Atrophy by Cassie Ingrasci

atrophy

A Few Words From Our Editors… very couple of decades a new generation is born. Shaped by the events they experience – both the good and the bad, they each have their own personality. There was the Silent Generation born in between the two World Wars, the Baby Boomers that created a shockwave throughout the nation, Generation X which witnessed the Cold War, and Generation Y – our generation. Also known as “The Millenials” and “Trophy Kids,” we are the children of the Digital Revolution. Known to be driven by the latest technology, we have created an entirely new culture and we’re proud of it. The senior class of HTH presents Atrophy, a magazine by and for our generation. As a class we have decided that “Atrophy” is an appropriate name due to the so called wasting away of our generation in the eyes of our predecessors and the community that surrounds us. The words “A” and “trophy” can also be drawn from the title as we embrace our “trophy kid” roots. As editors, we are incredibly proud of Atrophy and naturally as trophy kids, we want to give our thanks to everyone involved. We couldn’t have done it by ourselves. We hope that you enjoy reading Atrophy and that it gives you insight into our generation’s world. Sincerely,

Meg Oka and Ana-Karen Zavala Zimmerer The Editors

annals of technology

education and robots by Elon Michaelson

How robotics is inspiring America’s future engineers.

he audience jumps to their feet and yells their approval to the arena once again. Below, on the field, one team takes the lead after an offensive play. The buzzer signals the end of the match. This is no ordinary sport. On the field are only robots, and the audience is primarily made up of the high-school students who built them. This is FIRST Robotics, and it might be what restores the United States to its former technological prowess. The United States has been steadily lagging behind other developed countries. Although the United States spends mas-

sively on education, an inefficient system gives little return on the investment and students do not take much knowledge home with them. Due to this inefficient system, we rank in the lower end of countries based on testing and, in fact, are barely higher than Kazakhstan on the United Nations’s Education Index. The worst of this is that our score is decreasing, despite spending many times what other countries spend on education. Our students seem to simply be disinterested in math and the sciences. Other countries, however, are very interested in science.

One of the reasons that outsourcing is so popular is that not only is it cheap, but it is easy to find very well-qualified engineers abroad. As time goes on, the majority of engineers in the United States age and retire, but there will always be foreign engineers available to hire. As time goes on, the United States may slip into producing less and less skilled workers, relying solely on outside sources for engineers and scientists. In the late 80’s, Dean Kamen—now known best for inventing the Segway—realized the extent of this problem. His solution was the founding of the notfor-profit charity organization FIRST, meaning For Inspiration and Recognition of Science and Technology. FIRST initially targeted highschool students, but it now

is available for students as early as elementary school. The aim of FIRST is to interest students in science by having them create teams that design robots, then compete with them against other teams. There are many different aspects of the competition that assist students in gaining real-world knowledge of engineering and technology. The students have only six weeks from when the game is announced until their robot must be completed. This forces teams to work together efficiently, as the robot will not be completed otherwise. Additionally, this prepared them for real-world jobs, as jobs they work in will likely have hard deadlines for work completion. The most important piece of FIRST is that the competition is exciting and fun. Many students find school to be boring, so when

they are introduced to exciting science they tend to reconsider their ideas on careers in science, engineering, and related fields. In a retrospective study of FIRST Robotics Competition (FRC) students, it was found that FRC participants are more than 30% more likely to attend college, and about three times as likely to major in engineering. They are also more than twice as likely to perform community service, and more than twice as many students expect to have a science and technology related career. This shows the demonstrable effect FIRST has on students. This year there are more than 1,600 teams competing just in the highschool bracket, up 300 teams from 2007. It is vitally essential that the current young generation be targeted for interest in science and technology. Although we have many old scientists

and engineers, we still need many more young ones if we want to replace them when they retire. It is vital that we do not rely on outsourcing if we want to stay a technological powerhouse. We still produce a very large amount of scientific knowledge, but that amount will drop as more and more scientists retire. Young students must be pushed towards science and engineering in order to restore our former technological prowess. FIRST is doing an extremely good job, and hopefully as it grows it will be able to interest enough students in science to prevent the United States from losing out to all the other developed countries in the world.

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annals|education and robots|elon michaelson

annals of humanity

who is gen y? by Carly Greer

Who are they? ...and why are they important?

ith over 25% of the world’s population fitting into the category of ‘Generation Y’, it has become necessary to understand and to adapt to their vision. Their birthdays range from the mid to late 1970’s to the year 2000. There are roughly 78 million generation Y-ers roaming our planet ready to embrace change and to leave their mark. They are the first native online population. Never knowing anything different than having the world a mouse click away, they expect instant gratification, immediate results, and perfection. Eco-boomer, Trophy Kid, Millennium Generation, Google Generation and iGeneration

are just a few of the names branded to Y. They have perfected multi-tasking through online chatting while texting, listening to an ipod, watching t.v., and checking their facebook. Reading a paperback novel sadly has become less attractive when tempted with quicker information sites readily available via the Internet. In the United States over 90% of the Y generation own a PC and 82% own a mobile phone. Frequenting the web now dominates over sitting in front of the television. All of this combined has retailers and marketing companies scratching their heads and scrambling to grab the undivided attention of Y. Teachers, Employers, and even the Military are quickly educating themselves on how ‘generation Y’ thinks, re-

sponds, and acts. This is the ‘clean up crew’ generation that has been handed the task to fix what past generations have broken. Fine tuning solar energy, alternative energy and fuel, and more efficient recycling programs are just a few projects that they are taking on to ensure a ‘green’ planet. Through understanding them, we will be able to taylor fit a productive environment that breeds solutions and change. Kaila Krajewski from ‘Suite101.com’ describes Generation Y as strong willed, passionate, and optimistic. Sophia Yan from the ‘Oberlin Review’ on the other hand feels that they are cynical, pessimistic, and skeptical based on a handful of disastrous events that have taken place in their lifetime; including the World Trade Center bombing, Columbine, Hurricane Katrina, and the Indian Ocean Tsunami to name just a few. No matter who you choose to believe, the facts are that this generation is heavily medicated.

According to the January 2006 newsletter of the National Association of Women Law Enforcement Executives, statistically speaking, “antidepressants, prescription medication and other behavior-altering drugs, such as Ritalin, makes Gen Y-ers the most medicated generation in history.” With an abundance of prescription medications out there, it is no wonder that abuse is on the rise. “Generation Y is much less likely to respond to the traditional command-and-control type of management still popular in much of today’s workforce,” says Jordan Kaplan, an associate managerial science professor at Long Island University-Brooklyn in New York. “They’ve grown up questioning their parents, and now they’re questioning their employers. They don’t know how to shut up, which is great, but that’s aggravating to the 50-year-old manager who says, ‘Do it and do it now.’” Maintaining a work force that enables 20 year olds to work side by side with

60 year olds productively is high on the priority list of most companies these days. Bruce Tulgan, the author of Rain Maker Thinking is quoted as saying this about Y, “Unlike the generations that have gone before them, Gen Y has been pampered, nurtured and programmed with a slew of activities since they were toddlers, meaning they are both high-performance and high-maintenance, Tulgan says. They also believe in their own worth. With so many in this generation filling up our college enrollment, and many more on the horizon, it has allowed the entry bar to be set higher than ever. Straight A’s don’t do it anymore. College admissions officers are looking for more. It isn’t enough to have a 4.0 gpa and to be team captain of the swim team. They want more, more, more. They are looking for a well-rounded student that has excelled in different activities and leadership all the while achieving stellar grades. Mahsa Osami, a high school

annals|gen y|carly greer

senior in North County recently received her denial letter from UC Davis. Her 4.5 GPA, and above the mark SAT scores were not able to make the cut. These high expectations of our students have created a new criteria for the upcoming work force. Tulgan, who also co-authored Managing Generation Y with Carolyn Martin and leads training sessions at companies on how to prepare for and retain Generation Yers, says a recent example is a young

woman who just started a job at a cereal company. She showed up the first day with a recipe for a new cereal she’d invented. This past election grabbed Generation Y from the start attracting 63%. According to CBS news, we had the highest turn out of voters since the voting age was lowered in 1972. That’s huge. They are interested in our future, concerned with our planet and paving a new way of change. But yet society is still resisting them calling them a different and odd genera-

tion. Different? Odd? Is this negative? Our planet is craving a public defender, and generation Y just may be its ticket. Born into a generation that is racially and socially tolerant enables them to shed the blinders of past generations and listen to the voices that surround them. So the next time you sit at lunch with a generation Y-er and they are texting, eating, scanning the room, and popping a pill while talking with you, don’t be so quick to judge. They aren’t judging you. Different isn’t always negative. Different equals change.

