The Looking Glass | Spring 2015

Volume 11, Issue 2

An Academic and Creative Publication of the University of Idaho Honors Program

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LOOKING GLASS Spring 2015

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

Honors students are talented across all disciplines, in many fun and surprising ways. The University of Idaho Honors Program publishes The Looking Glass every year as a chance to showcase some of that creative and academic talent.

I would like to extend a personal thank you to all those who submitted work this year. It wouldn’t be possible without you. We are so excited to publish and feature such amazing talent.

I would also like to thank our amazing team of editors who donated their time and effort into making this publication what it is today. And, another thanks to the University Honors Program and the Honors Leadership Council for supporting us along the way.

I hope you enjoy reading this issue of The Looking Glass as much as we enjoyed creating it. —Krista Stanley

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LOOKING GLASS

University of Idaho Honors Leadership Council The Looking Glass P.O. Box 442533 Moscow, ID 83844-2533 uhp-hlc@uidaho.edu

Volume 11, Issue 2 The Looking Glass is a literary publication of the University of Idaho Honors Program, featuring creative and academic works submitted by students. A digital copy of the publication can be found at: http://issuu.com/honors_lookingglass The works published have been reviewed by the Looking Glass editorial staff and printed primarily in their original, unedited form.

The viewpoints expressed are those of the individual authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Looking Glass, its editors or the University of Idaho Honors Program Every effort has been to reduce errors in this publication. However, the Looking Glass will not be held responsible for any errors that do exist, from human negligence or otherwise.

Any questions or concerns should be directed to the University of Idaho Honors Leadership Council.

An Academic and Creative Publication of the University of Idaho Honors Program

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LOOKING GLASS TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editor-in-Chief: Krista Stanley Nonfiction Head Editor: Amanda Vu Fiction Head Editor: Taylor Kowalski Poetry Head Editor: Elizabeth Miller Content Editors: Alyssa Baugh, Taylor Kowalski, Elizabeth Miller, Allison Simmons, Hailey Smith, Amanda Vu, Linnea Worley Design Editor: Krista Stanley Cover Art: “Dressed for Dinner” by Autumn Pratt

Strings by Nicole Moeckli My House of the Rising Sun by Lindsie Kiebert The Quiet by Elizabeth Miller Sissinghurst in Summer by Alyssa Hudson Summertime Fawn by Jennifer Hunt The Mango Tree by Zachary Lien Wind Elemental by Nicole Moeckli Piazza Del Popolo Obelisk by Alyssa Hudson The 71 Billion Dollar Gap by Christopher Goes The Walk to School by Ben Bridges Outside Living by Alyssa Hudson What a Gardener Knows by Linnea Worley I See an Elephant by Ben Bridges Creature Concept by Nicole Moeckli Spring Break by Ben Bridges About the Honors Program

4 5 7 8 10 11 12 14 16 18 20 22 23 24 25 26

Spring 2015 | 3

STRINGS

nicole moeckli

MY HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

lyndsie kiebert

At nine years old it occurred to me that it might be strange that my family gathered around a piano at the end of every social gathering, and it wasn’t until twelve that I realized it was even stranger that we passed around handmade lyric booklets with a list of contents ranging from “American Pie” to “Big Rock Candy Mountain” to “The Weight.” I was fourteen before I realized my cousin Jensen wasn’t really my cousin at all, and when I was eighteen I asked him how long it took him to realize the same about me.

“See, it was different for me, because I thought you were my sister,” he said. “I mean, I knew you didn’t live with us and that was weird because most of my friends lived with their sisters, so I asked my mom. And when she said I only loved you like a sister, and you weren’t really my sister…

Yeah that was a weird day.”

We were sitting with my sister Leslie in folding chairs on the dimly lit lawn, barely twenty feet from the porch where Jensen had pilfered a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon just minutes before. The three of us passed it back and forth, the warm, putrid fizz in our mouths making us feel just the slightest bit rebellious. The porch light cast shadows across the grass – tables full of empty potluck dishes, a child’s toy lawnmower tipped onto its side, folding chairs in haphazard circles – all remnants of another successful August party at Jonny and Connie’s mountain home. Jonny and Connie were not my grandparents, but this I didn’t realize until about 3rd grade.

Muffled but still audible was the jubilant party continuing inside, away from the mosquitos, the summer’s nighttime chill, and us teenagers with our pathetically defiant beer.

