Main Street Magazine Summer 2019 Edition

Main Street Editor’s Note

Us Chad Ripley Editor-in-Chief Jamie Ammon Managing Editor Julia Scorese Content Editor Zach Lewis Content Editor Caleb Jagoda Content Editor Paxton Yuknewicz-Boisvert Contributing Writer Meaghan Scotti Contributing Writer Douglas Rodoski ContributingWriter Delaney Ripley Contributing Writer Casey Farrell Contributing Writer Jacod Dawson Contributing Writer Sean Crimmins Contributing Writer

I consider myself one of the luckiest people on this campus. Time and time again I am reminded just how impactful this magazine has been to my college career. It has opened the door to new perspectives, lifelong friendships and the oppurtunity to work with some absolutely beautiful and creative minds. And with four out of the five editors returning, I am in no doubt that the precedent we have set will continue in the editions to come. I really do dig the team we’ve assembled and the work that comes out of it.

To everyone who picks this magazine up, we wouldn’t be here without you guys, I can’t thank you enough. I’m going to end with some Anderson Paak lyrics that truly encapsulate my emotions. Cheers. “when the dreams become reality, it’s hard to keep a smile off the mug,” Anderson Paak, “Yada Yada”

Caroline Fitzgerald Contributing Writer

-Chad Ripley, Editor-in-Chief

Lucas Henry Contributing Writer

Find Us

Laney Meldrum Contributing Writer Devin Jones Contributing Writer Meghan Murphy Contributing Photographer Grace McCulloch Contributing Photographer Bailey Schott Contributing Artist

Main Street will be looking for contributors in the upcoming school year, come by and introduce yourself!

Meetings will still be in MUB 132 (The Newsroom) at 7 P.M. on Tuesday nights! We look forward to hearing from you all. Have a great summer--live it up! you can find us at: mainstmag.com facebook.com/mainstreetmagazine mainstreetmagazine@gmail.com instagram: @mainstreetmag

BIG thank you to everyone at UNH Printing Services for all of their help printing this, and every other issue of Main Street. We couldn’t have done it without them, and we have big hearts full of appreciation.

as always, with love, from main street

Contents features:

better in tune with the infinite- pg. 6 not done yet- pg. 8 the life of a bearded man- pg. 14 featuring: Jenna Rheault- pg. 19

photography: reviews:

podcasts- pg. 4 a star is born- pg. 5

arts, opinion and culture:

scope presents - pg. 12 year in review- pg. 32

drawing spreads: bailey’s spread- pg. 18

poetry- pg. 10 curioser curios- pg. 16 mr. nobody pg. 22 when satire goes too far- pg. 26 the stigma is real- pg. 30

Front Cover Photograph By: Chad Ripley

SCOPE’s Spring Concert

Back Cover Photograph

By: Grace McCulloch

Who doesn’t love fresh Lobster in the summer?

Illustrations by Bailey Schott

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Summer 2019

Happy Face

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reviews

Paxton Yuknewicz-Boisvert | Contributing Writer Can you imagine finding out your father is a serial killer? The podcast “Happy Face”explores this idea. The host of the podcast, Melissa Moore is the daughter of a well-known serial killer, Keith Jesperson, better known as the “Happy Face Killer.” Throughout the podcast, Moore describes the way having such a father affected her life and the victims’ lives as she struggles to reconcile the father that she remembers growing up with the brutal reality of who he really is.

The podcast also explores the unique struggles Moore goes through. She has struggled for most of her life attempting to convince others and herself that she is nothing like her father. However, the listener soon learns that she identifies with some of his traits and worries about that. For example, they both have a similar physical appearance, have a hard time expressing emotions and both claim they hear ghosts from time to time. She struggles with the idea of possibly being like her father to the point where she eventually has a specialist scan her brain to discern if there are similarities of it with the brains of psychopaths.

For anyone who has the idea that psychopaths appear cold and heart-

less in every way, Keith Jesperson’s behavior may give you a better sense of how manipulative psychopaths can be. Prior to Jesperson’s graphic and disturbing descriptions of his victim’s deaths, the creators of the podcast remark how surprised they were that he seemed helpful and friendly at times. The listener is left with the question: is this all just a facade? Is he manipulating people for his own entertainment? The stark contrast between Jesperson’s actions and his somewhat normal demeanor makes the podcast interesting and chilling at the same time.

By the end of the podcast, the listener has a deeper understanding for not only how a serial killer affects his or her victim’s lives, but also the ways in which this trickles down to the family members of the victims, and more surprisingly, how deeply it affects the family members of the actual killer.