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poetry|i

remember

by Jessica Revilla

I remember when my heart broke I remember when love no longer existed I remember when you walked out I remember when the hatred had me twisted I remember when you came back I remember when I had faith in you I remember when you said sorry I remember when I let you through I remember when we started over I remember when our hearts became one I remember when you did me wrong again I remember when I was done

poetry

annals of technology

soldiers of tomorrow by Andy Huss

The future of warfare involves Iron Man.

magine that you are an American soldier. You are about to step out into combat. When the enemy sees your squad they surrender or run scared. What they see could be mistaken for a robot. It is covered in extremely strong armor; all of the enemy soldiers could not imagine carrying that much extra weight. These robots are also equipped with a weapon that normally would take several men to operate due to its weight and firing recoil. When your squad needs to move, they move with amazing speed and agility. They can run faster, turn sharper, and jump higher than any ordinary human. No longer is this exoskeleton concept limited to our imaginations. A company is now making this wearable robot that amplifies its wearerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s strength, endurance, and agility a reality for our soldiers of tomorrow. The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) began a seven-year, $75-million program

called Exoskeletons for Human Performance Augmentation. The latest and arguably most advanced exoskeleton of our time (XOS) is being developed by Dr. Stephen Jacobsen and the engineers at Sarcos, a robotics company Jacobsen started in 1983 that was recently purchased by the defense giant Raytheon. The XOS has been in development since 2000 when Jacobsen realized that if humans could work alongside robots, they must also be able to work inside robots. The suit is being developed for the U.S. Army, but once complete will have many unique applications other than combat. When you step into the 150 pound exoskeleton you have to click into the aluminum boots, tighten belts across your legs and waist, and slide your arms through backpack-like straps, while gripping handles with your hands. You might imagine that wearing this metal suit would weigh you down, making your movements slow and lumbering. Even the slightest lag would make you feel as if you were underwater. But gathering data from six points of contact, the XOS instantaneously reads your every motion, making the suit feel weightless. You raise your fists

and start firing sharp jabs while bouncing from one foot to the other. The XOS gathers information thousands of times per second on your direction and force using powerful microprocessors. It then amplifies that force, giving you superhuman power. Currently, all generations of Sarcos’ exoskeletons have a thick rubber umbilical cord extruding from the back connecting to an external power source. This umbilical cord is not the most ideal power solution for the “soldier of tomorrow” but it will have to do for now, until they can develop a revolutionary battery that could power the XOS for up to 24 hours. Until technology catches up with the needs of the XOS it will remain tethered to its umbilical cord. Due to the hindering umbilical cord, the XOS cannot be used in combat, but can be utilized by soldiers for other tasks. Soldiers have to do very arduous activities such as loading and unloading 70 pound ammunition cases for hours on end. In a demonstra-

tion of XOS, the user was able to bend down, grab the ammunition case’s handle with a retractable metal claw, and stand back up and set the ammunition case on the table. The remarkable part about this is that the user can do that very action 1000 times without feeling fatigued. The exoskeleton could give a soldier the stamina and strength to rapidly unload a helicopter stacked with heavy equipment or repair tanks with broken tracks. The Army hopes to begin fieldtesting the XOS by late 2009. Once the power issue is solved, the exoskeleton will open up a unique market. Imagine a fire fighter wearing a custom XOS running into a burning building, able to kick down a door while carrying two people with ease. Hospital workers that need to transport a hefty patient could just lift and carry them by themselves. Potentially, the XOS could inspire the next generation of prosthetics. Even the wheelchair-bound could use an exoskeleton. The machine can am-

plify even the minutest commands sent by the handicapped limbs. The XOS is being designed specifically for the military. They want to give our soldiers the winning advantage in war. But what if the soldier operating the XOS gets injured? Optimally, the XOS will recognize that the soldier is injured, switch into auto pilot, and run the soldier to a medic or base. But instead of putting American citizens at risk during combat, why aren’t we creating advanced robot armies that fight the war for us? For now we can only imagine the soldier of tomorrow. We can only picture the enemy running scared just from the sight of our superhuman battle suits. Viewed as a radical idea before, the XOS is quickly becoming more of a reality. In the near future, with the advancement of technology and the continuous funding of this project, our soldiers of tomorrow will be our soldiers of today.

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annals|soldiers of tomorrow|andy huss 11

consider music this reviews | A Little Voice Makes a Big Impression Ana-Karen Zavala Zimmerer

ittle Voice, the chosen title for Sara Bareilles’ first major label album, couldn’t be more misleading. As she hits that high C in “Gravity” or creates the illusion of a choir singing in “Come Round Soon,” it is evident that she isn’t an amateur. Bareilles’ young age might come to a surprise to some after listening to her music. The 29 year old seems to contain an old soul within her which is displayed in her music. However, one could easily disagree with this speculation when they see the title of her first single. The expectation of a cliché story arises when one sees “Love Song” written down; thoughts of a gushy love poem set to obnoxiously bubbly music immediately come to mind. But once Bareilles’ powerful voice begins to sing the lines “Convinced me to please you, made me think that I need this too. I’m trying to let you hear me as I am. I’m not gonna write you a love song,” all expectations come crashing down. Obviously, Bareilles isn’t buying into the cheese-factor . The song, filled with Bareilles’ honest and slightly cynical lyrics, brought the songwriter overnight fame. “Love Song” debuted at

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#100 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 but quickly sky rocketed to #4. All this came to Bareilles’ surprise , who insists that the song was simply her honest reaction to being pressured into writing a song that would appeal to a mainstream audience. Irony seems to run in Bareilles’ veins. Yet despite the success with her first single, it seems as though “Love Song” was the only song off Little Voice that frequented the air waves for more than a month. However, the remaining eleven songs each showcase Bareilles’ voice in unique ways and it would be a pity if they were overlooked. Although she had no formal voice or piano training, her songs have been

compared to those of Tori Amos, Norah Jones and Fiona Apple , artists all known

for their exceptional voices. While this is unquestionably a compliment, it also belittles Bareilles’ ability to branch out into her own style, which she is surely capable of doing. It is easy to recognize that piano is Bareilles’ instrument of choice and it could easily become her signature. In a way it already is; so many of her songs focus around it, including her famous “Love Song.” However, this is not to say that Bareilles is restricted to the instrument. “One Sweet Love” never

used a single plunk of a piano key; it is solely guitar and some percussion. The song was sweet and added some variety to the album, but at the same time it was too different from the rest of the songs and threw off the feel of the album. When an artist focuses their album around one instrument that they

obviously know well, throwing in a song with a completely unfamiliar instrument simply ruins it. Not all singers can play an instrument well, but when they do, it is a no-brainer that they would be the one to play for the album. Barielles’ ability to play piano and sing seems to be the whole point of Little Voice, so when a guitar is suddenly introduced and Bareilles is no longer the one playing, it takes away the purpose of the album. It is understandable to want to branch out, but if Bareilles wants to show that she can have songs without piano in it and focus on just singing, she needs to do it with more than one song. Despite the catchy lyrics and pleasing simplicity, “One Sweet Love” simply doesn’t fit with the likes of “Bottle It Up” and “Fairytale,” which both went on to be singles and were showcased on the radio for a few weeks. Yet despite her album’s inconsistency in instrument choice, Bareilles has proven that she is capable of overcoming pressure from outsiders and therefore isn’t a typical pop singer. Although she proudly acknowledges her singles for making it into the mainstream world, the really impressive pieces were the ones that would never be played on conventional radio stations. “Gravity,” a soft piano ballad accompanied by a wispy yet compelling voice, has a very different tone from that of her more bouncy songs. It is in this song and ones similar to it where her voice truly shines. Her voice is simply too soulful to be restricted to songs such as “Love Song.”

As a whole, it is obvious that Little Voice wasn’t made for radio, despite the success of “Love Song.” This is what Bareilles wanted and struggled so much to prove. She had too much talent to be categorized as another predictable pop singer. It was fine for her to go her own way and do her own thing. Obviously, it worked out.

. . . . .

Greater Than Godzilla Alex Pardes

ith his latest instrumental album, Silence Followed by a Deafening Roar, Paul Gilbert once again shows what it means to be a modern virtuoso of the electric guitar. While his technical proficiency has never been in question, the beauty of the compositions on the album makes it clear that Gilbert is not just another uninspired shredder, but a master of his genre who has earned his place among instrumental rock legends like Joe Satriani, Steve Vai, and John Petrucci. On this album, Paul Gilbert has

largely avoided his usual musical pitfalls and proven his maturity

as a musician. In particular, he generally manages to avoid going overboard with the guitar solos. All of the songs are interesting, not just impressive, and every track on the album is clearly a song, not just the kind of demonstration one might give at a guitar clinic. Gilbert’s creativity is perhaps best displayed in “Eudaimonia Overture,” a song that seems to effortlessly touch on a variety of distinct musical influences. The song

is propelled by an upbeat melody with a vaguely classical feel while the intensity of the song gradually builds as

increasingly energetic guitar fills come

in. As the song reaches its climax, one of these fills is punctuated by a heavy power chord riff you might find in a punk rock song. This leads into a much darker but even more energetic metal rhythm over which the main solo is played. The end of the solo naturally leads the song back to the cheerful rhythm it began with before the song ends with a harmonized classical solo. The musical spontaneity of the song is an incredibly refreshing breakaway from the simple and predictable structures