We could hear laughter intermingled with conversation, our younger not-so-cousins thundering up and down the basement stairs, and Jensen’s father shouting in his happy way, encouraging someone to drink or dance or join him behind Connie as she sat poised at her piano, flipping through pages and pages of possible tunes, her unfailingly neat silver hair flowing down her strong back. Suddenly there would be a collective hush, and even from out in the yard we knew what was about to happen.

I thought back to a photo of all of us “cousins” – my sisters and I, Jensen, his little brother Mathis, Uncle JP’s kids Collin and Riley, and several others – squished against one another on the rich wooden piano bench, some of us falling off while others climbed toward the keys to avoid the impending rug burns of a tumble onto the floor. I still remember how powerful the keys sounded to my small ears back then; how mysterious it was that when I touched the keys they made nothing but arbitrary sounds, but when Connie touched them they made pure magic.

Now, the three of us too big to even consider sharing the bench, we remained silent, holding our breath in anticipation of what song Connie had chosen. The notes did a familiar rise and fall, and through the summer air came the voices of our massive patchwork of family singing, “Celia, you're breaking my heart; you're shaking my confidence

Spring 2015 | 5

daily.” It wasn’t until age fifteen that I knew it was originally a Simon and Garfunkel song. I’d always requested it because of a memory of my dad saying it was his favorite.

I sipped the Pabst slowly, remembering all over again why I hated the bitter liquid, and passed it to Leslie.

“I wonder if our kids will get to come to Jonny and Connie’s and sing,” Jensen pondered while glancing toward the house. I could see my mom through the large windows, rocking back and forth while clapping and throwing her head back at the beginning of every new verse.

“I don’t know. What do you say Les? Do you think you and Jensen’s kids will get to come to Jonny and Connie’s parties?” I raised an eyebrow, always so proud of instances when I could tease Leslie and Jensen about the crush they had on one another. When I was six I officiated their wedding, unaware of both the fact that I was not an authorized justice of the peace and also that cousins don’t traditionally marry each other. Nevertheless, the two four-year-olds kissed and I never let them forget it.

“Ha. You’re hilarious,” Leslie said while taking a blind swing at my shoulder. She then leaned back and absentmindedly played with her hair in contemplation. “I hope my kids get to come here. I couldn’t imagine growing up any other way.”

We let her sentence rest between us, like the warm beer and the muffled singing voices. It wasn’t long before “Cecilia” was over and there was applause, complete with hooting and hollering from makeshift aunts and improvised uncles. It wasn’t our lack for blood relatives that had resulted in this web of a family. I knew in some convoluted way that Jonny was my grandfather’s cousin and therefore his kids’ kids were my cousins, and somewhere along the line Jensen’s great grandmother married Jonny’s uncle or something, but none of that mattered. Leslie was right. I couldn’t imagine growing up any other way.

“Hey you hooligans!” my sort-of Aunt Julie shouted gleefully from the porch. Jensen stealthily set the mostly full beer can behind his feet, out of view. As rebellious as we felt, three-quarters of the beverage still remained. A secret, shared beer was more enjoyable in theory than in practice.

We all turned to Julie, and she said, “It’s time for the last song!”

We abandoned our lawn chairs and rushed toward the porch, clamoring up the sturdy wooden stairs and into the crowded living room. There was an unspoken code that everyone had to sing the last song, and the last song never changed. It was “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals, but again, I’d always seen the original artist as Connie with the accompaniment of the most familiar singing voices in my life.

As an 8th grader I told a friend about my family’s song.

“Isn’t that song about a whore house?” she’d scoffed. I’d

then spent the day running through the lyrics in my head, completely baffled at the thought.

My family loves that song, I thought. How have I been singing a song about prostitutes since I was four?

I didn’t let it bother me for long. The words had never really been words anyway – they were notes and hand gestures, beautiful piano riffs and gleeful shouts between stanzas.

At eighteen years old, the opening notes held the same weight they had back when we could all fit side-by-side on the bench. Back when I had the power to join Jensen and Leslie in holy matrimony. Back when I learned the lyrics without consciously memorizing them. At eighteen I felt the notes rise and fall within me, and I sang the opening lines with a new conviction.

