Alive Magazine August/September 09 by Jen Dotson

MAGAZINE

PANDORA’S BOX MORE THAN CHAOS FRIENDSHIP

ON MARIGOLD LANE

ILLUSTRATE YOUR LIFE AUGUST / SEPTEMBER ‘09

A WORD FROM THE EDITOR

Chock Full of Moxie

As a recent college graduate (woo hoo!), I’d like to think that I understand the value of higher education – even though I feel as though I will be paying off my student loans for all of eternity. A co-worker once quoted one of his professors to me: “The value of your education is such that the monthly cost of your student loans will feel only like a mosquito bite.” My co-worker begged to differ, saying that his monthly student loan repayment feels more like a slap in the face, one that he can’t reciprocate. While I have a little more time before I will be forced to succumb to this monthly blow, and I realize that my enslavement to these payments will be far longer than I’d prefer, it’s also easy for me to recognize the intrinsic (and monetary) value of the experience I received in college. What’s more, I probably learned as much, or more, from interactions outside the physical bounds of my university’s classrooms. One of those valuable lessons began before I even set foot on campus. Usually, when you’re figuring out housing for your first year of college, it doesn’t get more complicated than checking a box that indicates in which dorm you want to live. Then you’re assigned a random roommate who, if you’re lucky, won’t blare rap music at 3 in the morning or have her boyfriend practically move into the 10-feet by 10-feet room you share. I chose to make the process more complicated by requesting a specific roommate. My dad and my proposed roommate Rachael’s dad had gone to college together and thought that setting up their daughters as roommates would be a great idea.

At first, I wasn’t convinced. I thought I wanted a “real” freshman experience, complete with unpredictability and chance – would my roommate shower regularly? Would she have an unquenchable passion for Pokémon cards? But, against what I thought was my better judgment, I begrudgingly agreed to request Rachael as my roommate. I PROBABLY LEARNED AS MUCH, OR MORE, FROM INTERACTIONS OUTSIDE THE PHYSICAL BOUNDS OF MY UNIVERSITY’S CLASSROOMS. Luckily for me, my dad has better taste in friends than he does in clothes, and Rachael and I hit it off. We bonded over the fact that neither of us was thoroughly pumped about having to move away from home, and we hated that the first week of college life felt like summer camp. Our bond grew stronger as her dad, who had been diagnosed with cancer the previous year, grew sicker. I tried to be there for her as she balanced the intensity of classes and transitions with the pull to be at home with her parents and three younger siblings. I listened when she needed to vent about the profound level of stress she constantly felt. And I cried with her when the doctors gave her dad less than a week to live.

a little about graphic design in, “Illustrate Your Life,” and providing you with some tips on how to turn your hula hoop into an exercise machine (check out “Out of the Fitness Loop? Try a Hula Hoop”). As I watch my younger siblings and many of Alive’s interns prepare themselves for the demands of another school year, I both envy and pity them. I know my pool of knowledge would be greatly diminished without the experiences I have had in classrooms in middle school, high school and college, but I also know that I’ve begun to learn things in a very different way as I slog through the messiness of life after traditional education. So treasure the education you receive every day, whether it be through interacting with the older and wiser, picking up a book that will broaden your perspectives or listening to a lecture in what sometimes feels like a confined classroom. In the end, knowledge really is infinite, and the value of the traditional and nontraditional education you receive is one on which you truly can’t put a price tag. I ALSO KNOW THAT I’VE BEGUN TO LEARN THINGS IN A VERY DIFFERENT WAY AS I SLOG THROUGH THE MESSINESS OF LIFE AFTER TRADITIONAL EDUCATION.

Even though I was supposed to be the calm, rational one who provided words of wisdom and insight into why such a horrible thing was happening, I learned more from Rachael than I ever taught her. She embodies what it means to be selfless, and her emotional strength surpasses anyone her age. I count myself blessed to call her my friend. She’s got moxie. I THOUGHT I WANTED A ‘REAL’ FRESHMAN EXPERIENCE, COMPLETE WITH UNPREDICTABILITY AND CHANCE – WOULD MY ROOMMATE SHOWER REGULARLY? WOULD SHE HAVE AN UNQUENCHABLE PASSION FOR POKÉMON CARDS? In this issue, we’re featuring many women with moxie, women who’ve learned invaluable lessons in all arenas of life, from classrooms and family members to hard life circumstances and those with more life experience. We’ll offer stories of women pushing to see their passions spread in “Ladies of Literature” and “Working for a Cure.” We’re even giving you a chance to learn

NICOLLE WESTLUND MANAGING EDITOR

table of content

H G S D I Y U

THINK

a word from our editors

GIVE

stories of service and volunteering

by Nicolle Westlund

I thought I wanted a “real” freshman experience, complete with unpredictability and chance – would my roommate shower regularly?

7 Friendship on Marigold Lane

by Maya Iginla | illustrations by Danny White and Allison Bratnick

Stuart, a little old man with big black glasses, accused me of poisioning his water almost every day...

SPEND

where to spend your money wisely and effectively

DISCOVER what makes you come alive?

10 Pandora’s Box: More Than Chaos by Carina Finn

Listening to a personalized Pandora station is a bit like deciding you like cherry pie and then setting out to taste every possible variation on the dessert.

12 The Not-So-Prima Ballerina

by Lindsey Giaquinto | photography by Allison Bratnick

...Inside the studio we practiced a pattern of leaps and delicate spins.

IMAGINE

how would you change the world, if given the opportunity

GLIMPSE

one-sentence answers to our favorite questions

MUSE

original poetry and fresh lyrics

FLEX

flex

2 Chock Full of Moxie

sensible guidance to strengthen your mind and body

MISCHIEF

tales of fiction, truth, shenanigans and friendly foolery

14 Working for a Cure

by Lindsey Giaquinto | photography by Danica Myers

For Candice, basketball is more than a profession, AIDS awareness is more than a cause…

17 Picturing Everyday Beauty: A project to add insight to the viewfinder by Alive readers

What was the hardest lesson you ever learned? Gravity is inescapable.

23 After Taste by Allie Riley

We were eating figs in the park last summer, laid out on our backs with the twigs digging and the grass sticking. I had never tasted figs before.

24 Out of the Fitness Loop? Try a Hula Hoop

by Allison Bratnick | illustration by Allison Bratnick The tedious recreation center routine bored me, college gymnastics classes interfered with my major and I struggled to stay fit.

26 Funny Girl

by Regan Smith | illustration by Meghan Hanson

Suggesting that it’s easy for a woman to succeed in the entertainment industry as a man is like suggesting that it’s easy for a deer to survivie in the jungle as a tiger.

read. share your story. join the movement.

www.ALIVEMAGAZINE.org

The most effective way to show your support is to become a member, pledging a monthly sustaining gift to Alive Arts Media (a 501(c)3 public charity) to continue the programs that create valuable opportunities for young women. To join, visit www.alivemagazine.org/membership.php or email jamie@alivemagazine.org. While you’re at it, sign up for our street team to help publicize submission deadlines and issue releases to the young people you know! Alive Magazine is created by young people around the world. We review submissions every Monday, so send your story or artwork to be considered for publication to contribute@alivemagazine.org. For more information about how your writing or artwork can be considered for publication in a future issue of Alive, check out www.alivemagazine. org/submissions. The next submission deadline is September 15, to be considered for the issue theme, Heroes. We look forward to reading your submission! We were founded on an audacious vision: That a new generation of women – given the opportunity, access and vehicle to do so – could change the world. The bi-monthly production cycle of Alive Magazine is fueled by our internship program, where college-aged women design layouts, work with writers and publicize Alive Magazine. To apply for an internship with Alive Magazine at our headquarters in Minneapolis, Minn., visit www.alivemagazine.org/ internships/index.php. COVER: photograph by Nicolle Westlund BACK COVER: illustration by Allison Bratnick

ALIVE MAGAZINE: AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2009 PUBLISHED BY ALIVE ARTS MEDIA, INC.

Executive Director Jennifer Dotson Managing Editor Nicolle Westlund Development Director Jamie Millard Outreach Coordinator Cheyenne Kirkpatrick Intern Coordinator Abby Zimmer Poetry Editor Kelin Loe

Board of Directors Janelle Schulenberg, Vice Chair Jim Scheibel, Development Judy Jandro, Treasurer Heather Mattson, Secretary Jan McDaniel Andrew Eklund Advisory Committee Heather Scheiwe Martha Franke Development Committee Jim Scheibel, Chair Greg Schlichter Justin Daley

Assistant Editors Lindsey Giaquinto Maya Iginla Marit Hanson Graphic Designers Allison Bratnick Meghan Hanson Lydia Metzger Public Relations Kate Rhody Regan Smith Development Nicole Heinz

Alive Arts Media, Inc. | 1720 Madison St. NE, Ste. 300 | Minneapolis, MN 55413 p: 612.284.4080 | info@alivemagazine.org | www.alivemagazine.org

table of content

A Z N C

AIM

inspiring successes, curious ambitions and unique interests

GAZE

art for art’s sake... and your viewing pleasure

MEND

picking up the pieces when life falls apart

CONSIDER

news-related stories relavant to you and your world

BUZZ

technology-related articles to untangle the web

W B T R L

WONDER answers to life’s hard-to-ask questions

BELIEVE

finding God in unexpected places

28 Ladies of Literature by Kayleigh Minicozzi

“By engaging in readings about motivated and powerful girls, it is our hope that these young ladies will be driven to become leaders in their communities.”

30 A Certain Sense of Impermanence by Shannon Driscoll

Armed with an old, garage-sale-purchased twin reflex camera, I set sail from Ohio on a mission to find adventure and ambiguity.

36 A Drop in the Bucket

by Jyssica Engebritson | photography by Allison Bratnick

I shouldn’t be here, I told myself again. It should be my dad. He’s the one who needs help.

39 Check Yes or No, Preferably Yes

by Lucy Jones | illustration by Lydia Metzger

I had a few boyfriends back in high school, but they were either black or part black. Most of the white guys I was interested in only became my friends.

42 Illustrate Your Life

by Meghan Hanson | illustrations by Meghan Hanson

Every day, we act as consumers of our hyper-design world. But now’s the time to take part in that design production.

46 Till Death Do Us Part…

by Nicolle Westlund | photography by Kristen Morgan

Why do so many couples, couples that have seemingly made the “till death do us part” commitment, break up?

48 My Place in the Palace

by Cheyenne Kirkpatrick | illustration by Meghan Hanson

I felt like a girl who’d been accepted into a royal family but couldn’t imagine assuming the throne...

TASTE

favorite dorm recipes, snack ideas and cafeteria creations

MISTER life from his perspective

LISTEN

perspectives on life from someone older and wiser

50 Eating to Live by Tiana Toso

Stopping for ice cream on a hot summer day, eating hot dogs at sporting events and making her typical pasta casseroles were now out of the question.

52 The Women From Here and Now by Derek Swart

Looking back on movies from that bygone time, I thought I saw a marked difference between the roles women played then and the ones they play today.

55 Life Raft

by Pamela Klopfenstein | illustrations by Meghan Hanson

... Now, we can offer another child what Jonathan had taught us - unconditional love.

g Friendship on Marigold Lane by maya iginia illustrations by danny white and allison bratnick

When I was 15, I worked as a server in the dining hall of a senior assisted living complex. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. Stuart, a little old man with big black glasses, accused me of poisoning his water almost every day and insisted on eating bright orange sherbet with his apple crisp instead of vanilla ice cream. The meals served at the complex always involved a lot of gravy, and I was regularly force-fed mashed potatoes and dry turkey at the end of my shift by the well-meaning kitchen staff, who were concerned that I “didn’t have enough meat on my bones.” The only plus side to my job was the fact that the residents never noticed my clumsiness. I spilled almost an entire pitcher of water on one woman’s lap once, and she had absolutely no idea. Needless to say, I wasn’t the world’s best waitress. Considering my dismal record with the elderly, it might seem a little strange that the first volunteer program I signed up for as a freshman in college was Adopt-AGrandparent. My reasons for doing this were that I missed my own grandparents, volunteering seemed like a “nice” thing to do, the program was on Sundays (which was convenient for me) and one of my friends was doing it too. I wish I could say that my motivation was a little bit nobler, but I’m trying to be honest here. The first Sunday of Adopt-A-Grandparent, 12 of us – all girls – met at 1 p.m. to drive over to Three Links Nursing Home in our school’s white minivans. Some of the girls were freshman like me who had never done the program before, and some were seniors who had been visiting their “grandparents” for three whole years.