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consider movie this review |

found in much of both Gilbert’s previous work and rock music in general. While none of the other tracks are as eclectic as “Eudaimonia Overture,” the album as a whole exhibits a fair number of distinct musical influences. One of the sections of “Norwegian Cowbell” draws heavy inspiration from Tony MacAlpine’s neoclassical playing, “Bronx 1971” shows Gilbert’s take on funk, and the “The Gargoyle” sounds like what Iron Maiden might write if they replaced their vocalist with a top-notch guitarist, although the last twenty seconds of the song nearly ruin it. After what would have been a conclusive ending, Gilbert plays a brief unaccompanied guitar solo that does not belong anywhere in the song. While none of the other songs have completely inappropriate endings, most of the songs end with a vague inconclusiveness. Silence Followed by a Deafening Roar has

a sense of cohesion and stylistic continuity. Most of the songs

have an energetic beat and bright tone complemented by the ecstatic playfulness of Gilbert’s playing and liberal use of hi-hat and cowbell. The first and last few songs on the album best embody this style, allowing the slower songs to fit in with the album, functioning, on a larger scale, much like a typical song’s interlude. Paul Gilbert’s ability to play emotionally is tested in his rendition of Ernest Bloch’s

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“Suite Modale,” the slowest song on the album. In the classical piece written for piano and flute, his playing is haunting. The beauty of the track comes both from Gilbert’s flawless legato technique, and from the tone he gives his guitar. The effects he is able to produce with his sustainer are exquisite, both emulating and accentuating the dynamics and harmonics that can be produced by a flute while keeping the more focused sound of a guitar. “I Still Have That Other Girl,” the album’s ballad, also uses sustainer to elicit emotions, with notes often subtly developing into bittersweet harmonic whines that accent the melancholy feel of the song. Gilbert may be reliant on his technology to produce his most emotional sounds, but I can’t complain; “Suite Modale” and “I Still Have That Other Girl” are sublime. Silence Followed by a Deafening Roar is Paul Gilbert’s most powerful album yet. His fans will not be disappointed, as the album exhibits the incredible technique and signature style that fans expect from him in the form of music that is original and unique. As Gilbert’s most refined and musically diverse work, it is also the best choice for those who have never heard his music.

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Man-Date Yvonne Byers

great message, a good plot, and non-stop laughter created by the perfect blend of situations make “I Love You, Man” a hit movie. Starring Paul Rudd, as Peter Klaven, a very feminine business man who just became a fiancé, Rashida Jones (Zooey), as Peter’s fiancé, and Jason Segel, as Sydney Fife, who is the exact opposite of Peter which makes for an exquisite friendship.

The news of the wedding spreads through Zooey’s friends, but Peter has a bit of a hard time getting the word out. Peter’s expertise is getting along with women and not men because of his proper, cute, and well-dressed personality. Zooey has a “girls night” and tells all her close friends the big news. That night, Peter gets home early and being the gentlemen that he is, sneaks into the kitchen to make the ladies root beer floats. When he starts to walk into the girls’ room, he overhears them talking about his lack of friendships: who’s going to be his best man? He gets a little embarrassed and starts to walk back in the kitchen but his wife notices him and questioningly calls for him. As he gracefully walks into the room with the floats, Zooey and her friends give an awkward, “Peter! Hi, it’s so nice to see you,” and, “Oh! How are you?” He politely leaves the drinks, has small talk for a quick minute, and as quickly as possible, without being too rude, he stumbles out of the room. This sets up Peter’s quest to find a male friend to be the best man for his wedding, which leads Peter into one too many awkward situations where the idea of a man-date is taken in the wrong way. Finding a male to bond with isn’t as easy as Peter hopes and chugging beer just isn’t his kind of fun. After almost giving up trying to look for a best man for the wedding, Peter runs into Sydney at an open house he is hosting. The bluntly honest man gives Peter some tips about hosting open houses, which amazes and intrigues Peter and pushes him to find out more about Sydney. The two exchange business cards—the start of a very

entertaining relationship and the set up for a climax point between Peter and Zooey.

The relationship is a hit and the fun-loving, comical Sydney

Fife is a hysterical addition to the film. He brings laughter and diversity into the movie and is the icing on the cake. Sydney does not get exposed to the audience right away, but his character is worth the wait. Right when you see him on screen, you know that he is going to be entertaining. However, there is a downfall; Zooey feels like Sydney is stealing Peter away from her. The two men become extremely close and spend much of their time together. The climax of the movie is the conflict between Zooey and Peter, when Zooey chooses to take a little vacation away from Peter. She leaves their house and goes to live with one of her best friends. This puts doubt in your mind about the marriage and leaves you wanting to stay in your seat to find out what will happen. Because Peter loves his fiancé more than anything, he doesn’t want to lose her and surprisingly enough, decides to tell Sydney that their friendship is no more. On the way to Sydney’s house to tell him the news, Peter spots several billboards of him promoting the house that he is trying to sell. It turns out that Sydney used the money that he borrowed from Peter to advertise for him. This kind act was devastating to Peter and made him even more agitated than he already was because of the fact that he was getting help he did not want. He wanted to sell the house on his own and was very able to do it without unnecessary advertisements. Zooey’s gone, Sydney, his would-be bestman is gone, and he has $8,000 less than he should have. Peter is stuck. He runs to

his fiancé and she forgivingly takes him back. The cliché ending is made likable by adding some comical occurrences and at the end, the title phrase, “I Love You, Man”, is finally said when Sydney shows up at the wedding (invited by Zooey) and exchanges apologies with Peter at the altar. He even brings an $8,000 check, which topped off the moment. Perfect

timing, perfect situation,

the line was just the right fit. Walking out of the movie theatre, you’ll leave smiling, and have memories of the countless times when you laughed throughout the whole movie. “I Love You, Man” starts off great, with a hilarious scene of Zooey telling her friends (on speakerphone with Peter in the car) about their engagement and her friends going into detail about the ‘good times’ Peter and Zooey have had, and ends even better with a happily ever after married couple and a live band (at the wedding) with bass guitarist and singer, P e t e r Klaven and on electric guitar, Sydney Fife! “I Love You, Man” gives you a great “RUSH”!

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considervideo this game review | In Space, No One Can Hear You Keener Barnhorst

he horror genre is filled to the brim with dark rooms full of monsters just waiting to be slaughtered. There is little satisfaction in defeating these feeble enemies over and over again. Dead Space is guilty of this as well, but an inventive combat system, stunning visuals, excellent sound design and a variety of daunting enemies you run into make the fights much more scary. The protagonist, Isaac Clarke, is an engineer sent to fix a communications failure on a nearby spaceship named the USG Ishimura. Upon arrival, you can sense something is not right. In the early stages on board the troubled ship, you see that the crew on the Ishimura was attacked by a macabre group of creatures known as necromorphs. Immediately, Dead Space sets the mood

for a gorefest.

A unique feature of this game is that there is no real HUD (heads-up display) that is common in shooters. Traditional shooters have various indicators around the screen that display grenade count, ammunition for a gun, health, and/or radar. Instead, your health and stasis charge, which slows down time, are shown on Isaac’s back, ammunition is displayed on the gun when raised and your air supply is projected on his back. The lack of a more conventional HUD

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helps the game by making you feel more immersed in the game. Sound is a huge component in the game. From the excellent voice acting to Isaac’s grunts and heavy breathing when hurt, sound really makes the game. When walking down a corridor, sometimes crawling can be heard from around the corner and sounds from the ventilation systems makes the player paranoid and on guard all the time. The concept is not 100% original. References to the movie Alien are obvious and the way the plot develops reminds me a lot of the video game Bioshock. Both games feature contact with a seemingly all knowing person that directs you from cabin to cabin telling you to get this key and then do this and do that. The constant reliance on the all-knowing person diminishes the sense of loneliness that the player gets from being in outer space. The emptiness of the cabins, and the overall lack of intimacy towards anything add to the eerie tone Dead Space presents. Particular sequences of the game leave the player wondering if there are survivors onboard the Ishimura. At the end of a hallway, you might see a crewmember of the Ishimura doing odd things such as banging their head into a wall over and over again or slitting their own throat in front of you. Just the sight of someone that isn’t a necromorph provides you with a small glimmer of hope

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that you will leave the ship alive. The game does a good job of representing space by having parts of the game where you experience zero gravity inside the Ishimura, and in space walks outside the ship. The zero gravity sequences are very entertaining despite the fact that the camera locks behind you, leaving you vulnerable to attacks while jumping. The sequences outside the ship and in areas without air give the player a rushed, frantic feeling to get in and get out before the air supply counter quickly ticks away. When in space, all sounds are faint and the only things that you can hear are your footsteps and heavy breathing. While you start to lose air, the breathing turns to frantic gasping, another example of the excellent sound design in Dead Space. One of the few problems I had with the game was the directional tool. When the right stick is pressed, it lights a path to the current objective. It took away from the sense of loneliness. On the flipside, without this navigational accessory, the player would struggle to find their way around because the map in the game is useless. As most shooters go, the most common thought to effectively render their enemies dead would be to aim for the head. This is where the game’s ‘strategic dismemberment’ comes in to play. Shots to the necromorphs’ head are not nearly effective as hacking off an arm or taking their legs from underneath them. This creative way of combating enemies is a breath of fresh air for the horror genre and the shooter genre as

consider this|tv|

a whole. As you gets stronger by adding different weapons to your arsenal, so do your enemies. As you progress through the USG Ishimura, you run into improved versions of necromorphs that you fought before. They become faster and stronger, and in turn, much more frightening. The darker the necromorphs, the more difficult and enticing the fights become. This is definitely one of those games where you want the lights out and your surround sound speakers up in order to put yourself onboard the Ishimura as Isaac Clarke. With the engrossing storyline, detailed visuals, immersive sound design, and innovative combat, Dead Space is a game you won’t be cut off from.