“There is a house in New Orleans, they call the rising sun…”

It’s the same every time. Rather than “it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy”, Jensen’s grandmother always makes a point to say “girl.” I usually join her in doing so. When we sing it on New Year’s Eve it’s always at midnight. I have a mental slideshow of my parents kissing as the clock strikes twelve, an embrace with a consistent soundtrack. Connie sways with the music, glancing at the notes only briefly, each one of them flowing from her heart to her fingers. Jonny always stands behind her, his arms raised as if conducting a large choir, which I guess he is.

I never questioned why this became our song. It seemed as obvious as the August mosquitos, or the fact that I’d never like the taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The House of the Rising Sun was our song. It was far from conventional, but so was our family.

My dad walked up and tickled my ribs as the song came to a close. I grabbed his prodding hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, then hugged him sideways.

“Dad, isn’t that song about a whore house?” I inquired.

“Huh, yeah I guess,” he said with a smile. “Why?” “It’s just funny I guess,” I responded.

My dad started bidding everyone goodbye with handshakes and hugs. I walked onto the back porch and sat down next to Jensen on the steps. They led to Connie’s prized garden, complete with a granite fountain crafted by Jensen’s grandpa and a small vineyard in the form of an arching tunnel. It was beneath those grape vines that I’d told Jensen to kiss his bride twelve years before. Rows upon rows of tomatoes and dahlias sat luscious and proud. I could barely make them out in the dark but I had every bud and stem vaguely engrained in my mind.

“How are we related again?” I asked, taking my eyes off the moonlit silhouette of the dark mountains to see Jensen smiling in his goofy way with his mouth slightly open and his eyes closed in slits.

“You’re my sister,” he said.

“when I was six I officiated their wedding”

6|The Looking Glass

THE QUIET

elizabeth miller In the end it wasn’t fire.

Like the kind that burned a shirtwaist factory in New York City in 191l, skin and cloth turning to ash beside a law library.

It wasn’t ice either.

Like the piece that gouged a new deck into Titanic and the sea wind howled frost into blood soaked veins.

It wasn’t even the sun exploding, obliterating its tiny rock attendants in a fit of rage that accomplished nothing.

It was the soft, quiet shift in the fabric of the black that humans called the sky.

It knocked the stars sideways and tilted gravity, leaving life with no north star and no sun either, so that the universe withered away in light that was not gone but was not enough.

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SISSINGHURST IN SUMMER alyssa hudson

SUMMER TIME FAWN

jennifer hunt

THE MANGO TREE

zachary lien

At the edge of the cliff, over The green, you can find me, A humble, young branch growing in The old apricot tree.

Alone and unbegot, I bear A storm, without support; While fellow branches of the tree Wish death upon my sort.

There is a sense of excitement In the life of a shoot, Awaiting the day you are grown And able to bear fruit.

I turn from anguish, to the tree; My final sliver tears.

My final image of my home Are their forsaking stares.

At night, every branch dreams of My perfect apricot.

They want me to produce, like them, And become what I ought.

Falling past the sharp-edged cliff, with Nothing to intervene, I cut through the air and collide With unfamiliar green.

And ‘tis this fateful morn that I Feel a suspicious weight.

I breathe, but I fear that moving Would merely desecrate.

Covered by darkness, I awake To a faint, dismal sight.

My mango, which caused all of this, Did not survive the fight.

I conquer paralysis to Eventually see, Not an apricot, but rather, A mango stems from me.

I lay as a broken young branch Left only to lament.

For nothing came of the mango, That only brought torment.

Lost in shock and anxiety And utter confusion, I spray all curses I can at The mango’s intrusion.

But, somehow, beyond my pieces Scattered across the earth, I see hope in the form of a seed That will one day give birth.

And, soon, the other branches wake To hear my cries of shame.

I cry because I know I will Bear both burden and blame.

Speechless, I find happiness in The future that I see.

Animals resting, birds nesting, In an old mango tree.

I hear their rumors and their fears; I accept, and I know.

‘Tis not the nature of nature To let difference grow.

‘Tis not the nature of nature To let difference grow, But, sometimes, good things are made from The pain we undergo.

And in their panic, they decide, With no need to discuss,

For bearing evil fruit, young branch, You are now dead to us.

And so, they devise their plan to Stop me, before I spread.

They will simply not protect me, From storms that are ahead.

