the twang in his stomach similar to the many times that his mom sentenced him to a week in his room with no dinner, just because. He relived the embarrassment at his high school graduation when his parents announced to his graduating class at the after party that his diploma was fake, a blank piece of paper, because he had failed senior English. The principal had promised to replace that paper with a diploma when he completed the summer school requirement, but let him walk the stage at graduation with his peers because he didn’t want to take that honor away from him. No problem, mom did it anyway. He remembered all of it. All he ever truly wanted was to feel wanted, loved and have a value as a human being. Josh peered up the ally one last time to see if he could catch a glimpse of the kind little boy and then drifted off to sleep.

“Good morning, Josh.  Happy eighteenth Birthday.”

Josh opened his eyes and groggily sat up in bed. He was still dressed in the brown suit that he had worn to church the night before. At the foot of his bed stood his adopted parents holding a brown leather book bag…