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Lost in Lost Alex Lanchares

J spice it back up.

ust when you thought TV was getting boring, a show like Lost comes around to Though the show is well into its fifth season, it still rakes in about 12 million viewers every showing. Lost has definitely established itself as one of the most watched shows on television, and according to recent ratings, is tied for best show with American Idol. TV critics have even gone so far to say that Lost is one of the best shows in recent memory. There are several different reasons why it has become such a great hit. Be it the original plotline, the rich characters, intriguing and creative mysteries, or simply the way the story unfolds, Lost is mesmerizing and mindblowing in almost every episode. For those unfamiliar with the plotline, Lost tells the story of 70 survivors who crash onto a seemingly deserted island. After the ensuing chaos of the crash, and with no hope of immediate rescue, the survivors soon discover that the island is not just any island. With black smoke monsters, hostile natives (the “Others”), polar bears, mysterious research stations, and an unknown organization called the “Dharma Initiative” the passengers of Oceanic flight 815 soon have to fight in order to survive. The plot is what drives the show. With such an imaginative

story, Lost can’t help but draw in audiences. The plot is a creative mix of romance, drama, action, suspense, and just a bit of science fiction to keep you guessing. The writers of this show are nothing less than geniuses, constantly introducing mysterious, yet exciting twists and turns that keep the viewers always on their toes, never knowing what’s going to happen next or who to trust. The plot line is constantly being changed by new elements as well such as the possibility of rescue, time

travel, teleportation, spirits,

and other weird occurrences that constantly throw the viewers for loops. Yet the writers once again get it right by not adding too much weirdness that it becomes too crazy and strange for audiences. But at times, the plot line does get a little confusing, by far bringing up more questions then it answers. This can sometimes frustrate new audiences trying to become involved in the show. Unlike other shows, Lost is not a show you can just jump into, it needs to be seen from the beginning in order to understand the interwoven complex subplots. New viewers should also keep in mind that Lost has many unanswered questions, such as the recurring numbers; yet it is the fact that they are unanswered that keeps audiences watching, always hoping for an answer, explanation, or even some hints. Another powerful element of the show is the incredibly in-depth character development. In earlier seasons, the episodes would focus on one of the survivors and provide flashbacks into the characters past, showing what they were like before coming to the island. This works well as it clues us into these characters personalities, mannerisms,

and attitudes in order to better know them. From the flashbacks we also understand the decisions they make on the island. Some of the characters learn from their previous mistakes, and others do not, reacting to the situation the same way they did off the island. We also learn from these flashbacks that many of the characters on the show are interconnected, sometimes appearing in each others flashbacks, or other times knowing a mutual third party. The fact that these characters are somehow interconnected adds to the mystery of the show, and makes us believe that there is something bigger at work going on. But the most important thing these flashbacks succeed in doing is making us care about these characters. Without us caring about the characters, Lost would be nowhere near the hit that it is. In the end, Lost is an exceptional show. Driven by an unpredictable plot line, and some amazing characters, it succeeds where other shows have failed. Though at times the story line can get a little confusing, especially for new audiences, keep in mind that Lost is not the kind of show to reveal all of its mysteries, especially not right away. If you give it some time, you will most likely get an answer or brief explanation. Well, to most of the mysteries anyways. Getting lost in Lost isn’t hard if you give it a chance.

.....

Tell Me What You Don’t Like About Yourself Julius Velas

t first Nip/Tuck may look like a boring show about plastic surgeons, but the unique characters and the problems they encounter are enough to keep anyone hooked. Series about doctors have been overdone, but Nip/Tuck stands out from the rest because it offers some-

thing

fresh

and

unique.

Nip/Tuck is a television medical drama. The show revolves around the lives of two plastic surgeons, Sean McNamara (played by Dylan Walsh) and Christian Troy (played by Julian McMahon) who share a plastic surgery business in Miami. The two plastic surgeons have a great friendship but eventually everyone finds out that Sean’s first child, Matt, (played by John Hensley) with his wife was actually Christian’s son. The show slowly hints at it until it’s revealed. Once they all find out, relationships are broken, tears are shed and fights ensue. This tore up the relationship between Sean and Christian, but since they were such good friends they get over it and accept the fact that Matt is their son. Nip/Tuck is very entertaining. It has its own mix of drama, suspense, love and comedy. Some episodes deal mostly with the drama of the issues the main characters have to face. The show hooks people in because the main characters are complete opposites of each other, yet they are best friends and both love the same woman. Sean has his own family, does not go around sleeping with other women (not often at least) and he

consider this|tv| 19

likes to stay within a budget. Sean tries to live on a morally righteous standard he set for himself only to plunge continu-

ally into personal hypocrisy

and guilt. Christian on the other hand is much different. He does not tie himself to commitment, be it with a woman or anything else. He gets with most of the women who walk in or out of their office. He exploits women to fill the void he has because of his abusive father. He also likes to spend his money. Throughout the show, the characters’ personalities change as their lives unfold. When Sean found out that Matt wasn’t his son, he stopped talking to his wife, Julia, and started dating other women. Christian realizes he might be in love with his partner Sean but he gets over it (who can resist the women on the

show?). Without these two dynamic characters the show wouldn’t have its flare. It’s captivating how such opposite characters are somehow sticking with each other for many years, even through the fights that they have along the way. The show tackles some of the everyday issues people have with each other or within themselves such as secrets, aging, scandals, relationships and love. The show frequently shows the audience the characters’ way of expressing love or the way they try to find love. Most of the time it’s a one night stand but sometimes it’s a way to relieve stress or to get away from their current partner. People can also learn about the different surgeries and medical terms that are used in the show. It’s also amusing to watch the surgeries because of the intensity the music adds. Sometimes the music is creepy and other times it is happy, upbeat music, as the doctors are cutting into someone’s flesh.

It’s great to see the price people pay to look better. Nip/Tuck also

shows the reality of plastic surgery, like how some people get addicted to it and just can’t get enough done to themselves. Some of the characters on the show get some ridiculous or weird cosmetic surgery done to themselves like testicle implants and vocal cord adjustments. Surprisingly, most of the surgeries done on the show happen in real life. Overall the show is great (though it may not be for the kiddies), even if you haven’t watched it from the beginning. The seasons have arching storylines but the show is largely character driven, so watching the season from the middle won’t leave the viewer lost. In the beginning of every episode it gives a recap to catch up. Love, action (not the kind in 24), comedy, suspense, and drama—Nip/Tuck has it all.

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poetry|release by Emily Mekinna

I’m scared. I’m scared, in fear of seeing through myself, unleashing the emotions I have yet to fully express. In fear of letting all my jig sawed thoughts become the painted picture of insanity. I’m scared, in fear of releasing myself to see what’s on the other side of this hazy madness. In fear of the ink on this paper, bleeding right through my paper thin memories, to discover, discover… my sad, hated, impure, Self. And let those thoughts walk all over me until I am treaded down to the very core.

poetry 21

Op-Ed

cheer up

by Melissa Welch

A look at Generation Y’s addiction to medicine.

rom Tylenol to Prozac, Generation Y, those born from the early eighties to the mid nineties, has been prescribed so many drugs that it is considered the most overmedicated generation in history. More specifically, prescriptions for psychiatric drugs have been at their peak for treating depression, ADHD, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and other mental disorders. With the release of Prozac in 1988, even the oldest of Generation Y have had an effective antidepressant available to them from a young age. The old treatment for depression, psychiatric therapy, was quickly replaced by the pill. Although Prozac has helped many people with their depression, many are taking it without a proper diagnosis. Our generation has little tolerance for pain and quickly takes a pill at the first signs of a headache or other pain. Therapist treatment would be a more effective treatment for depression, but we have chosen Prozac and other anti-depressants to solve these issues. Not only have adults been introduced to these drugs but also teenagers and children have been prescribed these medications. Since advertisements and marketing target our generation, they aim to make us think we have the symptoms of depression when this is often not the case. Soon, teen-

22 op-ed|cheer up|melissa welch

agers are convinced they are depressed and instead of seeking proper treatment, they reach for the quick fix pills. Medications are no longer helping us, but making us dependent on pills to even function in daily activities. In an article titled “Psychiatric Services” it was stated “Pre-schoolers are the fastest-growing market for antidepressants. At least four percent of preschoolers—over a million—are clinically depressed.” Now even preschoolers are believed to be depressed and are medicated as well. It is a fact that depression is a condition that needs treatment. Many scientific studies have proved that chemical imbalances in the brain can cause depression, but that is not the only cause. The circumstances of people’s lives, such as family issues or traumatic experiences, have an effect on depression as well. Antidepressants have been shown to fix the chemical imbalances but do not change the external environment people live in. Therefore the combination of both a pill and a therapist is the best treatment. One time or another many of us will deal with depression in our lives, but not everyone needs medication to solve their problems. The success of Prozac attracted many people who believed they had severe depression. Daily stresses became enough reason

to take the pill. The distinction between stress and depression needs to be realized instead of overmedicating this generation. Growing up in a generation that is improving and advancing in technology and the medical field almost everyday, we know no other way to deal with temporary pain or hurt other than medications. Instead of fighting off small pains and other conditions naturally, we find medications to assist us. This makes us dependent on and tolerant to their effects leading to higher dosages of these medications. Our generation needs to step back from taking these medications, and look at what it is doing to us.