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WIND ELEMENTAL

nicole moeckli

PIAZZA DEL POPOLO OBELISK

alyssa hudson

THE 71 BILLION DOLLAR GAP

christopher goes

WHY WE SHOULD BE TAXING RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS

Day after day, we hear about massive budget cuts, deficits, and a general lack of money in the federal, state, and local budgets. Look at our federal government, with the current deficit of $601 billion as of this year, according to the Congressional Budget Office. Look at Florida, with its $1.75 billion cuts to education, according to the Palm Beach Post.

Where is the missing money, and how could we fix these major issues without imposing more taxes on an already stressed economy? The answers, unfortunately, are found in the tax-exempt religious institutions across the country. In this paper, I hope to show not only how much money is lost on religious institutions through tax breaks and subsidies, but also argue for these measures to be repealed to be fair for all Americans, religious or not.

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THE TAX-EXEMPTION: WHY IS IT THIS WAY? According to U.S Tax Code 501(c), organizations in section (c) are tax exempt, including those listed in the following excerpt: “...operated exclusively for religious, charitable, scientific...purposes....no part of the net earnings of which insures to the benefit of any private shareholder or individual, no substantial part of the activities of which is carrying on propaganda, or otherwise attempting, to influence legislation...intervene in (including the publishing or distributing of statements), any political campaign on behalf of (or in opposition to) any candidate for public office.” This statement, along with other provisions in the U.S. Tax Code, establishes the means for religious institutions to be exempt from ALL taxes simply by virtue of being a religious organization, provided the activity of this institution does not involve personal benefit, propaganda campaigns, or influencing legislation or political campaigns.

Religious institutions include churches, faith-groups, religionrelated organizations such as the Secular Student Alliance, and other such groups. As we will see, these institutions don’t always have the taxpayer’s best interests in mind.

ABUSE OF THE EXEMPTION In their comprehensive article in Free Inquiry, Cragun, Yeager, and Vega provide a theoretical, but certainly possible, example of how tax exemptions can be abused.

“In our discussions while investigating the subsidies to religion, we realized that religions would be the ideal way to launder money if you were engaged in an illegal enterprise. Hypothetically, the leader of a drug cartel could have one of his lieutenants start a church and file for tax-exempt status. Once granted, money from the sale of drugs could then be donated to the religion, which could use the funds to build extravagant buildings (including a “parsonage”), host extravagant “services,” (a.k.a. parties) for members of the religion, and pay extravagant salaries to its ministers

(including the leader of the cartel). Drug money could be laundered through the church’s bank accounts with little risk of being caught by authorities. If drug cartels and the Mafia aren’t already doing this, we’d be surprised” (41-42 ).

This should sound like a outrageous theoretical argument by academics. Unfortunately, this type of abuse is already happening. Religious institutions, unlike charities, do not need to provide proof of services to receive tax-exempt status. Just being a religion is enough for the Internal Revenue Service (IRS), who do not want to violate First Amendment rights to free exercise of religion.

One example of this are “mail-order ministries”. In an article on the matter of these “mail-order ministries”, Bruce Casino lays out what is happening: Recently, numerous taxpayers have attempted to avoid all, or a substantial portion, of their federal taxes by establishing a mail-order church or ministry. Such ministries typically are formed by an individual or group of individuals who subsequently assign all or a substantial portion of their assets and income to the organization.

Members take a “vow of poverty” but retain control of all church funds and property. The church’s revenue is used to pay members’ living expenses, including food, automobiles and housing, while the income assigned to the church is claimed as a charitable deduction on members’ federal income tax returns. The church building is usually the residence of the minister, the congregation is usually his or her family, and religious activities are few, if any. The minister often purchases credentials and a church charter through the mails from a tax-exempt organization. Thus, the common appellation for these organizations-- “mail-order ministries.”(113).

This is a systemic problem, as his article goes on to show, resulting in numerous tax fraud cases and a loss of tax revenue for the IRS.

heart’s content, regardless of the fact that they are receiving taxpayer’s money, albeit indirectly.

According to Doerr and Menendez, certain private schools used textbook material that is not only blatantly false, but swayed to a very specific religious viewpoint. The textbooks used by these schools are bigoted, spew hatred of other religions, and present a very skewed world view to young children. While their argument was whether taxpayer dollars should support this bigotry through a voucher system, the same argument can be applied to schools run by religious institutions (165-167). Taxpayer money should not support, even indirectly, institutions that often teach bigotry and pseudoscience in schools open only to a select few.