The story is extremely captivating, and once you start listening it is hard to stop. The episodes are relatively short, approximately 30-40 minutes each, and have hardly a dull moment.

If you are looking for a new podcast with a compelling story, “Happy Face” is worth a listen.

Armchair Expert Caroline Fitzgerald | Contributing Writer Dax Shepard’s “Armchair Expert” has to be my new favorite podcast.

It is the perfect escape from reality when walking back to your room from classes. The podcast is basically Shepard asking the awkward questions that everyone is thinking but wouldn’t have the courage to say. He interviews celebrities ranging from his own mother, to Lauren Graham, to Ellen Degeneres, all in the comfort of his own home. The reason I am so fond of it is because you learn about the lives of pretty random people. I was obsessed with Debby Ryan after I listened to her interview. No two interviews are the same and they don’t seem to have an agenda which makes it get interesting. People seem to be pretty honest, including the host who continually refererences the

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fact that he did hard drugs and was an alcoholic. The podcast “celebrates the messiness of human beings” and is in no way censored. The episodes range from a half hour to two and a half hours. You are guaranteed a good laugh from each episode because - due to Shepard’s rip-the-Band-Aidoff mentality - there are no elephants left in the room by the end of it, and no shame. He even interviews his wife, Kristen Bell, a few times and does not cut out parts of them fighting. He’ll start it off by saying they are mad at each other and that there is tension. Dax Shepard’s “Armchair Expert” is the perfect way to get to know a random celebrity and hear about their life growing up along with some funny stories while going about your day.

Summer 2019

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review: a star is born Delaney Ripley | Contributing Writer

It will pull at your heartstrings in more ways than you could ever imagine. The original film was produced in 1937 and starred Janet Gaynor and Fredric March.

The movie was recreated again in 1976 starring Barbra Streisand and Kris Kristofferson, and, in 2018, with Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. Cooper co-wrote, produced, directed, acted and sang in this movie, and with an 89% approval rate, it’s safe to say Cooper created the movie of a lifetime.

“A Star Is Born” follows Ally Campana (played by Gaga), a waitress and singer-songwriter and Jackson Maine (played by Cooper), a famous country music singer battling a severe drug and alcohol addiction. They cross paths, fall in love, create music together and confide in each other regarding their own personal struggles.

Throughout the movie, subliminal messages are hidden regarding various topics ranging from being who you truly want to be, women’s voices being heard in the music industry and the toll substance abuse and mental health issues put on not only the individual suffering but their loved ones as well.

“A Star Is Born” is a raw and heartbreaking depiction of the effects that substance abuse can have on an individual. Warning, spoiler alert ahead...

After having an embarrassing accident at the Grammy’s and multiple outbursts of intoxicated anger, Jackson decides to enter a rehabilitation program. Jackson is in the programs for two months and discloses with a counselor that he had attempted suicide at the young age of 13. Upon returning home, Ally has a concert to play, but Jackson insists that she go without him and he would meet up with her later. After Ally leaves, Jackson commits suicide. This scene is heartbreaking in the sense that you can see that the demons inside his head took over and despite the love Ally showed to Jackson, he ended his life. If there were ever a time where you questioned if true love was real, it was after that scene.

Sadness aside, this movie makes you want Gaga and Bradley to be lovers in real life and some have even posed rumors about the two having a secret romantic relationship. I mean, come on, everyone has seen the 2019 Oscar’s Awards video of Gaga performing “Shallow” and when Bradley scooches over next to her, all you can think is that these two are truly meant to be.

A movie that makes you laugh, cry, dance and sing, “A Star is Born” deserves five out of five stars for its creative and moving story around issues of self-appreciation. If you haven’t checked it out already, grab a friend and a box of tissues. You’re going to need them!

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Summer 2019

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better in tune with the infinite Caleb Jagoda | Content Editor “My childlike creativity, purity and honesty/ Is honestly being crowded by these grown thoughts / Reality is catching up with me / Taking my inner child, I’m fighting for custody” Kanye West, “Power” Maybe it was the simplicity of it all. At age 10, my top priorities were hitting at least one homerun (a homerun consisting of hitting it past the woods-line and into the forest) in a game of wiffleball with my friends so they couldn’t rag on me and making sure to catch the Red Sox game later that evening. Maybe it was the pure fun of it all. We never cared much about bruises or grass stains or ruining new clothes in the mud; that was for our moms to fret and nag us about. As a matter of fact, grass and dirt stains were a badge of honor; we strived to make so many diving catches playing whatever sport the day had called for that we’d be left sitting on the edge of our tub on humid summer nights trying to scrub the ingrained green off our kneecaps with a wet facecloth - not to mention the brown dirt stains on the bottom of our feet from running around barefoot all day.