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Op-Ed

world of warcraft

by Meg Oka

World of Warcraft and the impending end of innovation in the game industry.

assively Multiplayer Online RolePlaying Game (MMORPG)—the name may be a mouthful of alphabet soup, but you won’t have to hunt very far to find many “!” and “?” In this type of game, the “RPG” allows gamers to live their Tolkien, Garth Nix and other fiction fantasies without the tiresome walking of dusty mountain paths, and the “MMO” lets them share their experiences with a community of people like them. Unfortunately, playing video games is commonly misconceived as an anti-social activity. This can be true for games that are single-player, but playing an MMO is a complete social experience in itself. In fact, for some players, the community is the most important factor when considering a game. In many MMORPGs, small communities of players within the games, called guilds, become critical in completing end-game content. Without the help and support of these in-game friends, it would be impossible to even experience raids—arguably the reason to play the game. In other games however, the quality of the community is less of a major influence. World of Warcraft (by Blizzard Entertainment), perhaps the most well-known MMORPG of our time with 11.5 million subscribers

and an annual revenue of $1.2 billion dollars, is often criticized as being a game “only played by twelve year olds” with its juvenile insults in global chat as common as level eighties camping a summoning stone on a PvP server. Despite being the game that’s supposedly only played by second-graders and often snubbed by gamers who consider themselves too mature for it, World of Warcraft is obviously successful. Eleven and half million people can’t be wrong—or can they? In Vanguard, a game treasured for its difficulty by its self-proclaimed “mature” gamers, it is a community consensus (just ask in “ooc”) that World of Warcraft is the worst game ever: leveling is too easy, the graphics are worse than the community, and what’s the point in playing a game in which you can reach level cap in three days? But perhaps the millions of people who play World of Warcraft are just of a different, newer gaming generation than those who play Vanguard. If the majority of World of Warcraft subscribers really are twelve year olds, then they’re the tail end of Generation Y—a group known for its short attention span and need for instant gratification. Is Blizzard doing the wrong thing by catering to the wants of the current gaming demo-

24 op-ed|world of warcraft|meg oka

graphic? In Blizzard’s eyes, that would be a resounding “No!” But consider the consequences of World of Warcraft being the cookie-cutter of game design. In the gaming world, innovation and originality are not the keys to success, or so financiers think. World of Warcraft is only reinforcing this with its pecuniary success of repackaging the influential originals (e.g. Ultima Online and EverQuest). Game companies no longer take the risk of changing the fundamentals of MMORPGs because it’s just so much safer to reinvent the wheel and come out even, rather than try to make a square wheel roll and go bankrupt.

.....

poetry|i

remember that 3rd of september

by Emily Mekinna

I remember Do you remember? Remember the laughs we used to share? How about the song we used to groove to, the way we used to talk, the voices we used to sing with? I remember. Do you remember my favorite color, first crush, or what made me wanna shout? I remember yours, were orange and pink, his name was Tommy, and the Irish step music they used to play at Dance Jam. Do you remember that day? What you felt right before that car hit you? What about the way I felt when I heard the news. Well, I remember that day, coming home from school. I’m on the stairs when my mom gets home, she tells me the blood vessel in your brain burst, that you were gone. I collapsed, I remember I sat there for two hours, left only to cry. I cried harder than I ever had that third of September I remember. Did you feel my touch that day? That day you were laying on your bed all dressed up in your graduation dress? Well if you didn’t, I felt yours, that day I lay there with you. I remember it wasn’t your touch at all, but cold and stiff. I lay there anyways, feeling comforted to see your face, that face I remember so well. We all stood there, with blank expressions on our faces, We held each other, as we watched the painted cross being put up. I remember feeling you with us, when the wind cooled the tears running down our cheeks. I remember it a then, That I felt your touch. That touch I remember so well. I remember, Do you remember? That third of September?

to whom it may concern 27

28 to whom it may concern|1549 conspiracy|matt mcmahon

to whom it may concern|darfur| joe rubio 29

Nomaerd University Dear Fall 2009 Applicant, I would like to start off by thanking you once again for your interest in Nomaerd University. We are thoroughly reviewing each of your applications individually by a panel. For more details on our decision process please visit the Nomaerd University Admissions website. Due to the large number of applications we have received for the Fall 2009 semester we are requesting that all applicants submit more information so that we may have a better understanding of each applicant. Please see instructions below and mail two days from now with an additional fifty-dollar application fee. New additional requirements: • Updated high school transcript showing valedictorian status or better • Additional letters of recommendation (preferably one from every teacher you’ve ever met) • New SAT or ACT scores. These need to illustrate major improvement, i.e. a 300 point increase for the SAT and a 10 point increase for the ACT • Parents/legal guardian bank statement, most recent pay stub(s) and history of philanthropy projects • Proof of winning a national sports competition (you can just send us the trophy as long as it is over five feet tall), especially important if you have recently lost a limb • Essay in 250 words or less explaining who you are, where you’re going to be in five years, why you chose Nomaerd University, the meaning of life, your favorite color and explain what the Nietzsche quote “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you,” means to you Remember, please have this sent to us as soon as possible. Any tardiness will show us that you are not serious about getting into Nomaerd University and your application will be worthless. If you are chosen as one of our finalists you will be asked to conduct an additional interview! This one will be with a sabertooth tiger that has not eaten for a week so please have your answers prepared. Thank you and have a fantastic day! Regards,

Christopher Blanco Dean of Undergraduate Admissions Note: If you are unable to meet these criteria but have family or friends in campus administration, just have them stop by admissions and you should get your acceptance letter in a week. Also, if you do not want to submit more information you can have your parents write a check large enough for us to name a building after you and we’ll have your letter shipped out ASAP.

to whom whom itit may may concern concern 31 to

fiction

the gold locket | by Cassie Ingrasci

t was a dark winter day along the coast of England. The fog sat so heavy, the only way to tell they were at the seaport was the loud blows of the ship horn and the cries of the blinded seagulls. A girl about twelve years of age, impeccably dressed, made her way through the crowd with her father. “How far away is it, Papa?” she asked in a low, whisper of a voice. “It is just over the water, just to New York. You’ll love it there. Ms. Glendora will see that you get to your aunt’s, and you will make many new friends in your new school.” He tried to sound as happy as he could for her, though it was breaking his heart just as much as it was breaking hers. “But why?” “You know why, I’ve told you many times. It is much safer in America. Now that England’s

gone to war, I must as well.” She looked at her shoes, dissatisfied it was still the same answer. He clutched her hands tightly, “Look, all of your belongings are packed. Your fine clothes, toys, books, all in that suitcase of yours. You’ve got wonderful family awaiting your arrival. You will love American life. And I promise you, I will write every day, and I will come and get you as soon as I can.” With a deep breath she squeezed him as tight as she could, as the horns made their last call. “Wait, I have one more thing for you to put in that suitcase of yours.” He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a golden box tied with a red ribbon. Her eyes glowed. “This used to belong to your mother.” She cracked it open to find a sparkling gold locket. “Her picture is inside so you will always remember her.” The last horn sounded along with the yelling of the crew to get everyone aboard. She ran to the dock, following the last of the crowd pushing their way onto the ship. It was a cold trip across the Atlantic, though she had the finest of coats and most luxurious of rooms. Alone in her plush bed, she wrote in her diary. The ink pen scribbled notes and stories of her day and the beautiful new necklace she had gotten. She set the pen down. She stared at it as it rolled off the table. The table started to shake, and then the entire room was violently rocking back and forth, side to side. Pictures fell off the walls, chairs were turned over, every sec-

ond seemed like an eternity and as each one passed it seemed to get harder. Scared, she just hid under her sheets waiting for it to stop. It didn’t stop. The RMS Olympic sank that night, leaving no survivors.