“I hope Linda remembers me,” one girl said. “By the end of last year, she was calling me by her daughter’s name.” “My grandma never remembers me,” another girl said. “I have to introduce myself the same way every time: ‘Hi, my name is Becky, I’m a Carleton student... ’ She usually starts out by complimenting me on how white my teeth are.” “Mine once told me to stop wearing such inappropriate shirts that drew unwanted attention from young men.” I stayed quiet in the back seat, listening. Truth be told, I was a little (OK, more than a little) nervous. What had I gotten myself into? Sure, I loved my own grandparents, but who was to say that I would love this stranger I was assigned to? I wasn’t good with old people. I wasn’t good with nursing homes. I looked down at my shirt, realizing that it was a semi-low V-neck. What if my grandma thought my clothes were too risqué? When we filed out of the minivan and into the building for orientation, I noticed a weirdly familiar smell, one of overcooked mushy food, medicine and various bodily functions. I felt like I might throw up, but I pulled myself together. After all, I was already here. I was in college. I needed to give this a chance. The orientation only took about 10 minutes. Carol, the woman who was in charge of the program, praised us for our selflessness and dedication to the community while I tried not to gag on the air. I felt like a complete fraud. Carol assigned me to Janet Nelson, who lived in a hallway named “Marigold Lane.” As I walked toward Janet’s room, I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. This wasn’t going to be so bad. It couldn’t be. And if it was, I never had to go back. I doubted she would remember me, anyway. WHEN WE FILED OUT OF THE MINIVAN AND INTO THE BUILDING FOR ORIENTATION, I NOTICED A WEIRDLY FAMILIAR SMELL, ONE OF OVERCOOKED MUSHY FOOD, MEDICINE AND VARIOUS BODILY FUNCTIONS. I knocked on the door tentatively, half-hoping that she was asleep. “Janet?” No response. I cracked the door open and tiptoed in. A heavyset woman with curly white hair was sitting on a red chair in the corner of the room, reading. She didn’t seem to notice that I was there. “Hi… Janet? My name is Maya, and I’m a Carleton student from Adopt-A-Grandparent. I’m here to visit you today!” I spoke in an unnaturally loud voice and tried to enunciate every word. At orientation, Carol had told us that most of the residents were hard of hearing. “I can hear you, dear. Sit down, sit down! Pull up a chair,” she said, gesturing to the folding chair behind me. I plopped down onto the cold, hard metal, embarrassed,

and crossed my arms over my chest. I didn’t want her to think I was talking down to her, but I didn’t want her to think I was “inappropriate,” either. “So, tell me about yourself, Maya.” Janet said, looking at me with lively blue eyes. “I love visitors. I want to hear everything.” At first, I had no idea where to start. I began to talk about my studies at Carleton and my interests. But Janet really did want to hear everything – she asked me questions about my family, my hobbies, my friends and my “man” (or lack thereof). After that, I reciprocated with questions of my own. I found out that she had lived in Northfield, Minn., all her life and used to work at Carleton as a “dorm mother.” She remembered the names of all of the dorms and wanted to know how our football team was doing. I told her that as far as I knew, we’d only won one game. She laughed and said she wasn’t surprised. I learned that Janet had two sisters, one daughter, one son and a little dog, Bobby, who she missed terribly. She loved cardinals (she even had a red one embroidered on her sweatshirt) and was bored at Three Links. Janet spent most of her time knitting and reading trashy romance novels that featured knights and women with flowing hair. It seemed like these books gave Janet the perfect fantasy world to escape to. It must have been nice for her to break away from the nursing home once in a while, even if it was only in her imagination. Before I knew it, the hour-long visit was over. It had flown by and, strangely enough, I couldn’t wait to see Janet again. I didn’t feel like I was a “good” person because I was volunteering. I felt like I’d made a new friend. I kept seeing Janet every week for the next two years. She knitted me pot holders (I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, as a college student, I didn’t exactly need them) and gave me romance novels to read. We became good friends, but I never found out why exactly Janet was at Three Links. She didn’t seem sick at all. And even though she had a walker, Janet was always completely lucid and alert. I dreamed of springing her out of the nursing home and getting her a nice apartment somewhere in town, decorated with lots of photographs of cardinals and a huge bookshelf filled with romance novels. The first Sunday of fall term junior year, I burst into Janet’s room, excited to see her and tell her all about my summer. But she was slumped over in her chair, asleep. Disappointed, I left her and walked back to school. Janet was awake the week after that, but something was different. Instead of giving me a hug like she usually did, Janet stared at me blankly. Her eyes were watery and vacant. “Who are you?” she asked. “What?” Maybe I’d heard her wrong.

“Who are you?” “Janet, my name is Maya, and I go to Carleton. I come to visit you every week.” I said, my voice shaking. Halfway through the visit, Janet remembered who I was, and everything went back to normal. I convinced myself I LEARNED THAT JANET HAD TWO SISTERS, ONE DAUGHTER, ONE SON AND A LITTLE DOG, BOBBY, WHO SHE MISSED TERRIBLY. SHE LOVED CARDINALS (SHE EVEN HAD A RED ONE EMBROIDERED ON HER SWEATSHIRT) AND WAS BORED AT THREE LINKS. that what had happened was some weird inexplicable blip and pushed it out of my mind. But the next week, it happened again. And this time, Janet never remembered, didn’t even seem interested in remembering. She kept talking about the “lake” that was behind the nursing home. There was no lake. I was devastated; I felt like she was slipping away from me.

Somehow, I went from being completely awkward and inept around those much older than me to being comforted by them. They’ve seen the world and have so much to teach us about life. I’ll never be a saint, but through my relationship with Janet, I’ve learned the right reasons for volunteering. I do it for others, not for myself. And even though Stuart at the complex will never be my best friend, when I think back on his orange sherbet and apple crisp, I laugh. Little quirks like that are what make a person come alive. Janet taught me that, and I’ll never forget it.

Maya Iginia, editorial intern

Danny White, contributing artist, is pursuing his dream of blowing glass.

A few weeks later, the nurses wouldn’t even let me into Janet’s room. She was sick, but they assured me it was only a minor infection and that she would be healthy in no time. They told me not to worry. I missed the next visit because I went home for the weekend. The following Sunday, I walked up Marigold Lane to Janet’s room. The door was shut, which was strange. Janet always left the door open. I looked up. The plaque on the door read “Carter Jenson.” I stopped a nurse in the hall and asked her where Janet was. They must have moved her for some reason. “Didn’t you hear?” The nurse asked, surprised. “Janet passed away a week and a half ago.” I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Tears ran down my cheeks, and my breath came out in ragged, gulping sobs. Without saying a word, the nurse put her arms around me. It was the first time I’d ever hugged a stranger. I still do the Adopt-A-Grandparent program, but it’s not the same without Janet. I miss her terribly – I still read romance novels because I like to imagine talking to her about them. It makes me smile. The grandma I visit now is nothing like Janet: She has severe dementia, and we have the same conversation just about every week. But I’m comfortable around her. I’m different now. Janet taught me to be more confident, more compassionate. She taught me how to reach out to others.

pandora’’s box::: more than chaos

by carina finn

Making the perfect playlist has always been a hassle for me. My friends and I have similar but varied musical tastes, and we would often spend more time deciding what music to listen to than we did actually listening to the music. There were so many things to consider. Did we want something upbeat or something mellow, something with edgy poetic lyrics or something catchy, pop or post-punk? Luckily, while a group of my friends and I were debating over a “getting ready” playlist before a party, my roommate’s boyfriend opened up his laptop and introduced us to a Web site that would forever change the way we listen to music.

are melody, harmony, rhythm, instrumentation, orchestration, arrangement, lyrics, singing and vocal harmony – just to name a few.

Started on Jan. 6, 2000, by former rock musician and film composer Tim Westergren, the Music Genome Project calls itself “the most comprehensive analysis of music ever.” The vehicle for this project is the popular Internet radio Web site Pandora, a free service that strives to play only music that the individual listener will like. Every one of the thousands of songs in Pandora’s database is analyzed by actual human beings. These people, who are experienced musicians and music technologists, look for distinct qualities within each song. Then they use a combination of computer and human analysis to create unique stations based on the listeners’ musical preferences.

While many people tend to restrict their music listening to whatever is on the Top 40 stations or to music that they are already familiar with, Pandora presents the opportunity to expand your musical palate and learn something about music culture in the process. Every time a new song comes on, users can view biographical information about the artist, a list of other songs on the same album and lyrics and musical information, such as influences and tonality, with just one click. There is also a link to the iTunes and Amazon music stores, so it’s easy to buy the MP3 or CD of the newly discovered music.

Listening to a personalized Pandora station is a bit like deciding you like cherry pie and then setting out to taste every possible variation on the dessert. Here’s how it works: Users can create stations based on a song or artist, or they can choose from one of the pre-made genre stations, like country or reggae. Once the station has been created, Pandora selects songs with similar musical qualities and adds them to the playlist. While this kind of system could easily produce predictable stations filled with songs by one or two artists, the complexity of the Music Genome Project allows for productive variety within the stations. Some of the factors considered in the selection of music for each station

Because so many elements are considered, and because the program uses humans, not computers, to analyze the music, each different station can take listeners on an unexpected musical journey. For example, it would be completely plausible to make a Coldplay station and end up listening to Mozart. To see how this works, check out “Pandora Experience: Coldplay to Mozart,” part of the Web site’s quirky and informative video series.

PANDORA PRESENTS AN OPPORTUNITY TO EXPAND YOUR MUSICAL PALATE AND LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT MUSIC CULTURE IN THE PROCESS. The great thing about this kind of musical exploration is that you don’t have to think too hard about it. It’s unbelievably easy to type in the name of a song you already like at the beginning of a study session or when you’re getting ready in the morning and end up with a new favorite song or artist by the time you’re finished listening. Like the iTunes Genius feature, which was released in fall 2008, Pandora eliminates the need to spend time making a playlist. But while Genius can only hold a maximum of 100 songs, there’s no limit to how long you can listen to a particular Pandora station.

To help you open up Pandora’s proverbial box, here are my top five favorite stations. Just type the words in bold into the “Create a New Station” box and you’re ready to go! Don’t forget – you can tailor each station to your personal tastes by rating songs using the thumbs-up/thumbs-down feature. Regina Spektor Radio Pandora describes this anti-folk artist’s music as “quirky, highly eclectic, but always personal,” and it’s right on the money. The overall vibe of this station is mellow with a touch of intensity and features powerhouse female singer-pianist artists like Ingrid Michaelson and Kate Nash. If you’re looking for the soundtrack to your life, or just some great me-time music, this is an excellent choice. The Vitamin String Quartet Radio If you like to study with music in the background, this is the perfect station for you. Based on The Vitamin String Quartet, a group known for taking popular music by artists like Fall Out Boy and The Plain White T’s and giving the songs a classical twist, this station plays instrumental music that is anything but boring.

Although Pandora is already a popular Internet radio station, Westergren and his colleagues aren’t resting on their laurels. In May 2009 they released Pandora One, which offers several upgraded features, including the ability to stream an ad-free version of Pandora from your desktop, for $36 a year. You can also get Pandora on select mobile phones, including the iPhone, most newer Blackberrys and Windows Mobile. While the rapidly growing Pandora empire may one day replace conventional radio stations, it doesn’t really pose a threat to the struggling independent music stores that are suffering from the overwhelming number of digital music options. In fact, the musicians who created Pandora would probably want you to head to your local music store to talk about (and buy, of course) the new music they helped you discover. And don’t worry about the potential repercussions of your curiosity – Pandora herself already released all of the evil from the box back in Ancient Greece, and she left the good music inside for 21st century musical explorers to find. Carina Finn, contributing writer, is a senior creative writing major at Sweet Briar College. She enjoys writing poetry and listening to good music.

Circus Radio Perfect for getting ready to go out on a Friday night, the upbeat pop vibe of this station will make you want to put on a sparkly dress and dance. Inspired by Britney Spears’ album “Circus,” this station plays a lot of hit songs by popular artists, so if you want to shake it up, click the “add variety” button and type in “Lily Allen” to infuse this station with a fun, sassy Britpop mix. Gin Blossoms Radio This station plays a perfect mix of 90s alternative music, featuring artists like Dave Matthews Band and The Goo Goo Dolls. This is a great choice for a low-key weekend afternoon, and (if you have a car adapter and a Pandora-friendly cell phone) it’s a great playlist for long drives. The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts Radio

American singer/songwriter Sufjan Stevens’ music has been called everything from electronic to folk to indie pop, but the best thing about it is that it can’t be put in a box. Because of Sufjan’s varied musical influences and elements, this Sufjan-inspired station has a lot of variety, and the vibe ranges from upbeat pop to mellow folk and everything in between. This is a great choice, no matter what kind of mood you’re in.

The (Not-So-Prima) Ballerina by lindsey giaquinto photography by allison bratnick

remember one cloudy afternoon when I was 6 years old, as I was watching “The King and I” – you know, the bit where they waltz around the ballroom singing “Shall We Dance” – my mom suggested that I take a dance class. She knew that I loved to dance and gambol around the house wherever there was space and whenever music was playing. I would spin and twirl, run and glide, kicking my feet out and attempting to be graceful. While I never did take a dance class when I was a kid, I’ve always felt the kicking, twirling 6-year-old within me, looking for an opportunity to enter the world of exuberant physical movement.

Indulging my childhood ambition to be a dancer, this past year I signed up with a friend for an intro ballet class. I knew that ballet requires technical precision. I also knew that my body rebels against strict rules of movement (read: I am occasionally dangerously klutzy), but I was looking for a challenge. And, of course, I loved the prospect of putting on petite pink ballet shoes for an hour every day to play an elegant ballerina. The first day of class arrived, and I slipped into the studio, excited and slightly anxious. Would I be able to keep up with everyone else? Perhaps I hadn’t been courageous enough to dance before for a good reason – maybe I was a ballet buffoon. Summoning up self-confidence, and remembering that I do possess some natural grace and poise, I joined the other girls at the barre. We pliéd our way through a whirl of positions, port dé bras (arm movements) and traveling patterns. At the beginning, most of the steps were simple and easily mastered, but as the classes progressed, it became harder for me to keep pace and stay unflustered by all of the complicated patterns. I would often turn to my friend, Ellyn, pulling the corners of my mouth down into an exaggerated pout to express my frustration and to feel the physical lift of a moment of companionship and a shared joke.

PERHAPS I HADN’T BEEN COURAGEOUS ENOUGH TO DANCE BEFORE FOR A GOOD REASON – MAYBE I WAS A BALLET BUFFOON.