The other facet of this problem is the massive amount of tax dollars sequestered away in this stateside “tax haven.”

According to Cragun, Yeager, and Vera, it is estimated that $35.3 billion is lost in federal income tax revenue, $6.1 billion in state income tax, and a staggering $26.2 billion in state property taxes (44).

This is a huge amount of money being lost not only at both the state and federal level, especially at a time when both state and federal governments are suffering cuts.

Additionally, $1.2 billion is lost to parsonage, or tax breaks for “self-employed” ministers (44). This parsonage break is the most interesting, as it allows ministers to take a large cut out of their income taxes for “living arrangements.” This is usually small, but can range up to the tens of thousands of dollars for a single individual minister.

Finally, there is the $2.2 billion received by religious institutions through the “Faith-Based Initiatives Subsidy.”

(44) This is a Bush-era federal grant, providing direct government resources to religious institutions and community organizations with the intent of helping the community. With religious institutions, this may not be the case.

Mariellen Jewers brings up a good point as well: “...it is vital to consider whether any multi-billion dollar operation, religious or otherwise, should enjoy sweeping tax exemptions on their assets. What exactly does the tax exemption promote if an organization already has more than enough money to run its activities from individual contributions?”

In all honesty, why do religious institutions that have multiple streams of income need large tax breaks? All it leads to, in the opinion of Cragun, is a form of “life support” for dying religions, keeping them afloat far past the time they would’ve closed down (44). Why should taxpayer dollars be used to keep afloat a private organization that, quite honestly, does not benefit the majority of those who pay for it in the slightest?

“Religious institutions, unlike charities, do not need proof of services to receive tax-exempt status.”

$71 BILLION: WHY THE EXEMPTIONS SHOULD BE REMOVED There are two main reasons the exemptions should be removed: (1) We do not know what the money is supporting; and (2) It will free up a huge amount of money to help revive sagging state and federal budgets. While religious institutions are required to keep records, the length and detail of those records is not established by the IRS. Additionally, the institutions are allowed free reign as organizations to discriminate against people to their

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CONCLUSION

WORKS CITED “26 USC 501 – Exemption from Tax on Corporations, Certain Trusts, etc...” 23 Apr 2013. <http://www.law.cornell.edu/ uscode/text/26/501>.

Casino, Bruce. “I Know It When I See It: Mail-Order Ministry Tax Fraud and the Problem of a Constitutionality acceptable Definition of Religion.”American Criminal Law Review. 25.

(1987-1988): 113. Web. 25 Apr 2013. <http://heinonline.org/ HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/amcrimlr25&div=10&g_ sent=1&collection=journals>.

Cragun, Ryan, Stephanie Yeager, and Desmond Vega. “Research Report: How Secular Humanists (and Everyone Else) Subsidize Religion in the United States.” Free Inquiry. 32.4 (2012): 3946. Web. 24 Apr. 2013. <http://www.secularhumanism.org/fi/ vol_32/4/cragun_32_4.pdf>.

Delisle, Elizabeth. "Monthly Budget Review." Congressional Budget Office, 5 Apr 2013. Web. 23 Apr 2013. <https://www. cbo.gov/publication/44061/>.

Doerr, Edd, and Albert J. Menendez. “Should Tax Dollars Subsidize Bigotry?” Phi Delta Kappan. 74.2 (1992): 165-67.

Print. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/20404820?seq=2>.

Jewers, Mariellen. "Tax Exempt Religious Organizations: Why U.S. Churches Should No Longer Be Tax Exempt." policymic. 21918 (2013): n. page. Web. 25 Apr. 2013. <http:// www.policymic.com/articles/21918/tax-exempt-religiousorganizations-why-u-s churches-should-no-longer-be-taxexempt>.

Kam, Dara. “Gov Rick Scott’s Proposed Education Budget: 1.75 Billion in Cuts.” Palm Beach Post (2011): n. page. Web. 23 Apr. 2013.

ben bridges

THE WALK TO SCHOOL

As a nation, we have many problems ahead of us, budget concerns being chief among them. By not taxing religious institutions, we are losing a large amount of tax money to a figurative Money Pit. If we wish to keep our place as a world superpower, we must eliminate these wastes, and focus our monetary efforts on fixing this nation’s major problems.