“C

romwell! Get over here, what did you find?” It was daytime now, and cleanup time for the German navy. “Nothing, sir.” He hid, as best he could, a beautiful suitcase. It was quite wet, but the outside stickers from many traveled countries still clung to the surface. He could tell it was of wealthy origin, but most importantly, it was unopened and undamaged. He waited until he got to base before he

cracked it open and rifled through the inside. He could tell right away the kind of person it used to belong to. It was the kind of person he hated: filthy rich, probably on their way to another beautiful city, world traveler by the age of fifteen. Fortunately for him, though, the possessions inside would earn him a pretty penny, exactly what he needed at the moment. He sold and traded the beautiful clothing, lush fabrics, and proper toys, mostly for a couple marks, or soon to be half empty bottles of booze. He did, however, keep one thing for himself: a gold-chained locket, only a little damaged from the salt water, but with the picture inside still intact. It was of a woman, mid-thirties, hair done up, stunning. He sat in his bed sliding his fingers over the outside; opening it, closing it, trying to remember who this woman reminded him so much of. He held onto this necklace through battle, thinking it would bring him some kind of luck, or that he would one day realize who this woman was. He never would – this woman died many years prior, but it still retained a kind of charm he didn’t want to get rid of. It wasn’t until a year later when he was ready to let it go. He met a girl in Berlin, charming, just like the locket. They had been writing to each other for

some time now, and to show his affection he wanted to give her the only thing he’d ever held onto. He gave it one last look over, questioning if he would die without it. He slid it into the addressed envelope, and sent it off. It never reached her. It was lost in the mail with all the other unknown packages, wrongly addressed military service announcements, and birthday salutations that never made it. What did eventually get to her, though, was his death notification.

ears later, a young woman flounced down the streets of Paris in her Sunday clothes, the gold locket bouncing off her chest—a Christmas gift to the daughter of a mail carrier. She wore it often. Something about it made her feel special. The gold shone off her fair skin like the sun off a cloud, and the etched design was so intricate she looked at it differently every time. She never tried to open it for fear of breaking it, as well as for what was inside. She treasured it, but that did not stop the wear it took daily. Sometimes she dropped it, sometimes lost it, but it was usually found again—except for one particular occasion. She had been on her way to breakfast when she received word that her mother was severely injured. No time to finish her lemon tea, she quickly ran out of the restaurant, sprinting as fast as she could, the click-clack of her heels now pounding faster and faster on the concrete. A passer-by shouted out the inevitable, “Careful, Miss!” She stumbled on the broken walk that was overtaken from underneath by the growing and spreading of the roots of the large oaks that lined the path. She hit her deli-

fiction|the gold locket|cassie ingrasci 33

cate head on the curb, rendering her unconscious. Though it was a busy street, with the hustle and bustle of people on the go and vendors selling their morning scones, a devious pickpocket was in the right place at the right time. Once he saw that painful smack, he swooped down and ran his thin, dirty hands down her body trying to sense any piece of wealth she had on her. He nabbed a coin purse, and slid the gold locket off effortlessly. Sensing the attention of onlookers, he slyly let out a, “Miss, are you alright?” stood up, and snuck out of the gathering crowd. He didn’t call himself a pickpocket, a thief, or a mugger, but a traveling salesman of unwanted belongings. He had just about stayed his limit in Paris, predicting when to leave just before he got caught. His face twisted into a smile as he thought to himself how very good he was at his profession. Making his way through the back allies of the city, he passed the rats he hid his food from, the salvaged cardboard that kept him warm at night, and his fellow street urchins. They gawked at his magnificent finds, but this was not the time for show and tell. Clutching the locket in his pocket, he hurried faster, trying to escape their questions, and hoping to beat the train station’s clock tower. Approaching the station, he snapped his head back and forth, eyes scanning for an escape route. His eyes set on a departing cargo train. Not knowing where it would lead him,

34 fiction|the gold locket|cassie ingrasci

it was still his best bet for a free ride. He ran over, and in one fluid motion leapt skillfully, getting his entire bony body safely into the moving train. He let out a sigh of relief; he was free and on his way to the next town. “I’ll just take this car until it stops or I get booted. I’ll just take a quick nap for now.” He liked to talk to himself—it made him feel like he had some company. Closing his eyes, still a little winded, he dozed off, mumbling. The train came to a screeching halt, shaking him awake, sliding him from one end of the train car to the other. As he rubbed his eyes he mumbled, “How long was I asleep for?” answering his own question, “Why I surely don’t know.” The train was stopped, so he figured now was as good a time as any to get off. He entered the new city still a little confused, his head toddling all over. He read the station sign: St. Petersburg. “Must’ve been asleep for a while.” He made his way out of the station, taking time to lift the necklace from out of his pocket, just to peek. The locket would never to be opened again; not that he didn’t try, it was the dents, corrosion, and filth that sealed it shut. He stopped himself from picking at it too often, holding the clasp with such regard. He felt a paranoia about it, like he had to keep it safe, though from who or from what he didn’t know. Whenever he took it out of his pocket, even just to take those peeks to make sure it was still there, he locked it in his fingers, only opening them slightly so nobody else could see. He felt like everyone was looking at him. It made him crazy. He felt they wanted everything he had, especially his necklace. He snapped his head around at an innocent

man in his trench coat, “What are you looking at? Mind your own goddamned business.” Snapped his head back to a woman holding her crying baby, “And you, I see you. Don’t pretend I don’t see you eyeing my possessions.” He felt like the world was staring at him. He made a break for it. On the way, he decided to let the locket go, but not let anybody have it. He knew it was the only way to keep it safe. He found a nice mound of dirt under a pine tree in the front yard of a house, and buried it. “Do you think anyone would find it here?” “Of course not! Nobody will ever see it; it will be mine forever.” He dusted the dirt over the shallow hole containing the locket, oblivious to the silhouette in the window of the house. He ran away, full speed, pushing away whatever or whoever was in his way. He made it to the water, ran straight onto the pier and jumped. Nobody heard the splash. Inside the house, an elderly man in a wheelchair and head bandage sat at his kitchen table. A woman walked over from the window to help him finish eating. “Who are you?” he asked the woman approaching the kitchen table. “My name is Loraine, I take care of you every day, Mr. Williams.” “Okay.” “I’m going to go get the paper, Mr. Williams.” “Okay.” She came back in with a puzzled smile on her face carrying the paper under one arm, and holding something gold between her fingers. “Look at this Mr. Williams.” She

held it out to show him, but he didn’t reach for it. “What is it?” “It’s a locket, Mr. Williams. You can wear it around your neck, and keep a picture inside to remind youv of someone special. Would you like to keep it?” “No thanks.” “Mr. Williams, I feel like you should keep it.” “Who are you?” “My name is Loraine, Mr. Williams.” Each time she repeated this, she felt worse and worse about the situation, the saddest story she’d ever heard. A widower of many years, injured at war, lost a daughter. She knew he suffered every day, and she had to watch it. “Okay. I think I want to take a nap, Loraine.” “But you just—alright, Mr. Williams.” She settled him back down into bed and placed the gold locket on his bed stand. Hours later, when she came in to check on him, the locket was in his hand, open. She gave a sigh of absolute sadness, yet relief. She gazed upon his cold, pale face, and for the first time since a foggy day on the English coast, he looked at peace.

.....

fiction|the gold locket|cassie ingrasci 35

yvonne byers

emily mekinna

elon michaelson

carly greer

36 artists

poetry|love

by Jessica Revilla

and hate

It’s been months since I’ve seen you, The look on your face was worth more to me than you’ll ever know. The smile you always have, eyes that shined in the light. Those hands will never be forgotten, they’re the reason you where sent away. You told me you did it out of love and I knew better than to believe what you said. But I loved you and hated you with all my heart. It’s your fault that I’m bruised, bruised with endless pain through night and day. But then again I love you. But then again I hate you with all my heart when is it time for me to get away, away to a place where I know I could have better days? It’s a shame to say that I love you and hate you, but either way I am stuck with this pain. My love, you will always be through the soft and hardest days, I love you and I hate you like no other day.

poetry 37

fiction

societal sacrifice | by David Gadson

PART I: Societal Sacrifice

he water shot from the shower head relentlessly. Charles surely must have felt as if he was dying, as he lay curled up in the tub. The water was as cold as it could get, not because it had to be, but because he’d set it that way. At first he trembled, and then it felt warmer as his skin grew desensitized and it filled his ears and he ceased to hear. All he could hear now was his own breath that seemingly slowed and the thoughts in his head. His thoughts screamed and yelled at him. If he had ears for his thoughts, the ear drums would without a doubt break. At first the thoughts were untamed from the pain of the water. They banged at the

inside of his head, urging him to move even in the slightest, to twitch at least. These anarchic thoughts eventually tried to reason with him to turn the water off. He laid motionless, eyes closed. His mind grew tired of yelling, and began to think more complete thoughts… Charles Russell thought of Marie, Marie Ackley. He hadn’t seen her in years, decades even. They were both part of The Society, so it was safe to say she was his sister. Now, you see, The Society was but a small, microcosmic part of human society. The Society could be found on all nations of the world. One gathering of these Societal citizens in Russia was the exact same as one found in the heat of West Africa. Naturally there were reasonably few people in The Society (less than one percent of human population) and no, it was not physically separate from our own society. The nobles and elites in The Society were normal people, many of which were poor. They had regular jobs like you and I: delivery man, teacher, roofer, or gardener. They were from all religions, all political parties. They were from everywhere. They were imbedded within our own living out their lives. The principles of The Society are open for interpretation but what is known is

that they marry once (unless separated by death), never divorce, there are no immoralities that would cause them to wage war for petty injustices, you know, overall elevated standards of what is perceived to be “good”. If a member were to go directly against these principles they would surely be expelled. There are countless other principles, of which they abided by, but a lot of these elevated standards of good cannot be understood by you or I. I urge myself and so I urge you to use your imagination. Even then, I doubt you will fully grasp these higher standards but please…try! Anyways, the people were sincerely humble people, happy people, and modest people. That’s not to be mistaken for “perfect” people, oh no, they were a collection of imperfects who strived for a better world. Charles Russell and Marie Ackley were born into The Society. Charles was an elite, one who put the interests of The Society first in his life. Only older, experienced males were allowed more privileges, they received these based on their wisdom, knowledge of The Society, maturity, and way of life. These elites were put in charge of more and more citizens (or sects) of The Society. Together they formed a Body of Elites. Enough about The Society. Charles Russell thought back many years to when he was a young man, entering manhood. He loved everything there was to love and hate about Marie Ackley. He would watch her from afar and mumble under his breath about how much of a goddess she was and how her apparent divine presence would blind him if he stared for too long. He often wondered why he hadn’t taken his shoes off in her pres-