Ballet instructors have to critique their students so that they will correct any mistaken movements before they become ingrained in muscle memory. Criticism is part of dance because the details, like the angle at which you hold your foot, the way you arch your fingers, the height of your leg extension, are everything. Besides natural ability, those details are what separate good dancers from prima ballerinas. One day, my instructor, a formidable little dancer herself, told me that my natural stance, the sway of my back, was unacceptable for ballet. I had to work hard to change the way I stood. It was necessary for the craft and perhaps even healthy to adjust my posture and alignment, but, as a former perfectionist, it was easy for me to feel that I would never be good enough. In college, I’m constantly surrounded by some of the smartest, highest-achieving people I’ve ever met, which has forced me to accept the fact that I cannot be the best at everything, that I should focus on my strengths instead of concentrating on improving my weaknesses. But still, I struggled to feel accomplished as a dancer. This feeling of self-doubt was impossible to escape in the studio. The walls were covered top-to-bottom with mirrors, so that every mistake, every wobble, was re-

flected back with startling clarity. Not to mention how the tights and stretchy black leotards that we all wore exposed every curve, every inch of our bodies. Even though I am not normally self-conscious, I began to pick out my own physical flaws – they seemed small at first, but were magnified and exaggerated as I stared myself down in those mirrors. One fall morning, as the leaves flamed red and orange beyond the windows, inside the studio we practiced a pattern of leaps and delicate spins. Pairs of girls stood in line, poised to skim their pointed toes on the floor before lifting into the first jump, then twirling easily across the room. When it was my turn, I pushed down through my toes, springing off the ground and into a leap. And for the first time, I felt myself move fluidly and freely along the wooden floor. Almost effortlessly, my legs propelled my body high into space, and when my feet touched the ground again, I smoothly pivoted into a rotation. I was amazed at what my body could do. As I continued to examine myself day after day, I slowly began to see nothing more than a familiar and comfortable reflection. I gradually learned to hold myself properly, lifting my abdominal muscles and extending through my legs. Perhaps it is sometimes necessary to break down our self-confidence when it becomes too comfortable so that we can build up a stronger and more vital sense of identity and self-esteem. Even though I certainly never mastered all of the techniques we practiced in class, I felt as though I had gained much more control over my dancing. My legs began to feel powerful, lithe and capable. And I learned that ballet can be fun. There is no better feeling than soaring across the caramel-colored wooden floor of the studio, leaping into grand jeté after grand jeté. I walked (or should I say chasséd) away from ballet with an idea about how to present myself physically and how to be more aware of my body. Your stance conveys a powerful nonverbal message about how you feel about yourself, and ballet showed me how to say, “I’m proud of what my body is strong and healthy enough to do.” I learned to appreciate the athleticism and grace that dancing requires. While I don’t know if others look at me differently now, what is most important to me is that I feel more physically empowered, and possibly even more at home in my own body. Since then, I have even caught myself standing in fifth position while waiting in lines. I can now appreciate the strength required for ballet, and I hope that, lifting from the abdominal muscles and extending through the legs, I will carry that strength and grace into my everyday life.

Lindsey Giaquinto, editorial intern

I Working for a Cure An Interview with Candice Wiggins

by lindsey giaquinto photography by danica myers

At the age of 22, Candice Wiggins has already found the two loves of her life: basketball and AIDS advocacy. Meeting her for the first time on a perfect summer afternoon in Minneapolis, I instantly understood how she has achieved her dreams at such a young age – she’s got passion, drive and unquenchable optimism. As we walked along Cedar Lake’s shore, weaving through cyclists and joggers, Candice’s buoyant sprit and effusive energy almost seemed to propel her forward. A star player for the Minnesota Lynx and 2008’s WNBA Sixth Woman of the Year, Candice has also established her own foundation dedicated to HIV prevention and AIDS education. The Candice Wiggins Foundation Fund honors her father, professional baseball player Alan Wiggins, who died of AIDS just after Candice turned 4 years old. To turn her father’s tragic death into an opportunity to help others, Candice has chosen to give back to her community by starting an open conversation about the prevalence of HIV in the United States. Candice’s foundation works on both a local and national level. Teamed up with the Minnesota AIDS project and partnered with Until There’s a Cure, which raises awareness and funds to develop AIDS vaccines and educate youth, Candice promotes HIV/AIDS advocacy simply by being a role model for young men and women. She shares her knowledge about the disease at AIDS fundraisers and events, imparting the message that we all need to be conscious of our personal health. Dressed casually in jeans, a t-shirt, metallic flats and gold earrings with her name, “Candice,” suspended within the hoops – so cool – Candice was quick to share with me some eye-opening statistics about the AIDS virus. “It’s a community issue; it’s a worldwide issue,” she said. She explained to me that AIDS is the leading cause of death for African-American women under 40. Five percent of the population of Washington D.C. is infected with HIV, and 25 percent of people who have HIV don’t even know they have it. “So you’ve got to get tested,” Candice said. “You just have to be informed about it and not be afraid to talk about it. And just take pride in knowing about your health.” SHE EMBRACES AS HER PERSONAL CHALLENGE THE TASK OF DEMYSTIFYING HIV AND SHATTERING THE TABOO ASSOCIATED WITH THE VIRUS.

Although she is realistic about the scope of the AIDS epidemic, what is immediately striking about Candice is her optimistic attitude and her vision for the future. “I tend to always see the glass as half full – just by the nature of how I grew up,” she said. “If you let what motivates your heart guide you through life you can achieve

a lot, but you have to know that it takes a lot of work and it’s hard. I think it’s harder to be optimistic than pessimistic sometimes, but it’s so much more rewarding that way.” No matter what goal Candice sets for herself, she follows through with the commitment and the passion to realize it. She always dreamed of going to Stanford, playing in the WNBA and being an Olympian. She currently lives two of those dreams, and I have no doubt that, with her unfaltering dedication, it won’t be long before she takes the court at the Olympic Games.

I INSTANTLY UNDERSTOOD HOW [CANDICE] HAS ACHIEVED HER DREAMS AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE – SHE’S GOT PASSION, DRIVE AND UNQUENCHABLE OPTIMISM.

Although a self-described optimist, Candice made it clear that her positivity is fully grounded in reality. With a wry smile, she identified herself as a real optimist. She embraces the task of demystifying HIV and shattering the taboo associated with the virus as her personal challenge. She is hopeful about progress and believes that the increasing acceptance and understanding of HIV/AIDS is in direct proportion with education about the disease. “There is still a ways to go, but it has changed a lot,” she said. “I think the start of AIDS walks and people getting together that aren’t immediately affected by it and doing something about it is a sign of progress. The fact that people are talking about it at all really, is a sign of progress. I remember in my childhood, [AIDS] was the scariest word that anybody could say.” Candice is particularly hopeful about HIV education for the next generation. At the 2009 Minnesota AIDS walk, children were given activity pamphlets with very direct questions about the virus. All along the way, there were stations where the kids could stop to check their answers and learn more about AIDS. “The kids were into it,” Candice said. “Here is the direct result of it being an open discussion – you have children who are going to know about it and thus be more inclined to pay it forward and make a change.” Candice believes that it is our generation, the Millennial Generation, that will be the first to embrace those living with AIDS without stigma. She believes that change, though slow, is within our reach. As I talked with Candice, I had to keep reminding myself that she is just 22, only a year older than me. She seemed so certain of her purpose in life, so passionate about her goals. When I asked her what advice she had for young women today, she smiled warmly and responded after a moment of thought.

“The way you are going to get the most out of life and the experiences you have is to set goals. You have to be inspired by these goals – if you are passionate about something, the work and the commitment comes a lot easier,” she told me. “Now for me that [goal] was basketball, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be basketball. Yeah, you have to have a little bit of talent, but at the same time if you don’t work at it, you don’t have a chance.” This woman exudes purpose, I thought to myself. For Candice, basketball is more than a profession, AIDS awareness is more than a cause – they are her life’s work, her source of strength, simultaneously her motivation and her goal. As a young woman myself, I felt inspired in the shade of her 5’11” presence to find my calling – to spend my life doing something I love. “THE WAY YOU ARE GOING TO GET THE MOST OUT OF LIFE AND THE EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE IS TO SET GOALS. YOU HAVE TO BE INSPIRED BY THESE GOALS – IF YOU ARE PASSIONATE ABOUT SOMETHING THE WORK AND THE COMMITMENT COMES A LOT EASIER.”

As Candice and I settled onto a wooden bench, looking out at the lake’s sparkling water, I asked her one final question: If you could do anything besides play basketball, what would you do? “I would love to contribute to women’s athletics through writing and I’d love to be on the Board of the Women’s Sports Foundtion,” she said. “Or play beach volleyball … or do commentating. I wish I could do gymnastics!” I’d say that any of Candice’s dreams for the future are likely to become reality.

O 16

Lindsey Giaquinto, editorial intern

Danica Myers, contributing photographer, loves Japanese, planting things, fur boots and getting lost in books.

A PROJECT TO ADD INSIGHT TO THE VIEWFINDER Picturing Everyday Beauty is a project of Alive Arts Media that aims to extend our perceptions of beauty beyond physical appearance to reflect the depth of character and lively spirits of everyday people.

DANNY WHITE, 24

Hometown: Seattle, Wash. Occupation: Glass Artist

How do you overcome mental challenges? Rationalize, weigh out the pros and cons, predict the future, then take my medication.

What is the best lesson you ever learned? Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t bite people.

WHAT IS THE BEST LESSON YOU EVER LEARNED?

DANIELLE LOVAAS, 21

Hometown: Davenport, Iowa Occupation: Student

KATIE BLANCHARD, 21

Hometown: Albuquerque, N.M. Occupation: Student

HOW DOES KNOWLEDGE EMPOWER YOU? Is there something you wish you never knew? If so, what is it? No. Everything that I know has shaped me into the person I am. Even the terrible things â&#x20AC;&#x201C; you have to know about them to understand about how everything works.

How does knowledge empower you? I know that only I choose how to react to something. If I just remember to take a breath and step back from a situation, I can stay in charge of my feelings and react with integrity to get the result that is most in keeping with my values.

LINDA GIAQUINTO, 49

Hometown: Albuquerque, N.M. Occupation: Mother

GRACE DUDDY, 21

Hometown: St. Louis, Mo. Occupation: Student

IS THERE SOMETHING YOU WISH YOU NEVER KNEW?

Is there something you wish you never knew? If so, what is it? That sometimes not trying is the same thing as giving up.

KELSEY SEEGER, 21

Hometown: Albuquerque, N.M. Occupation: Student

What did you learn on the playground that applies to your life now? Low blood sugar leads to grumpy people, so always make sure that the people around you are well fed. It is hard to be angry when your tummyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not rumbling. What was the hardest lesson you ever learned? Gravity is inescapable. Anything after that is just frosting on that cupcake.

ERIN BLINN, 21

Hometown: Maumee, Ohio Occupation: Student/Artist

BRANDON BURGOYNE, 15

Hometown: Elk River, Minn. Occupation: Student

What is your favorite subject? Math, because I can work problems out in my head and am really good at it.

NANCY KEHN, 52

Hometown: Maple Grove, Minn. Occupation: Mother and Office Manager

What stimulates your mind, body, and soul? Art. Art inspires me, it inspires me to create, appreciate, feel, live, love and share. What was the hardest lesson you ever learned? Hearts are breakable; and always say goodbye to those you love because you don’t know when or if you’ll see them again.

What does the phrase, “You learn something new every day” mean to you? Knowledge is a journey, not a destination.

WHAT STIMULATES YOUR MIND, BODY AND SOUL?

WHAT DID YOU LEARN ON THE PLAYGROUND THAT APPLIES TO YOUR LIFE NOW?

What did you learn on the playground that applies to your life now? You have to make friends that have the same interests as you.

EMMA BIRKMAN, 15

Hometown: Oak Grove, Minn. Occupation: Student If you could be anything in the world, what would you be? I would be a world traveler and give reports about other cultures that are not as well known.

AMY GLASOW, 20

Hometown: Shoreview, Minn. Occupation: Student

U U after taste by allie riley

We were eating figs in the park last summer, laid out on our backs with the twigs digging and the grass sticking. I had never tasted figs before. It had been a cool summer but a sultry fall. You talked endlessly about what life meant to you in that droning tone that meant you were thinking hard and trying to impress me. I stared at the leaves and wondered when I could kiss you, stop your futile march of words. That night in the still air of my room I lay silently. You would leave the next morning, and I was angry. Not for you leaving. You whispered that you loved me. Said you always had, and your heart wouldn’t change. Remember that the streets we ambled in Languedoc last year are not a concrete future but the almost-ruins of foreign stone. I couldn’t stop my anger. It bubbled right under my lungs and kept my air short and curt. You babbled about the home we would rent and the teapot you’d find for me, tucked away at an old woman’s shop. The teapot read more like a deadbolt. I haven’t eaten figs since then; I trust it will make all the difference.

This poem is about being unable to negotiate the desire for personal freedom and a relationship with someone who wants to settle down, using figs as a symbol for a man I dated. I know countless straight women my age who find themselves halted by pressures to find love and tied down by the men that proclaim it, but I refused these constraints. The reaction I had to this man’s proclamation was one of inexplicable frustration. I felt that he was an intruder in my life and mind. Ultimately, I made the decision to erase this romantic element from my life – but I can only ever hope and trust that I’ve made the right choice. Allie Riley, contributing writer, is freshly graduated and fueled by caffeine, wafﬂes and riding her bike. She’s working to become a literacy tutor for adults and children.

flex OuT Of The

Fitness Loop?

Try A Hula Hoop

story and illustration by allison bratnick Ever since I was 4 years old, I’d been a gymnast, dancing and tumbling my way around. It was a way of life for me, and I loved it. Before I knew it, though, it was time for college, and my rigorous routine of disciplined training two times a day, every day, was halted. The college lifestyle of studying all day and going out all night quickly set in, and soon my gymnast’s physique diminished. Eating cafeteria food three times a day and having junk food at my fingertips didn’t help me stay in shape either. Suddenly, I didn’t have a gym to train in, only a gym to lift weights and work out in. I tried working out a few times, but running on a treadmill and lifting weights was not my thing. I was used to dancing and tumbling and working every muscle without even thinking about it. The tedious recreation center routine bored me, college gymnastics classes interfered with my major and I struggled to stay fit. I thought my toned body was totally lost. Then, last Easter, my grandma gave me a hula hoop (yes, during my senior year of college). I didn’t know what to do with a hula hoop, let alone think that I could use a $7 child’s toy to lose weight. But then, a few times a week, I used the hula hoop for 10 minutes at a time. I started using it at outdoor parties and I could feel it afterwards in my muscles. My flexibility improved and my energy level was boosted. This got me thinking. I researched exercise routines incorporating hula hoops. After getting familiar with standard hooping around my waist, I began with some new moves I found on the Internet. I started to use it to fill my void of gymnastics and replace the mundane gym routine. It was the workout I had been looking for and it’s helped me regain muscle tone. Today, whenever I feel sluggish as I sit around watching TV, I grab my hoop and do a quick round during the commercials. This allows me to watch TV and relax but still get in about 22 minutes of hula hooping for each hour of TV. I love how something as fun and easy as a hula hoop exercise can strengthen my tummy muscles. Hula hooping has changed my view of how to work out and helped me to stay healthy.