OUTSIDE LIVING

alyssa hudson

20|The Looking Glass

WHAT A GARDENER KNOWS

linnea worley

22|The Looking Glass

My fingers, they prick on the thorns, bleeding while I dig through the blossoms, I search for the roots in scattered soil.

The sweltering heat emitting from the sun opens flowers: their scent attracts bees.

I swat them away, my hands protected by gloves.

They’re supposed to protect me, the gloves, from the rose bushes, the common thistle, and their thorns that break the skin on my delicate hands. Painful, like a bee sting, and I’d cease enjoying the blossoms.

Instead I’d cursed this garden, my mother and her son, for breaking my concentration, sitting in the soil.

As I sit, my capris soiling, and stare at my hands, I wish my discarded gloves worked. But such is the way under the sun, when you bring beauty to the world, with the hawthorn standing to the side, its wilting blossoms bearing bitter fruit, tempting children with what it will never be.

All this labor and someday it will be the garden of my dreams. It started from soil, the ground bare, until it blossomed into lush vegetation so bright it can’t be gloved and even when the thorns break through they’re burned by the sun.

When people see, they’ll bring their daughters, their sons, and they will smile. It will make me be someone important, and my heart will have no thorns.

I give everything I am to this soil, as I did with my hands gloved, the bleeding hearts and the irises blossoming.

Spring and summer, my garden blossoms, until the time comes for the sun to retreat behind the clouds, slipping on a glove.

Back to the hive they retreat, the bees, while the once soft soil freezes with the first frost, icicles like thorns.

For when the sun vanishes and summer’s grip loosens, fall will be the dominant force, dead foliage gloving the soil, and blossoms of spring will drop, turning into thorns.

I SEE AN ELEPHANT

ben bridges

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CREATURE CONCEPT

nicole moeckli

24|The Looking Glass

SPRING BREAK

ben bridges

ABOUT THE HONORS PROGRAM

The University of Idaho Honors Program (UHP) offers a range of enriching course study and activities. Active since 1983, events such as concerts, plays, films, leadership retreats, service trips during Spring Break, and â&#x20AC;&#x153;Fireside Chatsâ&#x20AC;? with professors have been well loved by students. These, on top of honors exclusive seminars and lectures, are great ways to meet like-minded students across both colleges and majors. Want more information? See the UHP website at http://www.uidaho. edu/honors.

26|The Looking Glass

Krista Stanley

vice-president

Emily Gehlken treasurer

historian, public relations officer

Nicole Carter

honors program director Dr. Alton Campbell received his Ph.D. in Wood and Paper Science from North Carolina State University, his M.A. in Chemistry from Duke University, and his B.S. in Science Education from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. He is a tenured, full professor and has been serving at the university of Idaho since 1993.

Dr. Campbell was the Honors Program Associate Director from 2008 until January 2014, at which point he was named Director.

As Director, Dr. Campbell endeavors tirelessly to engage and support students at every chance he can: through leadership development, club activities, service programs, living groups, undergraduate research, study abroad programs, national student exchange, and advising for undergraduates and graduate students. His efforts earned him an ASUI Outstanding Faculty Award, an ASUI Service Award, an ASUI Outstanding Organization Adviser Award, a Residence Hall Faculty Involvement Award, and over 30 UI Alumni Awards for Excellence as the most inspiring faculty mentor selected individually by the top 40 graduating students each year.

ALLISON ELIZABETH ALYSSA SIMMONS MILLER BAUGH

Katie Vandenberg

Alyssa Ertel Karina Eyre Jesse Jutson Lauren Kees Calvin Miller Sam Roberts

HAILEY SMITH

secretary

chemistry, philosophy

KRISTA STANLEY

Jennifer Downen

president

physics, microbiology

AMANDA VU

Mickinzie Johnson

meet the editors

LINNEA WORLEY

honors leadership council (hlc)

R is among the most menacing of sounds. That’s why they call it murder and not mukduk.

—Dwight Schrute, The Office

english, psychology There are few things better in life than coffee and a good book.

psychology, applied music performance Where words fail, music speaks.

—Hans Christian Andersen

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.

—Martin Luther King Jr.

advertising, mathematics The trick is to be neither creative nor analytical, but to be both. Look at creativity analytically and analysis creatively.

chemical engineering, chemistry Even if you know how something’s gonna end, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.

—How I Met Your Mother

international studies 林喜欢写小说，吃蛋糕.

Lin likes writing novels and eating cake.