ence for he was stepping on holy ground! She could do no wrong. He knew it was his destiny to marry her when he came of age, no one could deny him of that. He was old enough to marry, but wouldn’t because the only way he could get into the Societal Academy was if “he was single, 23 years or older, had privileges in his sect”, and the requirements seemingly never ended. All along he knew once Marie turned eighteen every boy in their sect of The Society would jump and snap at Marie with the intentions of taking her as his wife. This angered him so much his chest would hurt, and in his time alone he’d be in a perpetual state of despondency. What most didn’t know was that he and Marie knew each other from early childhood. Memories from their time together as youths would come to him in his dreams but were faint because they

formed part of his earliest memories. They were eventually separated as The Society grew and the sects were divided. As a young man entering manhood Charles was beyond his years in terms of wisdom, maturity, knowledge, and oh…. he was great orator! Most of the talks and speeches given by members of The Society were to convince people of this simple, yet rewarding life they have taken. Charles did exceptionally well when it came to this because he always found a way to people’s hearts. The Body of Elites in his sect loved him to death and had even delegated him many privileges, privileges that many considered to be too much for him to handle. When The Society had large conventions and thousands would flock to hear of the State of The Society, he always had been assigned a speech by far and by many years he was the

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youngest orator present. Marie and Charles knew they would only see each other at such conventions. She always intended to say “hi” but never could, for during intermissions Charles was always crowded by many Elites extending their hands to him, hugging him, loving him for his invaluable services and sacrifices he was making at such a young age. They would say: “Oh Charles, you’re making the best choices in life by being here!” “Great speech! Did you hear that applause?” “Oh what an inspiration you are for us all!” Of course Charles wanted to say “hi” to Marie as well but never could for he was always preoccupied with the interests of The Society and never had time. She was the belle of the convention, always in the most beautiful dress that would flail in the spring wind. He would never venture near her because he knew he didn’t fit in with her friends. True: they were his brothers and sisters, but these kids didn’t have the same goals as Charles as they didn’t want to go to the Societal Academy. There conversations only consisted of trivial childhood, teenager like mingling. The Societal Academy was a tremendous privilege, however in the eyes of many youths it was a burden that many didn’t even bother thinking about none the less strive to reach. That’s why only but a few were accepted each year. But only one class was held all year long. They didn’t have what it takes in his eyes because they lived off impulse and were there just because they were born into The Society, materialists! Charles would often feel alone, solitary from those of his age. His

friends were the Elites despite he was years younger than them. He confided in them. It wasn’t hard at all to gain audience with them, remember they were just like you or I, one of the masses, and cogs in the machine that was The Society. One day Marie and Charles spoke during a lunch at one of the conventions. “Charles, why didn’t you tell me you had a speech at this year’s convention?” she asked with a chuckle in her voice. Ma-

rie was a quiet girl, thin and pale, moderately tall. One might have mistaken her for a white woman. “Oh you know…wanted to keep it a surprise” Charles replied as his eyes examined her nymph like facial features. “Were you nervous?” her voice came out again soft and smooth as cotton candy. The pink kind. Charles grinned and quickly licked his upper lip as he savored the honor

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he had of standing before her. “Everyone that gets up there to speak is nervous Marie. But, after a while, you know, there are so many people watching you that you just don’t care anymore. “ “Wow….I guess...” “It’s true!” he laughed. “I mean, the audience is like one big mass. I can’t even make out any faces. It’s crazy! Well, I mean, I guess I could make out a few from my sect here and there but…The Society is growing!” his ear-to-ear smile shrunk and he licked his lips again. It was times like these that Charles wanted to tell her he wanted to take her hand in marriage. But he couldn’t, not with the Societal Academy ahead of him for he would surely get the highest recommendations from all the Elites in his sect. He was not yet twenty-three, and as you know, had to remain single. He thought all of this as he gazed into her big black eyes and as they laughed and spoke of other non senses. “Patience,” he would tell her through some useless means of telepathy, “I’ll marry you, just please…be patient. Pleeeease don’t marry someone else.” He refrained from telling her because it wouldn’t be humble of him, it wouldn’t be modest! Charles Russell had to keep his modesty no matter how much his heart hurt him, not even love could stop his modesty from prevailing. Modesty was his greatest strength and greatest weakness. Charles wasn’t one who would look to bring his own glory to light, there was no way he would tell her he had plans of going to The Societal Academy. He preferred to keep his successes to himself as not to look arrogant or big headed. Both Charles and Marie knew

The Society was far more important than love; they loved it equally. Charles’ conscience faded back in a bit in the shower as he continued to lay motionless in the icy hell he’d created. As cold as the water got it was irrelevant, he wanted to feel this deathly pain. It had become his only means of abstaining from “sin” against The Society. He lay alone but not by himself. His thought processes slowed but he continued to think of these events that had transpired years ago, decades ago.

he years passed, Charles turned twentythree, officially became an Elite (at age 21!) and was accepted into The Societal Academy after the approval of the Governing Elites (the body of Elites for The Society on global level). There were seventeen other students from all over the world in this year’s class. Everyone was humble and happy as they hugged great hugs. Many of his fellow students were his age, others older, and others even older. He wondered how the older ones had remained single for so long. He endured all four months of The Societal Academy’s teachings. These teachings went beyond what the common citizen of The Society knew or learned of, for it dissected every page, every paragraph, and every verse of The Society’s manifesto: The Manifesto. It was grueling, but with it came much happiness. He didn’t have to work for these four months; The Society paid all of the expenses. Charles was one of the best in the class and was now looking beyond The Societal Academy. After this he’d return to his home sect, resume working and await his assignment. Once he had his assignment he would go

wherever The Society wanted him to go, a “missionary” of sorts. The goal was to train these young men to serve the Society at a young age, so they could serve in sects where the need was greater. Of course he intended to marry Marie, before he received his assignment, for he wished for her to go and travel with him. Upon return, he soon learned the terrible news. Marie had a husband. It appeared that they’d been dating for two years already, under his nose it would seem. “Why didn’t she introduce me to him at the conventions?” he often wondered, not that it would have made a difference. He learned that the husband was two years older than her and would soon form part of the Body of Elites in his respective sect (which was good news.) Charles’ heart and soul sank deeper and deeper with each passing day, he hadn’t the nerve to call her, to speak with her, congratulate his early childhood friend, his eternal sister. His heart became a black hole but he’d never show that on the outside. Marie could do no wrong his heart would tell him, but his mind persisted in backing the belief that she’d wronged him. Of course like any other man he cried, cried all night long on many nights. Often times Charles would even catch himself talking to himself about who knows what. His psyche fell, plunged, crashed and burned. On some occasions all he saw was Marie, even in public. Every person he’d inter-

fiction|societal sacrifice|david gadson 41

act with had Marie’s face, body…everything. He’d glance in the mirror and Marie would be staring back smiling. A mother and daughter would be walking in the street holding hands, the mother was Marie and the daughter appeared to be a miniature Marie; everyone was Marie! Depression is a conservative way to describe Charles at that point in his life. His life was more like a cake of insanity with depression as the icing on top. The pink kind. It tasted so horrible! Once he ate it, it tore his insides to shreds, but oh what’s this!? The cake had a little ornament of Marie on it! Was the ornament edible? Yes it was, it was an almond nut but he dared not it for he was allergic to nuts. Charles kept this to himself. His work in The Society seemed unaffected as he continued on, received his assignment and became an Overseer of Sects in the coming years, a coveted position that

many men in the Society worked their entire lives for. Though neither they nor Charles achieved such a role for sake of a title, it was all for the love of The Society. In his travels from sect to sect many rallied and loved him for his work yet he could have never felt more alone. News not only of his acceptance into The Societal Academy but of Overseer of Sects no doubt would have reached the ears of Marie. What she thought of this no one knows, not even I. Did she feel prideful that she knew him long before he became “famous” (there was no “fame” in the Society)? Did she feel that they were still good friends? To this day no one knows. We only know Charles was the blood stain on her shirt sleeve. She eventually had three beautiful children; word on the street is they look strikingly similar to their father; then again every man’s kids should look like them. After many more years Charles began to

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feel something he’d seldom ever felt: hate. He hated the husband of Marie. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to kill him on many occasions. But…who would ever think it: an Elite committing murder! It would be definite expulsion from the Society and his life’s work let alone a prison sentence or death in the court of law. He even wanted to rape. Oh the joys and elations of making love to a woman, all he had to do was find one (outside of the Society of course), seduce her and if she refused, rape her! He had never experimented sexual intercourse but longed for it every day, it was something only the married were allowed to do in The Society. Many more thoughts of crime and immorality sprang to his head as his desperation grew, as his loneliness grew, as the black hole grew, as the applause of his speeches received more and more applause and grew louder and louder, as did his indifference towards people. Charles kept this to himself. These terrible demon thoughts would plague and bombard him only when he was alone. Since his full time job now was that of Overseer of Sects (again, the Society paid the bills) he was only alone in his humble little home. Groans of tedium would escape him, no one there to see him struggle, no one to ensure that he wouldn’t go out and become hypocritical of everything he spoke of in his speeches and talks. No one to ensure his actions would speak decibels louder than his words. He led such a public life, in many respects but, no one here to see him truly succeed. When these thoughts attacked him and when he felt mighty he’d “kill” him-

self. He would do it every night; every night that the evil loomed over him like the ocean covers the earth. Charles would run to the shower, cold water would come blazing out of the shower head. He’d strip himself of all the clothes on his body until he stood naked. Without a seconds hesitation he would be smothered by bullets of icy water that would gather at the bottom of the tub and partially encapsulate him. He would yelp and yell and eventually the water would push him down, push back the evil, push back his senses, push back his hate, and beat it into submission and into a pulp as he lay motionless. Angels rejoiced and demons cursed him out until they fled from him, only to return at a more convenient time.