Want to start hooping? First, you need to get a weighted hula hoop. Don’t waste your time using a kid-sized hoop; it won’t be effective. The taller you are, the bigger hoop you need. The rule of thumb is that the top of the hoop should be between stomach and chest height. Hula hooping has some great benefits. With a weighted hoop, you use your stomach muscles to improve your energy level, coordination and balance. My favorite move is the “booty bump,” which works out your tummy and your bum. This alternative to a gym workout is a great, cheap way to stay in shape, and no workout buddy is necessary. A good workout generally consists of a few 10-minute reps of abdominal hooping, followed by five minutes of arm exercises involving the hoop. Try spinning the hoop with one ankle while jumping over it with the opposite leg for some great cardio. Be sure to tighten your muscles while twisting to ensure results. I do this workout four times a week to stay in shape and keep my energy up throughout my work day. For more hooping options, check out hoop dance workout DVDs or go to Hoopgirl.com to read about some classes offered. A quick Internet search will also display plenty of workouts that fit almost all lifestyles and time constraints.

Allison Bratnick, graphic design intern

Funny girl

by regan smith illustration by meghan hanson

hen asked to list a few famous “funny women,” most people will promptly rattle off names like Ellen DeGeneres, Tina Fey and Sarah Silverman. Pressed for more, they might go back a few generations to Lucille Ball or spice it up a bit with Dolly Parton. Inevitably, though, the list seems to taper off and the respondents’ voices begin to dwindle after mere moments. It is this unfortunate memory meltdown that buoys sexist disputes and allows writers like Christopher Hitchens to assert claims that seem solely aimed at igniting the ire of feminists everywhere. In his article “Why Women Aren’t Funny,” aptly found in the Provocation section of Vanity Fair’s January 2007 issue, Hitchens explores the supposedly “age-old” question of why men are typically considered funnier than women. By citing Rudyard Kipling poems and a Stanford University School of Medicine study, Hitchens attempts to prop up his argument with evidence that is only superficial at best. We’ve all heard, read and seen the multitudes of “new studies” showing that men’s and women’s brains have fundamentally different wiring, and we all know that at a very basic level this is true. But when those studies then go on to claim that this different wiring is responsible for everything from a man’s inability to communicate to the reason why “he really is that into you, he just doesn’t know it!” a rational person’s eyes will invariably begin to roll. So when Christopher Hitchens claims that a big part of the reason that women aren’t as funny as men is because humor doesn’t rank high on their priority scales (since “reproduction is, if not the only thing, certainly the main thing [for them]”) it’s no surprise that he isn’t going to be receiving the Pulitzer Prize for hard-hitting journalism anytime soon. But even if Hitchens is a blatant provocateur, who at one point immaturely refers to comedian Nora Ephron’s retorts as “slightly feline,” he is not the first person to make this claim about the lack of funny females, and he certainly won’t be the last. What is it about our current state of society and culture that allows this strictly hypothetical notion to persist? No matter how many studies from respected medical schools or books from respected authors are published, the fact remains that humor is subjective, and therefore no claim that one person is funnier than the other can ever be scientifically indisputable. Yet the articles keep coming, and those of us with the double X chromosome keep getting riled up by them, no matter how idiotic we know they are.

Though Hitchens’ reproduction theory is enough to immediately write off his article without a second thought, many of us will have that second thought, despite our better judgment. And again, despite our better judgment, we will

even begin wondering whether beneath all the antifeminist, scientifically baseless muck, there is some small inkling of truth. Maybe we aren’t as funny as men. Maybe the reason it requires such a concerted effort to think of successful female comedians is because most of them don’t exist. Maybe our brains are wired so differently that Mother Nature must have been as humorless as the beings she created. Or, maybe, the reason famous funny women are supposedly so few and far between is because the media wants it that way. Ask me to list off some famous funny women and I admit that my mouth will start lagging not soon after everybody else’s; but ask me the same thing with the “famous” stipulation removed, and I could go on for hours. My life has been peppered with thousands of charming, witty and downright hilarious women. And though I admittedly prefer Mitch Hedburg to Margaret Cho, the truth is that the funniest people I know are not those who stand in front of an audience reciting lines into a microphone, but those who surround me on a daily basis. And at least half, if not more, of them are female. So perhaps the more appropriate question is not “Why aren’t women funny?” but “Why aren’t funny women recognized?” It can be exhausting to read article after article railing on about how “the media” portrays this, or how “the media” can be blamed for that. This seemingly all-encompassing term has become a popular scapegoat for nearly any and every thing that might be bothering a certain demographic at any given time. While I don’t personally believe that we are all the mindless, spineless, consumer-driven lemmings frequently portrayed by many “anti-establishment” circles, in this case, it would be extremely difficult to dispute that, for ages, women have been getting the short end of the societal stick. Just as the average woman will make 75.3 cents to every dollar of her male equivalent and the average actress will begin losing work the second her forehead starts wrinkling, Hitchens notes that the average female comedian will either be lumped into the category of “hefty or [lesbian] or Jewish, or some combination of the three.” It is this unfortunate conception that allows articles like “Why Women Aren’t Funny” to be written and adds another thick pane on the proverbial glass ceiling. Suggesting that it’s just as easy for a woman to succeed in the entertainment industry as a man is like suggesting that it’s just as easy for a deer to survive in the jungle as a tiger. The odds are and always have been against us. While a conventionally attractive female comedian is quickly de-robed and tossed onto the cover of Maxim, where her list of “attributes” in the article is more focused on cup size than comedic styling, a less conventionally attractive female comedian is instead thrown into the aforementioned overweight, homosexual or Jewish category.

The average woman trying to make it in the business who can’t be neatly squeezed into any of these stereotypes faces an uphill battle, to say the least. It’s certainly no challenge to see how the popular media and dominant culture in our society presently, and historically, favor males in nearly every aspect. However, given the amount of wonderful, intelligent, entirely open-minded men in my life, I have never been of the persuasion that the male gender is on the whole anti-feminist and put off by strong, independent women. Just as the inverse stereotype is untrue of women, this sexist portrayal of the male population is unjust and needs to be dispelled if the entertainment business is ever really going to change. And so, to Christopher Hitchens’ claim that the lack of funny women is due to a brain deficiency in the humor department, I would remind him of this media favoritism and suggest that perhaps he has a brain deficiency in the unbiased intelligence department. Funny women do exist, and they can be found in multitudes at the convenience store, on the bus ride to work, in a corner office and standing in front of a microphone. Just because the media and entertainment industry have yet to recognize these women in the numbers they deserve doesn’t mean that they aren’t here and firing on all cylinders. Though the vast majority of famous comedians may remain male for some time, this only makes the small (but growing) number of females in the business all the more refreshing. As Barbara Streisand put it in the 1968 musical “Funny Girl,” “I’m a bagel on a plate full of onion rolls.”

…THE FACT REMAINS THAT HUMOR IS SUBJECTIVE, AND THEREFORE NO CLAIM THAT ONE PERSON IS FUNNIER THAN THE OTHER CAN EVER BE SCIENTIFICALLY INDISPUTABLE. So here’s to all the funny girls out there, cracking jokes, commanding audiences and paving the way for a future full of blueberry and cream cheese instead of bad breath.

Regan Smith, public relations intern

Ladies of Literature by kayleigh minicozzi

Cassie Logan is a charismatic girl with a secure sense of self. She stands up for what she believes in, and when faced with a challenge she confronts it head-on to come up with a solution. Her strength in the face of adversity and thoughtful consideration of others challenges those around her to be better people. Cassie, courageous and confident, is a model of personal empowerment and, for one group of girls in North Carolina, she is an inspiration for their own personal growth. Independent and driven, Cassie Logan is the 8-year-old heroine and narrator of the book “Song of the Trees,” by Mildred Taylor. The book was featured this year in the after-school program PageTurners: Girls Who Read to Achieve, a nonprofit group designed to promote literacy among young girls. Cassie’s story as a young black girl growing up in the racist South of the 1920s might seem removed from life in the 21st century, but Elizabeth Devlin, the founder of PageTurners, believes that lessons from Cassie’s life can have a profound effect on young women today. “Girls need to have a strong sense of self in order to avoid negative influences in today’s society,” Elizabeth said. “They need a way to better understand themselves, so they have the capacity to make good decisions.” “Song of the Trees,” and a number of other books centered on positive female characters, make up the curriculum for PageTurners. Launched last fall in the Dorchester school district in Maryland, Elazbeth’s program empowers at-risk adolescent girls by introducing them to great literature and creating a safe space for open dialogue and expression. The program meets twice a week after school to give participants the opportunity to explore the lives of fictional girls from different backgrounds and learn more about themselves in the process.

“The goal of the PageTurners program is to create a place for girls to come together and be inspired by the literature and each other,” Elizabeth said. “By engaging in readings about motivated and powerful girls, it is our hope that these young ladies will be driven to become leaders in their communities.” Education in the United States today is a hot-button issue for many women like Elizabeth, who feel our nation is under-serving young people who live in low-income communities. The graduation rates and test scores of districts with students living on or below the poverty line are shockingly low. According to the Editorial Projects in Education Research Center, only 50 percent of students growing up in low-income communities graduate from high school. Of the 50 percent who do graduate, most read at an eighth-grade reading level, and only one out of seven of these students graduate from college. “We have a number of students in our district who are at risk due to various things, such as poverty,” said Dr. Fred Hildenbrand, the superintendent of Dorchester County, where PageTurners is based. “These things can sometimes get in the way of a student reaching his or her full potential to achieve, unless there is something or someone that will help unleash their true ability.” Elizabeth’s passion for education reform was first ignited when she was an undergraduate at Davidson College in N.C. She worked as a tutor in the local low-income school district and witnessed gaps in student achievement firsthand. Elizabeth had always had a deep love of literature. In her childhood home, reading was a central focus, and the characters in her books often became a part of the family. While tutoring one particular young girl, Elizabeth first realized that her personal connection to reading was not the same for all kids.

“I was so shocked how upset and negative the young girl I was tutoring got every time we had a 20-minute free reading period,”Elizabeth said. “Reading for me was such a comfort and to see her feel like it was such a chore made me so sad.” It was in moments like these that Elizabeth felt it was so important for her to create a program like PageTurners. Finding a way to get students excited and interested in reading became an obsession for Elizabeth. After graduation, she resolved to work in education and become a catalyst for change. Elizabeth went on to work in Charlotte, N.C., as a sixth-grade literary arts teacher through the Teach For America program, a nonprofit that places teachers in low-income districts for two years. Using PageTurners as a vehicle for change, Elizabeth is focused on targeting at-risk youth and cultivating their talents and abilities. The program focuses heavily on reading and reading comprehension, but according to Elizabeth, it also simultaneously helps to improve other necessary skills. “When you read more you can directly see the results in other areas,” Elizabeth said. “You will become a better speller, better problem solver and a better writer.” While this trend applies to all at-risk youth, Elizabeth’s program exclusively targets young women. The group is made up entirely of women, from the facilitator to the students. The characters in their books are also strong young women with an important message. Through their strength and perseverance, these characters show young girls they can be anything they dream of becoming. Elizabeth’s reasoning behind creating this exclusively female space goes back to her days as a sixth-grade teacher. FINDING A WAY TO GET STUDENTS EXCITED AND INTERESTED IN READING BECAME AN OBSESSION FOR ELIZABETH. “I saw how dominant the boys were in the classroom at that age, and I decided that girls needed a space were they could be open and creative,” Elizabeth said. “Building a solid foundation of confidence and love of learning is so important at that age, and the girls needed a space to have that growth.” The program was launched at two schools in the Dorchester district: Maces Lane Middle School and North Dorchester Middle School. At each of the pilot sites, both of which began in November 2008, a group of seven to 10 girls meet twice per week to discuss the assigned readings, reflect on the characters and write journal entries. Each session is a chance for the girls to bond with each other and find confidence through the literature.

“I have witnessed such a transformation in the seven girls I work with,” said Jolene South, the seventh-grade facilitator at Maces Lane Middle School. “They have bonded together in a special way and I even see them applying what they learn in the group to activities outside of the group.” According to Jolene, diversity and accepting differences is an important part of the group and one of PageTurners’ core values. She said the girls have really taken this message to heart and treat each other like members of a family even though they all come from very different racial, ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds. The program is designed to keep the same group of girls together from sixth to eighth grade, and each phase of the program has a different theme. “Girls are getting lost nowadays and are going backward rather than forward,” Jolene said. “This program is giving these girls the opportunity to create strong female relationships and a foundation built on responsibility to yourself and your community.” Elizabeth and her board believe PageTurners can make widespread change for girls on an international scale. By using literature to inspire young girls to be global leaders, the program aims to increase the possibilities for the futures of young women. “When you open the doors of literacy for women, you give them the opportunity to have a different path in life,” Aly said. “Girls can be lost academically and socially if they are not mentored at a young age.” By becoming better readers, the girls involved with the program will have a higher chance of performing well in other subjects, graduating from high school and eventually going on to college. Although there are many other obstacles for these young girls to overcome, PageTurners can be a stepping stone in the right direction. Aside from equipping the girls with the educational resources, the program also aims to foster self-motivation and drive within the girls that will take them far beyond the classroom. “This program can obviously provide these girls with valuable knowledge,” Elizabeth said. “But it can also start fueling strong confidence and self worth that will allow these girls to take control of their own futures.” Kayleigh Minicozzi, contributing writer, has a degree in newspaper journalism, women and gender studies and religious theory from Syracuse University.

a certain sense of impermanence Armed with an old, garage-sale-purchased twin reflex camera, I set sail from Ohio on a mission to find adventure and ambiguity. I serendipitously wound up living in a small town in Montana. I have always had an infatuation with strangers, so moving to a town in which I was a stranger and every person in it was one to me set the perfect atmosphere for investigation. My photography is investigatory, mostly involving other people and their existences. No longer having my close group of photo-friends to play model for me, strangers and the places they have existed inside of became my subjects. The subject matter of my photographs is places that I find on my small-scale explorations. These places catch my eye first for the empty presence I feel inside of them. It is a mix between studying strangersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; existences and finding these voids full of the people and places that I have left. I feel the places that perfect strangers have once occupied are haunted by where they are now. I find something about this sense of abandonment exquisite. In each of my photos I try to capture that feeling of appreciation that one can fully feel for something only after having lost it. These works are about loss, love and loves lost.

Shannon Driscoll, contributing artist, becomes restless if she is not creating. Shannon attained a bachelorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s in ďŹ ne arts with a focus in photography and art at Bowling Green State University. She loves life, the color grey and being alive.

N A Drop in the Bucket by jyssica engebritson photography by allison bratnick My heart pounded as I stood up. All eyes were on me. “Hi, I’m Jyss Engebritson, and I’m a family member of an alcoholic,” I stated meekly. The word tasted like venom in my mouth. I felt everybody’s eyes burning through me, as if they were picking at every aspect of my appearance. It was almost like they could see into my soul, which wasn’t somewhere anyone wanted to look. I felt a tingle up my spine. Who were they to put themselves above me? I mean, some of these people looked like they were in terrible shape, hair all messed up, clothes unbuttoned, shoes untied. They were falling apart. I didn’t realize that they were going through exactly the same thing I was. I felt alone. I sat back down and listened disinterestedly, watching people take their turns under the interrogation light and confessing their wrongs and involvement in their loved one’s drug-related problems. I couldn’t have cared less about who they were. This place, this “program,” isn’t going to help me, I thought to myself. I quickly scanned the room, observing the faces of the other attendees of the Hazelden Family Program. I noticed that the same expression was spread across all of them: a mixture of remorse and sadness, with just a hint of hope. But not mine. A stony scowl was plastered onto my face, and I’d be dead before anyone could even think of trying to change that. I wasn’t an open book like the others were. My feelings seemed different, and since I wasn’t ready to face what others would say, I remained outwardly emotionless. Yes, I was there to get answers, but I wasn’t there to gush out my life story and talk to complete strangers about how much I had gone through. My response to any question was a short, unfeeling “Yes” or “No.” I did listen – after all, it was the polite thing to do. However, it was with fake interest. Even though I wasn’t going to contribute, I didn’t want to be rude.

I stared at the floor and made pictures in the patterns on the carpet through the long, drawn-out stories of everyone’s experiences with drugs or alcohol, or how they had learned to cope with their family members’ addiction. Eventually, everybody’s stories blended together: The substance abuse problem would start out small and eventually get worse and worse until it started to interfere with the person’s everyday life. Before someone would get to the middle of her version, I could have told you how it ended. I didn’t want to be a repetitive drone. I shouldn’t be here, I told myself again. It should be my dad. He’s the one who needs help. My dad was always looking for someone to complain to. He’d tell these zombies a novel. I could make up something and have everyone pity me, like I was sure he would do. It seemed like that was what they wanted. My dad needed help. I hated that he put himself on a pedestal compared to me. This was his idea, my going to Hazelden. He didn’t believe he could benefit as much as I could. His behavior had been more destructive than my own, yet I was the one who had to deal with these people. I thought he should be at Hazelden himself, just to repair his own problems. His addiction was just as bad, if not worse, than my mom’s. My mom, however, had the dignity and the sense to put an end to the habit that had created so much chaos in our family. I admired her for her courage to stop something that had haunted her for years, but it made me resent my dad even more.

we’d go through the same thing the next day, or the next weekend. One woman’s story snapped me out of my own thoughts. Right away, I knew she was different. She had a nondescript appearance – grey, curly hair and a short, stocky body – but she had a different air about her. Her straightforward attitude and quiet nature demanded my attention. She seemed more put together than the other attendees did, like she had finally gotten her life under control. We had something in common: Neither one of us was sad. But I was disconnected. I had separated myself from my family’s problems. I hid behind a mask and tried to bury myself away. She did not. Her husband was in treatment, and she was confronting her circumstances head on with a “you can’t bring me down” attitude. Yet she wasn’t pushy about her success. She didn’t mock all of us and tell us we were stupid or crazy for not finding out what she already had. Instead, she empathized. She had grown to acknowledge her situation, rather than ignore the problem and hope that it would go away. This was someone I wanted to learn from and know more about. I envied her for her incredible strength. I wanted to know how to be a better person. I didn’t want to act bratty, selfish, inconsiderate and snide anymore, but I felt like I couldn’t help it. It was just a part of me. I wasn’t in control. My anger burned inside me like a flame that couldn’t be put out. However, I was willing to learn. I just didn’t want to be subjected to the scrutiny

HOW DID I DESERVE THIS? WHY WAS I THE ONE TO HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS? WHY COULDN’T I HAVE A NORMAL, FUNCTIONAL FAMILY? The stories of the Hazelden family attendees made me drift back and forth between reality and my own dream land. Each reminded me of my own experiences and swung me back in time. I remembered my dad staring at me gloomily with glazedover eyes, probably not even recognizing who I was. I led him stumbling down the hallway, past the kitchen and sat him down on the couch. It was as if we had switched roles and I was the parent, consoling him and giving him guidance. How did I deserve this? Why was I the one to have to go through this? Why couldn’t I have a normal, functional family? My dad lay there telling me about his latest fight with my mom, tears that hardly affected me anymore rolling rapidly down his cheeks. She had already sobbed her side of the story to me and locked herself in her room. Of course, they both claimed the other one was in the wrong. Neither had the decency to swallow their pride and take responsibility. They expected me to choose a side, but I refused and made them apologize, as if they were in grade school again. I went to bed, knowing

of everyone else. So the next time we got into small groups, I made sure I sat next to the Strong Woman. If I could just absorb a tinge of her reserved confidence, I could power through my evils and face my demons, as she had so bravely done with her own. Whenever she spoke, I listened carefully, trying to figure out her secret. But sometimes my mind would race back in time and leave reality, trying to find its own answers. I remembered sitting in my room and hearing muffled whimpering coming from the garage. “What happened now?” I sighed as I opened the door. My parents looked up at me with blotchy cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

My puzzled expression prompted my dad to awkwardly throw his arms around me and cling to my neck, trying to seek comfort. I wriggled out of the death grip and stepped away from him, still very confused. He was in hysterics. His grey-blue eyes searched my face for some sort of answer that he couldn’t seem to find. What was going on?

been slowing their recovery. I had to let my parents do things on their own. Only they could control their own recoveries. But my parents weren’t in complete control of their actions anymore. I couldn’t blame them for “I can’t stand your dad anymore,” my mom tried to everything that had gone wrong. explain after we had left my dad to himself in the garage. “He’s too clingy, too controlling. Too... well, you know.” The woman looked straight at me and said, “You need to forgive.” She held my eyes with a steady gaze I knew exactly what she meant about his personality. for a moment to make sure her words had impacted me. But, what was she trying to say exactly? Why was tonight My eyes burned, and I could feel them swelling, about different? I couldn’t stand him either. He and I never got to release a stream of tears. The concept of forgiveness along, but that was a well-established fact. was so simple, yet I had needed someone like her to get through to me. I felt a rush of gratitude and relief flow “I’m filing for divorce,” she said blatantly. through my body. How could I have let this happen? Did my efforts even make a difference? Why couldn’t I save my family from On the last day of the five-day program, we each received breaking apart? This wasn’t how my sophomore year of a medallion and a feather to show how our lives had been high school should have started out. lifted up and were now on a new level. Afterwards, we “GOD GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE, COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN AND WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.” I suddenly realized that I didn’t have control over my parents’ lives. Obviously, trying to help never changed anything, and it was much too stressful to keep trying without making any sort of progress. I was done being the one who had to keep everything in order. My parents could make their own lives hell, but they could deal with it on their own. I wasn’t going to allow them to drag me down along with them. They made my life so much harder than it had to be. That was their fault. I wasn’t going to take responsibility for their behavior anymore.

were given a rock to drop in the bucket in the front of the room. Releasing the rock represented us letting go of something that was hindering our lives. Each person picked someone to present the gifts.

The Strong Woman went right before me, and she asked if I could give her the medallion. Taken aback by the honor of her request, I said, “Of course I will.” We stood up and gave each other a deep embrace. I placed the medallion in her hand along with the feather, and she dropped her rock, whispering something so softly that I couldn’t make I was, however, going to take responsibility for my out what she was saying. behavior. I snapped back into focus, gazing up at my admired friend while she told us how she had finally As she started back to her seat, I asked her to wait. The come to terms with her husband’s addiction and how he Strong Woman knew right away that I wanted her to needed support. She had realized that one of the key present my medallion to me. She gave me a sweet smile steps to forgiving him was to accept the fact that this was and looked at me with warm eyes. I could feel something not her doing. All the stress she had felt from trying to swell inside of me, as if she had given me some of her “fix” him and control his life was finally gone – and so was strength, the strength I needed. We embraced again and the resentment. She wasn’t the one to blame, but neither she slipped me the feather and coin. I played with the rock was her husband. in my hands as I held it above the bucket, my eyes closed tight. When I opened them, I realized that once again, all One night, she read the serenity prayer: “God grant me eyes in the room were on me. But this time, I wasn’t scared the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage of them. They were proud of me. I was proud of myself. My to change the things I can and wisdom to know the fingers uncurled from the rock. As it fell through the air, I difference.” Suddenly, everything made sense. She had murmured, “anger,” and it was gone. finally realized that she couldn’t change her husband. All she could do was give him the support he needed without Jyssica Engebritson, contributing writer, is a senior at contributing to the problem by being codependent. And then it dawned on me. I hadn’t been helping the way I thought I was when I babied my parents. I had

Mounds View High School in Arden Hills, Minn. She enjoys photography and many other arts.

Check Yes or No, Preferably Yes by lucy jones illustration by lydia metzger

Sarah says I’m being ridiculous. “Just ask him out,“ she says. “It’s no big deal. You like him. Maybe he likes you, too.” It makes me miss third grade when relationships were uncomplicated: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” If only it were that simple. It should be. I should be able to go up to him and say, “You make my stomach churn and my toes tingle. Want to marry me?” Sarah isn’t the first person to let me know how stubborn I can be when it comes to relationships and silly crushes. But what Sarah doesn’t understand is that there is something more than nerves that plagues me. It has nothing to do with his shining brown eyes, the fact that he’s a giant, towering above the masses at over 6 feet tall or that he is a genuinely nice guy. I know that I love, probably a bit too much, the awkward stares across the room, the secret smiles, the walks to class and the raised eyebrow look he manages to throw my way. The socalled relationship bible for women, Cosmopolitan, says that these are classic male flirting signs. So that means I should just raise the white flag and surrender to his seduction, right? Unfortunately, no – not until the war over skin color is won by either my head or my heart. Race never played an important part in my life, and I try not to let it define me to this day. Growing up, there were no books scattered through my family’s house about Malcolm X, and the n-word didn’t have a place in our vocabulary. My mom never sat me down and said, “Now Lucy, you have to work twice as hard as your friends if you want to make it in the world. The white man is always out to get you because, well, sweetie, you’re black.” With my mother being biracial, it would have been a bit hypocritical for her to tell me I should have more black friends or watch “black” TV shows. I never thought brown skin was a requirement for friendship, and I don’t now. My theory is that you are friends with people with whom you share common interests. If I happen to share an interest with another black person and we become friends, great. If not, who cares? The same goes for other races.

So why do I let race play a big role in my love life? In 2007, the Oakland Tribune published a story on interracial dating and cited a statistic that supports my fears about interracial relationships: Nearly 75 percent of the 403,000 black-white couples in 2006 involved a black husband, which leads to the assumption that interracial dating follows this same pattern.That means that only 25 percent of black-white relationships involve a black woman and a white man. Research shows that if a white man is in an interracial relationship, it is often either with a Latina or an Asian woman. To answer my own question, I’m scared of being rejected. I had a few boyfriends back in high school, but they were either black or part black. Most of the white guys I was interested in only became my friends. I never knew why. I was blunt enough. I openly expressed my feelings. I just always thought it was something else, some superficial reason regarding my attitude. It didn’t occur to me that my skin color mattered. You see, there was this guy. He wasn’t just any guy; he was the one I dreamed about when I dozed off in algebra. I was completely infatuated. He was a gold statue and I, the worshiper. It would have been perfect, too – he played football, and I cheered. I thought we were headed for something more, but I was mistaken. We didn’t know each other very well, but we were in the same group of friends. Everyone in the group knew that I had a crush on him and couldn’t seem to figure out why we weren’t talking yet. I wondered the same thing, because there were definitely a lot of sly looks and flirting when we all went out together. It was Friday night after a football game in November. It was cold, so we were all huddled around a huge bonfire, getting so close that sparks would fly at our coats before they disappeared into the chilly night air. We were laughing, having a good time and talking about the football season and kids from our school. Further into the night, the topic turned to crushes and relationships, and everyone revealed who they thought would make cute couples. My friend Lilly mentioned the

I SHOULD BE ABLE TO GO UP TO HIM AND SAY, ‘YOU MAKE MY STOMACH CHURN AND MY TOES TINGLE. WANT TO MARRY ME?’

I WAS COMPLETELY INFATUATED. HE WAS A GOLD STATUE AND I, THE WORSHIPER.

football player and me. Everyone made a big deal about it, but the football player kept quiet, so I did too. During the next week, there were no sly looks. In fact, he didn’t really look at me at all. I was completely ignored except for the tedious, impatient conversations we had when he couldn’t avoid me. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. And that’s when Lilly told me that he thought we were getting a little too involved since he “didn’t date black girls.” I didn’t understand what was so taboo about dating someone from a different race. After this incident, I decided that I wouldn’t put my feelings on display anymore because I didn’t want to get hurt. I was terrified that my skin could hold me back. I couldn’t help who I was attracted to, but I could hide it. When my friends asked about the football player and why he was never around anymore, I always told them that we didn’t have anything in common and that I had broken it off. I could never tell them I had been rejected by one of the most popular guys in school. Letting my friends know the truth about what had happened would point out the lack of confidence I felt in my own skin, and in high school, confidence is what gets you ahead. Now that high school is a good four years behind me, I look back and I can distinctly see the race line that was not supposed to be crossed. Everyone was friendly with each other; no one was blatantly racist to anyone else. Usually, the relationships formed between races were friendly ones. Romantic relationships didn’t happen. There was a fine line between what was acceptable and what wasn’t. I am a result of what happens when that line is crossed.