PART II: Angels and Demons

There was no dying in this war. The angels and the demons fought and fought though none died. Millennia passed though none perished. The demons saw everything and laughed a rowdy laugh each time a mortal acted more and more like them. Though they could never know what the mortals were thinking, only what they said and what they did is what they knew, and how they gauged their so called victories. So they watched and watched, always waiting for the opportune moment to strike, to pounce like a leopard. These demons were by no means dumb or stupid, many of them were at one time or another, angels who had been banished from the unreachable. Their goal was to devour any one man, woman or child, and of course they’d go after the weakest first. The weak,

the ones who strayed and straggled behind like a baby zebra strays from the rest of the pack. The wolves and cheetahs and all other prey would pounce on it, for it was food, and these demons saw mortals as such. True: a bigger meal wouldn’t hurt in the slightest but those, naturally, took longer to catch. More strings had to be pulled and more demons had to be amassed. The thing is these mortals didn’t even know when they were caught by their invisible, covert, and highly deceptive predators because it felt so good. The desecration of humans not only felt natural to them, but to the demons as well. This never ending war between the angels and demons had massive implications on earth’s inhabitants whether they knew it or not. The angels were always on the defensive never attacking, always defending the highest known empyrean, and the lowest known temple and stone. These angels knew that the whole world was lying in the power of the wicked ones, the demons. The phantom weight they carried on their wings bothered them not, for it was just. Yet they envied these humans and their humanity. Their imperfections, their ability to die, to feel pain, to feel love and hate, their ability to sacrifice, it was all perfectly enviable. They would never give up their deity to be a human. Though these angels only lauded the humans if they saw any signs of transcendence. It was admirably so because they were able to prevail despite their imperfect nature.

PART III: Taking a Bow

Charles Russell, subdued in the shower, motionless, a powerful man without power, curled up and half asleep thought of Marie “Ackley” one last time. The lingering thought of her was almost squeezed out of him by the unyielding waters that had nearly finished the transmutation of his darkest feelings into gold. But this only stopped the inner demons that had bedeviled him temporarily for they’d be back. Not tonight though, the next night and the next and the next. Every night Charles Russell would “die” in his shower lying motionless, on the brink on unconsciousness. Alone… Legions of angels crowded around on an invisible nimbus looking down from the heavens. They were elated because of what they were witnessing. Each one applauded and applauded for He was taking a bow and his performance was phenomenal, such sacrifice. The applause went on for what felt like many human years.

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fiction|societal sacrifice|david gadson 43

fiction

the letter | by Sarah Ramlaoui

b a g in one hand and an unopened letter my mother wrote me in the other, I stood there in the cold winter day. I stand waiting for my train with others. I don’t often ride in trains, but when I do, it is always to the same place. I always go for the same reason, and I always go around the same time of year. Most of the people around me are probably going for the same reason. They all are meeting family for the holidays. I personally hate this time of year. I hate having to leave my solitude to spend time with loud obnoxious family. However, it is mandatory, and somehow I manage to leave my home to see them.

My train arrives and I board with the rest of the group. Children are loud and parents seem to have no control over them. All I can think about is how I would much rather be sitting in front of my television at home, alone. I find my seat and make myself comfortable. Set my bag under my seat and set the letter from my mother on my lap. A tall grey haired man sits across from me. He wears a grey suit that goes with his grey hair. All his luggage is black shiny leather. I really hope he wasn’t the type to start conversation. I am really not the social type. I wasn’t always like this. I used to like going out with people every Friday and Saturday night. Drinking and partying was a usual. But stuff gets old, and you eventually don’t care for it anymore. Yeah my friends were confused that I didn’t want to talk to them anymore. But that didn’t matter too much, I am much happier now. The next person to arrive was a woman and her son. She was a typical mother type: kind of chubby, rose red cheeks, baggy clothing, the whole deal. Her kid is nothing special either. He is probably around 5 or 6 and has the bowl cut hair, which every little boy gets. He is holding his action figures and a tin lunch box. The lunch box has the same face as the action figure he is holding. I can already tell that this trip was going to be annoying. The woman looks over to me and smiles. I don’t care to smile back. Her son sits next to me when she sits across from me. The train begins to move. And my five-hour trip has begins. Old Grey Haired begins talking to Mama

Fatty about how the economy is not doing too well. The women just acts like she understands what he is talking about, but really you could tell she has no clue. The man on the other hand talks as though he knows everything. The old man looks over at me ready to talk. “How do you feel about today’s economic problem?” he says, acting interested in my answer. “Just great,” I don’t really care. “Really? I mean it is affecting a good load of us. A good friend of mine just got laid off, right before the holidays. Isn’t that terrible?” This man is disgusting. He is trying so hard to get down on my level. To connect to me in some stupid way. I already hate him. Everything about him. “Yeah, that really sucks.” I look away, completely uninterested. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the man’s face. Rejected. Confused. It doesn’t really matter. He has no reason to start a conversation other than for his own satisfaction. What does he want me to say? How the economy is going down the drain? How I got laid off my job last month? How I don’t care if other people get just as fucked over as I did? Fuck him for trying to get into my life. To redeem himself, the man turns his conversation to the rose cheeked women.

Her kid makes annoying noises with his little super hero. Too bad there are no super heroes, nobody to come save me from this awkward, uncomfortable situation. I almost forget the white letter sitting on my lap, reminding me of what I have to go through after the train ride. I don’t really feel like opening it. I don’t really feel like reading the sappy shit that my mom always writes me. I can already predict what’s on the note: We are really excited that you are joining us for the holidays! We miss you so, so much. Your father can’t wait to see your face. Blah blah blah. I don’t really need to open it.

I begin to study the woman in front of me and how she acts as though she has no worry in the world. Sitting there with a little smile on her face watching her kid playing with his stupid toys. Her husband is probably some really nice guy with a decent office job. Probably occasionally brings home a bouquet of roses to boost up her sex drive for the next week. Whatever. As long as she is happy I guess. Three hours have gone by, and I am super bored. The fatty is sleeping in front of me and the old fart is writing notes to himself. I look down at my mother’s note again, and I think I am now bored enough to read it...

fiction|the letter|sarah ramlaoui 45

Huh, that was a little different. My mother is obviously over dramatizing the situation. He is probably fine. I must say that this is unexpected, but it probably is nothing to worry about. It has been an hour and I find the thought of my mother’s letter still in my head. I really don’t know why I keep thinking about it. My mother and father have never really gotten along. Arguing and fighting was the usual. I never could understand how they could fight

about everything. It was the reason I could never come home. It is just so negative. I don’t know why I continue to think about it. I wonder how my dad is doing right now. My face begins to get warm and I am starting to feel anxious. I can’t explain this feeling. As much as I deny it, my father is one of the most important people to me on this planet. Everything around me doesn’t matter anymore. I now feel eager to get home, to be with my father.

The train begins to rock and rumble. The woman in front of me calls for her child and he hides in her arms. The old man reaches for his suitcase and hugs it close to his chest. The rumbling gets worse. I look out the window, noticing that we are crossing a bridge over a large body of water. The second I look at the child in front of me crying, the train derails, falling into the dark waters.

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credits Editors

Marketing

Layout

Publisher

meg oka ana-karen zavala zimmerer alex pardes joe rubio julius velas

cassie ingrasci melissa welch margaux dao alex lanchares

Art

matt mcmahon keener barnhorst andy huss jessica revilla alexis garcia

david gadson

elon michaelson

photography | 4, 5, 6-7, 10-11, 12, 28, 36, 46-47 credit | 28

yvonne byers

originals | 4, 5, 8, 13, 16, 17, 20, 26, 36, 37 credit | 15, 27, 29, 31, 32, 45

emily mekinna

originals | 9, 19, 30, 32, 49 credit | 29

carly greer

originals | 3, 7, 15, 34, 35, 36, 40, 41, 44, 45

sarah ramlaoui

originals | 18, 21, 22-23 credit | 24

cassie ingrasci

credit | 25, 33

ana-karen z.z.

comic | 39

meg oka

credit | 29