Maybe she does have some inside knowledge on the whole concept. According to a Gallup Poll in 2005, 95 percent of 18 to 29 year olds approve of blacks and whites dating. About 60 percent of that age group said they have dated someone of a different race. And with the number of celebrity interracial couples and the many dating Web sites dedicated to connecting blacks and whites for the sake of love, it’s no wonder that interracial dating and marriage are on the rise. Deborrah Cooper reported on her Web site, AskHeartBeat.com, that between 1980 and 1995, interracial marriages have more than doubled and black/white marriages have increased by at least 96 percent. My current dilemma is figuring out if my tall crush with the shining eyes is open to interracial relationships. It would help if I knew the girls he’s dated in the past. Or maybe if he just asked me out. That would help, too. It’s so painful to not know whether a relationship will grow, but I can’t just ask him if he’s into black women when so many other questions hang in the balance. For instance, what if he’s not single? What if he’s married? What if he doesn’t date black girls? Would that change the way I feel about him? The other day in class, all of my questions were answered in a matter of seconds. He leaned over across my desk and showed me a picture of a black woman with a fluffy white dog. “This is my girlfriend,” he said. “What do you think of the puppy she just bought?”

Now, while all my friends are growing up, falling in and out of love and getting married, I’m holding myself back based on some high-school rejection that I can’t let go. Sarah insists, however, that people aren’t like that anymore.

I thought that I would be jealous, but I only felt a little let down. Even though he isn’t single, the fact that he doesn’t have issues with race rules out all of my other concerns. It makes me happier knowing that he is openminded and comfortable enough not to let something as silly as skin get in the way of love. It gives me hope that we as a society are starting to look past trivial things such as race. Even though this guy is taken, I am convinced that there are more open-minded, tall, sparkling-eyed guys for me to fall in love with.

“Trust me, I know. It’s usually the ones who were raised to only marry blonde, blue-eyed, country-club girls who tend to be a bit more racist, and this guy seems normal,” she tells me. “Plus, I’m white. I know.”

Lucy Jones, contributing writer, likes writing stories about her life and enjoys tea, the environment, puppies and ice soy chai teas.

Illustrate

Your Life story and illustrations by meghan hanson

Every day, we act as consumers of our hyper-designed world. But now’s the time to take part in that design production. The computer software used by graphic designers is surprisingly easy for amateurs to find and use for their own projects. Imagine the possibilities if more of us dabbled in the software programs used by professionals. Check out the steps below for a simple overview of where to find and how to use design software, such as Adobe Photoshop and Illustrator, so you can make your own designs and transform your daily décor. Seek Out the Tools of the Trade Creativity is the main ingredient for a graphic designer. A computer won’t give you creativity, but it will provide tools to enhance your creations. Graphic design software may appear as expensive as it is technologically intimidating at first, but there are ways to use these programs at beginner levels to create unique and personalized design projects without spending a fortune.

any enrolled student an 80 percent discount, bringing the price of Creative Suite down to around $200. You can also watch for outdated versions to go on sale at computer software providers. Many retailers sell older versions of these programs, like the 2007 model Creative Suite 3 (CS3), for significantly lower rates than the newest 2009 model, CS4.

Adobe Creative Suite 4, the current package for Adobe design software, is expensive. The package is priced for the professionals who use it regularly at over $1,000. However, there are ways to access the software for much less, or even for free. To follow this tutorial and try the software, you can download a free 30-day trial from Adobe at Adobe.com.

If you’re looking for a free alternative, you can access the programs through many school or library computer banks. You can also try searching for free “shareware” versions of Adobe products online. Start by searching at the Web site Download.com.

If you want to purchase the program after your trial, you have several options. If you are a student, you are eligible for discounts through Adobe and, sometimes, additional discounts through your school or university. For example, some universities, like the University of Minnesota, offer

Following this tutorial will help you get to know your computer as an artistic workspace. It will help you think of these programs as digital versions of an artist’s studio. This image is a composite of sketched and digitally illustrated work found online. By recreating the steps to complete this image, you will come to realize the potential of your computer as an artistic workspace.

Steps to Turn Your Doodles into

Digital Designs

Brainstorm Once you have found and downloaded the trial version of Adobe Creative Suite, think about where you could use an original design. Internet sites like Zazzle.com allow you to transfer your designs onto t-shirts, aprons or even skateboards. For the purpose of this tutorial, we will create an image to promote a book club. The image can be used on invitations or placed on documents necessary for meetings, like booklists. It can also be used on the cover or pages of a book log or journal.

Tour Illustrator When Illustrator first opens, you will see the window pictured at the right. Under “Create New,” click “Print Document.” The second window pictured at right will open. Make sure your window looks like this one. Choose “Letter” for the prompt “Size.” Note: You will only need one Artboard, or working space, but you can work with many Artboards at once. Artboards are like pages in a sketchbook.

Getting to Know Your Workspace

A C

Live Trace Color Palette

B D

Tool Bar Art Board

Once your Artboard is open, you can paint and create using the tools in Illustrator or work from an existing sketch. Click each of the tools to the left of the screen and drag them over the Artboard to make a mark. Practice making shapes and moving them around the Artboard. If you hold your arrow over the icons, Illustrator will tell you what they are called. We are now ready to start creating the image, “Bookworm.” You can download the image at Alivemagazine.org. If you would rather work with your own image, use these steps as a reference for creating your own design. If at any time you are confused, just click on the handy “Help” menu for guidance.

1. 2. 3. 4.

Step 1: Place sketch into Illustrator We will begin with a black-and-white image and color the image using Illustrator. Save the sketch onto your desktop for easy retrieval. If you are working with your own image, make sure to first trace over pencil with black ink. When importing the image onto your computer, scanning the image is preferable, but if you do not have a scanner, you may photograph your sketch on a flat surface and crop the image to include only the paper and the image. Make sure the scanner, or the camera, is set to a high quality setting. Find the setting for “DPI” and make sure that is set to at least 300. In Illustrator, go to “File” in the upper left-hand corner and select the “Place” option from the drop-down list. A window will open. From there, click on the image you wish to import (the downloaded one or your own image) and it will appear on your Artboard. Step 2: Live Trace Once the image appears on the screen, click the “Live Trace” option. You will find it at the top or bottom of your screen, depending on your settings. You have many options for how to use the “Live Trace” tool. The options for tracing settings are found by pressing the triangle to the right of the “Live Trace” button. Feel free to play around with how each setting modifies the sketch. For this tutorial, choose “Detailed Illustration.” This will smooth the lines and allow you to edit the image in Illustrator. It will also only trace the black lines; where you see white will look transparent in this and other applications. In other words, the image will not have the “clip art effect” of a white box around the object (one of the best features of working with professional software). Step 3: Live Paint Click the “Live Paint” icon shown above on the toolbar to the left of the screen. You may turn the black lines into another color with this tool. To fill in areas of your image with color, click the icon of the bucket of spilling paint. This will allow you to “spill” paint into closed areas of your image. Place the bucket over the image and click. If a box pops up and asks you if you are sure you want to transform the object into a “Live Paint” object, click “yes.” Step 4: Coloring your Image It is important to have a plan when coloring your object. Otherwise, you might find your image looking like a page from a child’s coloring book. One of the best features of Photoshop and Illustrator is the provided aids to color your image to the right of the screen. Whereas designers must take countless classes in color theory and artists spend years learning how to blend and mix color on their palettes, Illustrator has varied color options pre-set for you. It has a wonderful selection of color palettes and swatches for you to experiment with. At the color toolbox to the right of the screen, click the “Swatch” icon and then click on the color that you want to base your color scheme upon under “Swatches.” Once you have a color, click the “Color Guide” icon and pick a color palette from the drop-down list. Select the color you wish to use within the drop-down list and place the paint bucket over the closed area you wish to fill, as shown. Once you have finished coloring your image, save your work as an “EPS” file for optimum compatibility. Illustrator can also be used to manipulate photos. Try importing a photo the same way we imported the sketch and play around with the “Live Paint” tool to create different effects. Voila! You are finished! Now that you have this, crisp, professional digital document, try using the other programs downloaded with your free trial of Creative Suite to further infuse your creation with more of your personality. The finished product shown here was placed in Photoshop and layered with brushes. You can find a tutorial about Photoshop online at the Alive Magazine Web site. After following this tutorial, you will have already conquered one of the most difficult steps to learning the skills of a designer – getting started.

Meghan Hanson, graphic design intern

Till Death Do Us Part... \

Unless I Change My Mind

by nicolle westlund photography by kristen morgan

At the private university I attended, the students and professors have a running joke that speaks to the multitudes of people who get engaged during their senior year. The “ring by spring” mantra, while usually referenced in jest, does seem to represent a certain percentage of young men and women at my alma mater. In the four months prior to my graduation, 10 friends or acquaintances got engaged, three more were just waiting for their diamond rings and an incredible number of wedding magazines somehow found a home on the coffee table that sat in my living room.

So what’s the catch? Why do so many couples, couples that have seemingly made the “till death do us part” commitment, break up?

I’ll admit that I myself have bought a wedding magazine or two in my life (when you’re on vacation in Florida with your best friend, what else is there to read while lying on the beach?). It’s fun to daydream while soaking up the sun, but I wonder if some of my engaged friends are spending more time thinking about their wedding ceremonies than working to ensure that their future marriages are going to last longer than the dance at the wedding reception.

“To love and to cherish… unless someone better comes along.”

It’s easy to say you’re going to love someone forever, but that kind of commitment doesn’t fully resonate with some people. According to The State of Our Unions 2005, an annual report issued by the National Marriage Project at New Jersey’s Rutgers University, the divorce rate is [177 out of every 1,000 married women.] While that isn’t as inflated as other statistics floating around, it’s still a significant number.

While there isn’t one clear-cut answer, part of the reason could stem from the mindset with which many people enter marriage. Because we live in a fast-paced, instantgratification-obsessed society, we aren’t always used to the slow, patience-based dedication it takes to build an enduring relationship. Many of us enter marriage with a subconscious contractual mindset:

“In sickness and in health… unless you become too much work for me.” “Till death do us part… unless you do something that makes me unhappy.” These may not be thoughts we could verbalize, but our subconscious is overflowing with contractual guidelines for our relationships. Instead, our mindsets when entering what is meant to be a lifelong commitment should be covenantal. WE AREN’T ALWAYS USED TO THE SLOW, PATIENCE-BASED DEDICATION IT TAKES TO BUILD AN ENDURING RELATIONSHIP.

“Covenant” can sound like a really intense word. It may bring to mind strict, rigid religious imagery, but it doesn’t have to revolve around any kind of church tradition. What it means in the context of marriage is to, in effect, squelch those subconscious guidelines we give our relationships. In contractual marriage, love is viewed as a feeling, something you can almost touch. It’s that stereotypical gooey, lovey-dovey feeling that chick flicks gush about. Covenantal marriage says that there might be days when love is a choice – not because you’ve fallen out of love, but because that love and the feeling of love have changed. It’s gone from passionate eros to stable affection. Sometimes people mistake such a change in “feeling” for a reason to get divorced, when they should in fact embrace the change as a new dimension to a relationship. It’s not about a feeling. It’s about a commitment, and a covenantal commitment is one that means, “I’ll stick with you through thick and thin, even if my ‘feelings’ change.” There are obvious exceptions to such a statement. In a verbally, emotionally or physically abusive relationship, the commitment has already been broken, and to file for divorce may be the best option. But in struggling through the usual marital issues, the idea of a covenantal commitment gives a relationship a more solid, sturdy

[A COVENANTAL COMMITMENT] IS NOT ABOUT A FEELING. IT’S ABOUT A COMMITMENT… ONE THAT MEANS, ‘I’LL STICK WITH YOU THROUGH THICK AND THIN, EVEN IF MY ‘FEELINGS’ CHANGE.’ foundation, one that can be sustained till death actually parts you. And, if a relationship is built on that kind of foundation, both spouses will be happier in the long run because they won’t be constantly wondering what they might have missed out on. The stack of glossy wedding magazines on my coffee table was a nice reminder that, while weddings are exciting, sentimental events, what really matters is whether the vows exchanged are more than just words. I know I eventually want an elegant wedding, complete with my family, friends and a killer dress, but what’s more important to me is that the commitment I make that day is one that will indeed last till death parts us.

Nicolle Westlund, managing editor

Kristen Morgan, contributing artist, is a proud mama and laughter enthusiast, and the owner of LanierStar Photography in Jacksonville, Fla.

b My Place

in the Palace

by cheyenne kirkpatrick

Why are you trying to take this away from me? I thought, as some guys in my college New Testament history class tried to deny the leadership of Phoebe, a woman in the Bible. I was offended, and this realization only escalated my irritation. I couldn’t believe I was getting emotionally involved in a class discussion with people who were so obviously uninformed. I took another deep breath and continued to argue my case – the Bible clearly states that Phoebe was a leader in the church. Why was it so hard for them to accept? But, sitting back in my chair, I realized it was also a little bit hard for me to accept. This bothered me even more than the unfounded arguments of my classmates. Why was it difficult for me to believe that this woman, Phoebe, had a leadership role in the church? Why was it difficult for me to believe that I could have a leadership role in the church… or anywhere? I tried to pinpoint the moment I had put on the foggy lenses which gave me such a skewed view of women. My father and brothers had always treated my mother and me with respect. I couldn’t think of a time when something was withheld from me because I was a woman in my Christian school or church. Could it have been the Bible that made me feel this way? As soon as I asked this question, I became nervous. Could I question the word of God? Book after book, verse after verse, I searched my Bible, wondering if there was a place that had diverted me down a path of inferiority. I noticed that the word “man” was used to refer to humankind, but that had never bothered me. I checked a few other stories and verses, trying to find a page on which I could place the blame. I found nothing. I had just experienced the infallibility of God’s word.

THE PROBLEM WAS THAT I HAD ALWAYS FELT ADOPTED, LIKE I DIDN’T TRULY BELONG IN GOD’S FAMILY, BUT BY SOME CRAZY TWIST OF FATE HAD LANDED THERE. I moved on with my life without an answer to my question. It hung in my mind next to, “Who will I marry?” “How do you cure cancer?” and “Why did the chicken cross the road?” But two semesters later, I found the answer in the last place I would’ve expected: Romans class. This class was about a letter the apostle Paul wrote to the early Roman church. I started the required senior-level course with no expectations of correcting my tainted view of women in the church, but God had something else in mind. With just weeks left in the semester, my professor started teaching on Romans 9. To prepare for a paper he had assigned, I began to read the chapter. When I got to verse eight, I stopped. I read it over again. I quickly leafed through some commentaries I’d checked out of the library. The fog cleared, and in that instant I saw myself as a valued woman of God. “In other words, it is not the natural children who are God’s children, but it is the children of the promise who are regarded as Abraham’s offspring,” I read. Romans 9:8 went against everything I thought I knew about biblical history. I was taught that God came to Abraham, a man in the Old Testament, and told him that his wife, who was far beyond child-bearing years, would be pregnant and have a son. God promised Abraham that he would be the “father of many nations,” even though it seemed impossible for his wife to have kids. From this son descended the entire nation of Israel – Abraham’s natural offspring, or the Jews as we refer to them today. The Old Testament follows this nation’s journey with God through thousands of years with books of poetry, history and law. Although I saw myself in some of the people in the texts, I had always separated myself from them, since they were Jews, the “natural offspring,” and I was not. The facts I was taught were true, but they led me to believe that my story started later, when Jesus, the actual son of God, came to earth. He came to save every person, not just a chosen nation. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a Jew; I could have a relationship with God because of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. I thought this was the only place my story began, but I was wrong. It begins not only with Jesus’ sacrifice, but also back in the first book of the Bible, Genesis, with Abraham. The problem was that I had always felt adopted, like I didn’t truly belong in God’s family, but by some crazy

twist of fate had landed there. I felt this way partially because I’m not Jewish, but mostly because I’m a woman. The Bible is filled with stories of patriarchs and kings. The stories are set in a time period where women were merely possessions. Female leaders were few and far between, leading me to believe that I was simply tacked on to the list of people that mattered. The Bible seemed to say that God cares about men… and, oh yeah, women too. I felt like a girl who’d been accepted into a royal family, but couldn’t imagine assuming the throne because she had no right to it. I didn’t belong. I was stealing promises of significance and worth, promises that weren’t meant for me, a woman. I should be happy to be allowed in the palace. I could not sit on the throne, be a leader – I was bending enough rules already. It wasn’t until I understood Romans 9:8 that I began to see my place in this so-called “palace.” The story of Abraham’s son wasn’t just a promise to have a multitude of “natural offspring“; it was a spiritual promise. God came to Abraham and performed a miracle, blessing him beyond imagination. And from this spiritual promise came spiritual offspring, the people who have faith in God like Abraham did. I am one of those people. I have faith in God. I am a descendent of Abraham. After connecting this in my brain, I immediately flipped to Galatians, another letter Paul wrote to an early church. Galatians 3:28-29 says, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” Male nor female. I repeated the words in my head. So that must mean that we are all the same. I am a rightful inhabitant of the palace. I can assume a throne. I’ve been chosen specifically. I’m not an exception. I’m not tacked on later. I am the same as a man. Why shouldn’t I take leadership? Things became increasingly clear: I had simply misunderstood the Bible, and it cost me years of inferiority, cramped inside the tiny box I’d built for myself. I realized that I was a true heir to the miraculous promise God had made to one of the greatest patriarchs in the Bible. I started experiencing incredible freedom to be myself in my relationship with God and my relationships with people. I had always been allowed to be myself and take leadership, but now I finally feel free to do so. I’ve found my place.

Cheyenne Kirkpatrick, outreach coordinator

T by tiana toso Living with cancer always requires a drastic change in lifestyle. For some, chemotherapy means wearing a wig for the first time in their lives. For others, creating a wheelchair-friendly home is suddenly a necessity. For my mother, learning to use a juicer for most of her meals and eating organically became a normal part of her daily routine. I’ll never forget the day my parents came to share the news. I had just graduated from college and was working as a videographer for a bible camp in northwest Iowa. I remember sitting in my office chair with a pit in my stomach as they explained the doctor’s diagnosis. My eyes started to glaze over as I read the multi-page medical report on “Polycythemia Vera.” It wasn’t until after they left that the information finally sunk in. Later that night, tears soaked the shoulder of my friend’s sweater as I held her for dear life and sobbed aloud, “My mom has bone marrow cancer!” LATER THAT NIGHT, TEARS SOAKED THE SHOULDER OF MY FRIEND’S SWEATER AS I HELD HER FOR DEAR LIFE AND SOBBED ALOUD, ‘MY MOM HAS BONE MARROW CANCER!’ My mom’s name is Joann. She is the oldest of six missionary kids. She was born to be an organizer, party host, leader of the pack and spiritual mentor. I attribute much of my faith in God to the seeds she planted in my heart when I was growing up. She decided shortly after her diagnosis that neither chemo nor radiation therapy was the path for her. Our family spent hours researching alternative therapies for cancer. We soon learned of the Gerson Institute. Dr. Max Gerson, the founder, had cured himself of cancer back in the 1920s by studying the miraculous, cancerfighting nutrients in fruits and vegetables and putting them to use by extracting and consuming loads of antioxidants by way of juicing. Currently based in San Diego, Calif., the Gerson Institute introduces thousands of people with “incurable” diseases to safe, healthy, alternative methods of treatment.

Within a few months of starting this therapy, all of the meat products in our refrigerator had been replaced with organic produce. While protein naturally supports the growth of healthy cells in a body, Dr. Gerson found that protein can nourish cancer cells as well. He also concluded that the elimination of protein from a diet for a short period of time actually improves white T-cell counts. T-cells are a type of white blood cell that aid the immune system greatly, and cancer patients rely on strong immune systems to help them overcome their disease. As a result, my mom’s diet was stripped of any foods containing protein, in hopes that her T-cell count would improve as well. Her therapy also included a raw-foodsonly diet. I learned that the process of freezing foods or cooking them at high temperatures drastically reduces the amount of healthy nutrients we consume by the time the food reaches our plates. I also learned a lot about the ingredients in processed, canned or packaged foods – many wreak havoc on our bodies and have been shown to increase one’s risk of cancer. Basically, my mom’s diet became stricter than even a vegan’s diet. Once I started to learn more about my mom’s therapy, I understood that it would be a huge personal sacrifice for her to maintain this diet. Stopping for ice cream on a hot summer day, eating hot dogs at sporting events and making her typical pasta casseroles were now out of the question. I decided to show my support for her by becoming a vegan. I knew that her diet was specifically designed for someone with her condition and wouldn’t be healthy for me, so I learned as much as I could about being a vegan and started making my own personal dietary sacrifices.

Though my experience wasn’t as regimented as hers, it was the best I could do to share this new path with her. I had to quickly learn how to be a vegan-minded grocery shopper. Walking down the aisles, I would catch myself reaching for staples like milk, eggs and ice cream just out of habit. After a bit of research, I learned that hazelnut, almond and rice milk are all healthy substitutes for cow’s milk; eggs can be replaced in almost any recipe by adding applesauce; scrambled tofu (in place of scrambled eggs) wasn’t as freaky as I had originally thought; and Earth Balance vegetable spread was very tasty and far more healthy than regular butter. I also discovered my love for Rice Dream ice cream. I’ve always been an ice cream lover and was thrilled to find there was a non-dairy substitute for my sweet-tooth tendencies. As I talked with others about my vegan diet, they usually asked, “If you don’t eat meat products, how do you get your protein?” or “If you don’t drink milk, where do you get your calcium?” When I started this diet, I had to answer the same questions for myself. I learned from the Journal of The American Dietetic Association’s article, “Position of the American Dietetic Associationand Dieticians of Canada: Vegetarian Diets,” that “isolated soy protein

can meet protein needs as effectively as animal protein.” I have started to include soy products as a form of protein in my diet, but I also enjoy adding beans to rice and nuts to salad recipes or just eating them for a daily snack. Also, when reading up on the vegan diet online and in books,I learned that I could consume a healthy amount of calcium simply by eating plenty of vegetables such as bok choy, cabbage, broccoli, collards, kale or okra. Most vegetables contain higher amounts of calcium than a glass of milk and much less fat. By adapting to this diet, I’ve lost weight, had more energy, eaten healthier foods and become more understanding and supportive of the vegetarians, vegans and fruititarians of the world. In the end, what really matters the most is that I found a unique way to be there for my mom when she was forced to make a major life change. I’m proud to announce my mother is still a cancer survivor and still the greatest woman I’ve ever known. Tiana Toso, contributing writer, is a lover of nature, swing dancing and learning about different languages and cultures.

If you would like to take a vegan recipe for a spin, I’ve included some for you to try. Bon appétit! Black Bean and Sweet Potato Soup

Oatmeal Cookies Makes: 12 cookies

1 medium onion, diced

1 cup quick oats

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup white flour

1 small red pepper, diced

½ cup whole wheat flour

(orange or yellow peppers work well too)

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 medium carrot, shredded

½ teaspoon salt

1 large sweet potato, diced

½ teaspoon vanilla

1 15-ounce can black beans, drained

½ cup brown sugar

1 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes

¼ cup white sugar

2 cups water

¼ cup raisins

2 teaspoons of curry seasoning

½ cup applesauce

Juice from one lime

2 teaspoons egg replacer powder

Put all the ingredients, except for the lime juice, into your pressure cooker. Seal and bring to high pressure. Cook for 3-5 minutes, turn off heat and allow the pressure to come down naturally. Add lime juice just before serving.

2 tablespoons water *Optional: ¼ cup raisins Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Mix all the dry ingredients, including raisins. Mix the egg replacer with the water. Add it and the applesauce to the dry ingredients. Drop evenly sized balls onto a non-stick cookie sheet (lightly coated with oil, if necessary). Bake for 12-15 minutes.

The

Women From Here

and Now by derek swart

In the not-too-distant past, I remember sitting in a hotel room with three of my female friends, talking about where all the strong women of Hollywood had gone. We were in Chicago, sprawled out on a pair of wonderful green hotel beds with more pillows than a Persian harem and leafing through the programs of the writer’s conference we were supposed to be attending. The hotel was a magnificent affair, historic in the way that only true Americana can be. The hallways leading up to our room were decorated with psychedelic paisley carpet and morning-after dishes of leftover strawberries and champagne, complete with houseflies buzzing around the discarded food. Black and white photographs lined the hallways, showcasing the various celebrities that must have once stayed at the hotel: Jimmy Stewart, Fred Astaire and Marilyn Monroe, coyly smiling and clasping Joe DiMaggio’s arm. “Top five favorite actors,” I’d asked my friends. I got the standard variety of responses: Johnny Depp; Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday; Leonardo DiCaprio in just about anything; George Clooney as himself on any given late-night appearance; the random, fanatical Bruce Campbell. But no one picked a woman.

“OK,” I said, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “What about your top five favorite actresses?” “Can we pick women who were just in chick flicks?” a friend of mine asked. “Because those are different than normal movies.” ”Sure,” I said. “Whichever actresses you want.” But the jealous part of me noted that there were no such distinctions made for the male movies. Why didn’t we have movies named after us? As they rattled off actresses, I got another typical list: Angelina Jolie, Molly Ringwald, Jennifer Connelly and a few newer actresses who I wasn’t familiar with. “Jeez,” someone said. “Are there any movies where those women aren’t just there as sexual props?” I pondered that for a minute, and was about to make the argument that Angelina played a rather convincing female protagonist in “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” but thought better of it. I wasn’t sure I could imagine her in any role that didn’t have a flavor of forbidden sex. “Well, what about the Hepburns?” I said. “They weren’t the kind of women who were in movies because they were sexual objects.” “That’s true,” someone said. “But those aren’t recent movies.” She had a point. The actresses from the 50s and 60s may have hopped off the cultural express train, but the actresses of today had hopped right back on. Had something been lost between the “then” and the “now”? Looking back on movies from that bygone time, I thought I saw a marked difference between the roles women played then and the ones they play today. Even in the roles where the woman is essentially nothing but an object of desire, such as “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Audrey Hepburn is so clearly over-the-top with her portrayal of the whimsical Holly Golightly that she acts as more of a social commentator on women than any kind of endorsement for living in such a superficial fashion. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how few other examples there were. Katherine Hepburn, opposite Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant in “The Philadel-

AUDREY HEPBURN IS SO CLEARLY OVER-THETOP WITH HER PORTRAYAL OF THE WHIMSICAL HOLLY GOLIGHTLY THAT SHE ACTS AS MORE OF A SOCIAL COMMENTATOR ON WOMEN THAN ANY KIND OF ENDORSEMENT FOR LIVING IN SUCH A SUPERFICIAL FASHION.

phia Story,” plays another comically light-hearted female lead as Tracy Lord but still defines herself by the men in her life: her past husband, current fiancé, even the tabloid reporter sent to spy on her wedding. And America’s princess herself, Marilyn Monroe, embraced starring roles in movies like “How to Marry a Millionaire” and “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” Still, contrast even those few examples to the movies of today. We might have movies with strong female protagonists, but there’s always a catch. For instance, look at Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly in “The Devil Wears Prada.” Along with others in its vein, this movie suggests that for a woman to be professionally successful, she has to have a rankling, brusque demeanor. These movies have slapped their own glass ceilings on female leads. Miranda Priestly can’t be a successful magazine editor – she has to be a successful fashion magazine editor. Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw in “Sex and the City” can’t be a talented writer – she has to be a talented writer two Cosmopolitans away from erotic fiction. Eva Mendes, as Sarah Melas in “Hitch,” can’t be a prestigious news journalist – she has to be a gossip columnist. But not only are female actresses required to have frivolous careers in their movies – they also have to be young. While most of the highly acclaimed actors my friends had named were in their 40s or older, some of the actresses were so young that I hadn’t even heard of them. I wondered for a moment why they all left the business so young. Women can’t all be retiring, I thought suddenly. They’re being put out to pasture. In how many movies has Jack Nicholson played an aging man whose life just needs a little rejuvenation from a young, virginal gal less than half his age? I suddenly realized that men don’t have movies named after them because they don’t need them to be. Almost all movies that aren’t chick flicks are male movies. Even in movies universally adored by parties male, female and otherwise, such as “The Departed,” the lead woman serves as a point of contention between the leading men, sleeping with both of them, ambiguously bearing one of their children and, overall, coming off as maudlin and unable to change the course of the story.

Essentially, we have created a new kind of separate-butequal clause for our movies. If a movie is going to have a female lead, she can’t be lovable and successful. She can’t be independent and desirable. And it almost goes without saying that she has to be under 35. But do these rules apply to real women, too – women who exist outside of the Hollywood bubble? Do real women look up to these movie stars as examples of how they should lead their everyday lives? I thought about some of the real women I’d known in my life – women like my mother – and tried to imagine what kind of media she must have been subjected to growing up in the 60s. The popular TV shows, such as “Green Acres” and “Leave it to Beaver,” featured perfect families where the men made money and the women cooked, cleaned and curled their hair. The couples never fought, but they never kissed either, and the wives would never even think of challenging their husbands. But there was my mom, barreling past age 50 and a no better cook than she was when she was 5, a woman who knows less about hair products than I do. The longer I thought about my mother’s media of the 60s and my media today, the more confused I became. We might have traded under-sexed June Cleaver for over-sexed Lara Croft, but the whole culture is rife with less-than-strong examples of women. Still, women keep turning out all right in spite of that. I looked around the room at three of the best and brightest people I know and realized that these were women who in no way resembled their stereotyped film counterparts.

--MARK SWART

By the car trip home from the writer’s conference, I had put the actresses and movies out of my mind, but something happened months later that made me think of the ladies of the cinema again. I’d just bought my first Bob Dylan CD and was listening to it with my dad. He hung up his own guitar long ago in favor of the quiet home life, but every so often, he’ll sit back, misty-eyed, and reminisce about the old days. “The Times They are AChangin’” had just come on the CD player, and he smiled melancholically. “You know something about the 60s?” he said. “After everything, the times never changed and things went right back to the way that they always were. If there’s one thing that the 60s taught us, it’s nothing.” He laughed. I was depressed for a minute after that. What if things didn’t ever change? Not the sunniest bit of advice from a father to his 22-year-old son, just out of college and recently certified to change the world. But then I thought back to my friends seated next to me in that hotel and my own mother – who was probably still at work – as my dad and I barbecued and listened to music. My mother is the kind of woman who is successful and lovable, independent and desirable, if 30 years of marriage can be any judge. Cinema may keep on producing Miley Cyrus images du jour for pre-teen girls, but the women who I know are perfectly happy to drive seven hours at 4:30 a.m. and sleep four people to a single hotel room for three nights just to hear what writers have to say about their craft. These are the girls who had grown up wading through oceans of Disney princesses, Madonna and the Spice Girls – and there they were, laughing at me for how much time I spent in the mirror each morning playing with my hair. They are girls who can wake up at 7 a.m. and still manage to look as beautiful as ever; women who could talk me into going to one more panel instead of to lunch. I thought of these women, and where they might be when they are 50, and I realized that even though the times might not have changed, maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world. Derek Swart, contributing writer, has a degree in English literature from the University of Minnesota. He is currently pursuing a master’s in creative writing.

Life Raft

by pamela klopfenstein illustrations by meghan hanson

We lost our 4-year-old biological son, Jonathan, in the year 2000. He was born a 25-week preemie, suffered numerous complications at birth and underwent 48 surgeries during his four short years. Being a nurse for 18 years did not prepare me for the obstacles of watching my son suffer, or for his death. The year after he died, I found myself beginning to drown in a sea of self-pity. Before Jonathan came along, I was used to a routine. I went to my fulltime job, came home and fulfilled my wifely duties to my husband and motherly duties to my other two biological sons, Jeremy and Matt. I felt so blessed. After Jonathan died, I thought, Why canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I get back to stable ground? When I began to reflect back over the past four years, I realized what had changed. I had spent every waking minute taking care of him. Jonathan was confined to a wheelchair and could only stand for half an hour with the assistance of a standing frame. I stretched his muscles faithfully so they wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t become contracted due to Cerebral Palsy. And, even though he could only crawl three feet and sit for a minimum of 15 minutes, he was the happiest child I have ever met, completely independent of materialistic things. So, when he died, a part of me climbed into the clod of earth and died with him. One day, while I was cleaning his room, I picked up one of the braces that he wore on his legs and sat down in the middle of his bedroom floor, tears leaking down my cheeks. My dog, Lexy, came into the room and sat down beside me, wagging her tail. She put her nose into my face and began licking my tears. At that moment, I felt like a child who needed to be cuddled and assured that somewhere at the end of the grief there would be a rainbow. It was then that I began to realize I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be the only one suffering; surely my husband and boys were dealing with grief, too. That evening after supper, I called a family meeting to order. I told them I had started a memory book and encouraged them to record the happy moments we shared with Jonathan. By the end of the hour-long conversation, my family embraced and vowed never to grieve silently alone.

After the boys had gone to bed, I shared with Kurt the prayer request I had given to God – to send our family a child who had health issues similar to Jonathan. We had initially applied for our foster care license before Jonathan died. We had done some respite care, but when Jonathan was admitted to the hospital for eight months, we had put our plans to take in more children on hold. I explained my thoughts to Kurt: Now, we could offer another child what Jonathan had taught us – unconditional love. Kurt listened passionately to my heart’s desire. When I began to reflect back on the times we spent at the hospital with Jonathan and reminded Kurt of the sick children we saw lying in beds without family to comfort them, the tears began to spill down his cheeks. He replied, “And you promised Jonathan that we would go on and take care of medically fragile kids.” Before we went to bed that night, we knew that what Jonathan had taught us would change who we were forever, and that we would channel the love our family had to offer to others. A week later, the phone rang. Ralph, one of the placement coordinators from Children Services, was calling to see if we would consider fostering a premature infant who was born at 25 weeks gestation. “Dalaquan weighed 1 pound, 13 ounces at birth,” he said, “and was born with grade-three bleeds in the ventricles of his brain.” He reiterated that no one could promise the outcome of this child. As he continued to explain Dalaquan’s situation, a smile erupted on my face. “Thank you,” I said. While we were gathered around the supper table that evening, I explained the situation to my family and finished by saying Dalaquan’s family was unable to care for him due to the cost of his medical needs. A smile tugged at Kurt’s lips because he knew that God had answered my prayer. He encouraged me to tell the boys my prayer request. When I finished, Matthew admitted that he missed his baby brother and said it would be exciting to foster a child. Jeremy was apprehensive at first, because he feared that, if this child died too or went back home to his biological parents, our family would no doubt suffer more heartache and pain. I told Jeremy that I doubted the baby would return home because of his special needs. He needed a full-time nurse and his mom had lost her first baby, so this new baby was too much for her to bear. I finished by saying, “I know how much you are hurting, but if we don’t get into the boat, our ship may never set sail.” Jeremy looked at me quizzically. I said, “We can’t just give up because Jonathan died. We have to carry on and give the love we have to others, even if the end result is more pain.” Jeremy nodded as if the words had been etched into his brain. When we brought Dalaquan home, my family immediately fell in love with him. My boys have told me on more than

AT THAT MOMENT, I one occasion that our FELT LIKE A CHILD WHO family couldn’t have NEEDED TO BE CUDDLED taken much more AND ASSURED THAT heartache and pain; SOMEWHERE AT THE we needed a blessEND OF THE GRIEF THERE ing. Seven years have WOULD BE A RAINBOW passed since Dalaquan entered our lives, and even though doctors told us that he might never walk, talk or do things that other children can do, after much therapy he now walks with a brace and a limp, and he says the funniest things. One day, while we were at Jonathan’s graveside, Dalaquan’s chocolate-chip-colored eyes lit up. He grinned and said, “When I go to heaven, I’m asking Jesus for a parachute so I can come back.” We laughed. A few months later, while I was cleaning the upstairs, I found the memory book that I was sure my family had forgotten about. Opening it up, I saw that Jeremy, 15 years old, had written: “Dear Jonathan: I remember when we played with Mr. Monkey. You giggled all the time. We were like peas and carrots, weren’t we? I miss you, buddy. Mama took a baby named Dalaquan, and at first I only said I wanted to take him to make Mom happy, but Mama knew best. God sent us Dalaquan when we were sinking and needed a life raft, and he reminds me of you.” Matt, 8 years old, had written: “Dear Jonathan: After you died, I felt bad for making the statement, ‘I got my Mommy back.’ When our family took this little baby I was jealous, but then I began to see that Mommy loves everybody. Thanks for teaching us unconditional love. And I’m sure God has told you by now that in the past year, I’ve undergone 10 cranial-facial surgeries to correct my diagnosis of sleep obstructive apnea, and Mama’s been at my bedside for every one of them. Tell God thanks for sending us special angels.” I clutched the book to my chest, and tears scalded my eyes. I was so proud of my family. Jonathan taught us abounding love, compassion and empathy. And every day that passes, when we look at Dalaquan, we feel special because we were given a chance to offer the unconditional love that Jonathan taught us to another child. Within a few months, we’ll be signing the final adoption papers for Dalaquan, giving him our last name. And even thought we’ll always miss Jonathan and our new addition could never replace his presence, we know that Dalaquan is an important part of our family. He has truly been our life raft. Pamela Klopfenstein, contributing writer, recently ﬁnished her novel, “The Road Home” and her work of nonﬁction,“My Heart Will Forever Go On.”

staff&interns

Jen Dotson, executive director, is fairly certain that life is best viewed through a lens of imagination. As such, she lives in a world where playgrounds are meant for adults and cartwheels are a commonplace occurrence on city streets. She takes her greatest inspiration from her 92-year-old grandmother, who taught her that the most effective way to get a new perspective on life is to climb a tree.

Nicolle Westlund, managing editor, cries when cartoon animals in Disney movies get lost, even if they’re cockroaches that live in Twinkies. If she could rule a country, she’d pick Australia for its beaches and alluring climate, though she’s not sure if ruling a country that is also a continent is allowed.

Jamie Joslin Millard, development director, agrees with Demetri Martin, who says, “When you get dressed in the morning, sometimes you’re really making a decision about your behavior for the day. Like if you put on flip-flops, you’re saying: ‘Hope I don’t get chased today.’” Jamie grew up in Dallas, Texas and attended the University of Minnesota, where she received her degree in English.

Cheyenne Kirkpatrick, outreach coordinator, has grown up in Minnesota but continues to be utterly shocked by the weather. She is studying media communication and psychology at Crown College. She loves to write, has a habit of smiling and singing to herself and is best friends with the sun and the color pink.

Abby Zimmer, intern coordinator, enjoys taking the time to bike to work, walk to local coffee shops and read into all hours of the night. Abby looks forward to exploring the city’s bike trails this summer.

taff&intern

Allison Bratnick, graphic design intern, spends her time either trying to break the world record for hula hooping or taking a long walk on the beach with her cat, Louis. She can laugh her way out of any awkward situation and will be the first to offer advice for a successful prank call.

Lindsey Giaquinto, editorial intern, is a senior at St. Olaf College. She grew up in New Mexico, but has come to call Minnesota home. She is addicted to coffee, dreams of traveling the world and believes that life should be an adventure.

Marit Hanson, editorial intern, thinks that Willy Wonka had the right idea inventing a river of chocolate. When not seeking out new and creative ways to take a nap, she enjoys traveling, hiking and indulging her “Twilight” obsession.

Meghan Hanson, graphic design intern, loves exploring Minneapolis for art in unexpected places, yet finds it hard to leave her apartment now that she has her new cat Pippi Longstocking and a blank canvas waiting for her at home. She is still trying to understand why short stories are rarely illustrated by their authors.

Nicole Heinz, development intern, loves traveling. Even though she’s been to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula several times, it never ceases to amaze her with its breathtaking beauty. Nicole has a passion for children and delights in the privilege of mentoring children at her church.

Maya Iginla, editorial intern, is a Cancer who thinks that personalities can be determined by zodiac sign. One book she read claimed that Cancers love chocolate and baked goods, which is so accurate for her that she took it as solid proof that astrology really works.

Lydia Metzger, graphic design intern, is studying graphic design and advertising at Drake University. She resides in western Wisconsin but has an identity crisis as a Minnesotan. She believes that it is better to live and learn, rather than to sit and always wonder.

Kate Rhody, public relations intern, thoroughly enjoys a good solid sneeze. In the summer, playing frolf and grilling are her way of life, and in the winter the name of the game is snowboarding. She will be traveling as much as she can for the rest of her life and strongly believes that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies are the greatest classics of all time. Regan Smith, public relations intern, hopes to one day fulfill her lifetime goal of making the next great American movie, an all-girls version of “The Mighty Ducks.” She dances like Elaine from Seinfeld and wouldn’t mind becoming the canine version of a crazy cat lady.

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Our mission at Alive is to create opportunities for every young woman to discover her voice and realize her full potential. At Alive, we cultivate strong communities of men and women dedicated to reforming not just the media, but also the culture that surrounds young women.

Our focus is clear, but our impact broad. Alive effects change in four key areas: Cultural Reform: • 75 percent of teen girls 15-19 agree that society tells girls that attracting boys and acting sexy is one of the most important things girls can do. Despite the harsh reality this generation of women face, they are, at large, a population of digitally savvy, well-read, deep-thinking, articulate individuals who are burgeoning leaders. As a community, we are capable of changing the messages that are aimed at these young people. By affirming their talents and dreams, and encouraging them to take ownership of their lives, members of Alive represent powerful segments of a larger population who have the power to shape our culture. Creative Expression: • When asked to rank its importance in making them feel loved, 86 percent of women responded “doing something you really love to do.” In a world that does not always take time to acknowledge the transformative powers of art and storytelling, Alive affirms the value of creativity. Through one-on-one, holistic editing and enthusiastic mentoring from Alive’s staff, we aim to build young women’s self-confidence in their creative talents. Media Reform: • 81 percent of women in America strongly agree that “the media and advertising set an unrealistic standard of beauty that most women can’t ever achieve” (Dove Real Beauty Report). Today’s teenage women are tired of being talked down to, talked about and targeted only as consumers. Rather than wait for existing leaders in the industry to present healthy images and relevant content to teens and young adults, the women who participate in Alive Magazine choose to set an example themselves of the media they wish to see. Leadership Development: • While women make up 46.5 percent of the workforce, they represent only 12 percent of all corporate officers. Integrating mentorship into every level of our business model, Alive helps to hone leadership skills in young women around the world. By connecting our interns with community members, and contributing writers with our interns, we help young women identify and develop their professional skills.

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