There’s something gentle and warm about these memories of my childhood, and something that still resonates deeply within to this day. The sunny nostalgia of pre-pubescent wonder wraps us up just as the rays of sunlight did on those eternal summer days that seemed like they never would end.

Although different for each and every individual, it’s these beautifully mellow, softly burning memories that still beckon of home, even when we’re hundreds or thousands of miles away. While I’ll never be able to experience these moments of blind happiness again, I’d be remiss to stifle the joy that still rises up in my chest when the sun lingers up there in the sky for a couple minutes longer every day or when the possibility of reckless fun calls to me from by the oceanside. In other words, as winter thaws to spring, puffy coats become bathing suits and hurried February frowns morph into indolent summer smiles, I can’t help but feel a pulsing happiness that brings me back to the days of curiosity for curiosity’s sake and Hoodsie ice cream cups.

And all the while, as my “inner jit grins” (as Earl Sweatshirt would say) and my aging body attempts to keep pace by slowing down, Chicago rapper Noname and author Stephen King remind me to allow that light to shine once more in my current life - even if I’ll never be able to experience that same unadulterated joy ever again.

Noname’s melancholic and astoundingly tender music speaks volumes within the walls of her soft-spoken philosophy. In her two projects since 2016, “Telefone” and “Room 25,” Noname scribbles purity in the form of Crayola self-portraits laid gently upon the rainbow-con-

struction-paper canvas of her production. But this isn’t to say her music is simple; rather, she allows simplicity to ring deafeningly true through symbolically-laden lyrics that open up a world of meaning upon their revelation. As Noname dissects tumultuous topics and heinous worries, she never fails to float freely over them with a breezy confidence and childlike exuberance that evokes the freedom and clarity we so often lose as we get bogged down in the mud of responsibility.

On the song “Yesterday,” Noname remembers her mentor and friend Brother Mike and wishes for the simplicity of childhood to once again steer her though the pain: “Me missing Brother Mike like something heavy / Me heart just wasn’t ready, I wish I was a kid again.” On “Diddy Bop,” Noname reminisces of Chicago summers spent at barbeques while wearing K-Swisses and FUBU: “B2K in the stereo, we juke in the back seat / Or juke in the basement, in love with my K-Swisses / This feel like jumping in a pool and I’m knowing I can’t swim / … Summertime, city life, Chi-town, my town, my town.” And on “All I Need,” Noname confides that a significant other reminds her of happiness and youthful gaiety: “You remind me to love myself for the principle / For the kid inside, ‘till the end of time / Happy go lucky was a time.”

By calling upon the liberation of her childhood, Noname is allowing her psyche to be unbridled and to enjoy the carefree existence we all strive to get a taste of. This appears most clear on the hook Cam O’bi sings on “Diddy Bop,” when he softly whirs, “This sound like growing out my clothes / With stars in my pocket, dreaming ‘bout

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making my hood glow / This sound like every place I would go, if I could fly / This feel like every summertime / Fall asleep dreaming ‘bout all the places I could go / And every one of them feels so close, still chasing time.”

There’s something so intoxicating, so inundating, about the plotting, scheming and cosmic dreaming of our youth.

We are bound by nothing; our imagination runs free without a leash, exploring the great unknown and hoping that one day we will follow suit. Yet as we grow up, our dreams are often squashed as we’re forced to live within the bounds of society’s reality. Noname admits as much on “Forever” when she raps, “Everything is everything, but I still haven’t paid my rent.” Aging and the ensuing responsibilities often crush the dreamer and the optimist within. But, as Noname points out, calling upon these pastel dreams of hope can be our saving grace. No, we’ll never live that carefree again, and we’ll never be able to revisit Grandma’s barbeque or that summer wiffleball game ever again. But if we can continue to carry this essence of our childhood within us no matter where we go, our souls will shine eternally golden, much like the flittering sunlight of those everlasting summer nights that littered our youth.

If Noname is tapping into the syrupy sweetness of our past to endure adult life, then Stephen King is simply retelling and acknowledging just how simple life in sixth grade really was. While almost all of his novels and short stories seem to center around adolescence, none seem to hover on its importance more than the short story that would eventually become the amazing film “Stand By Me.” The novella the movie is based on, “The Body,” finds a man named Gordie reminiscing on the summer he and three friends went searching for the body of a boy their age who allegedly died a gruesome death when he was hit by a train while blueberry picking.

In their curiosity, the boys set out on an almost week-long hunt to find the boy’s cold body and in doing so, encounter a roller-coaster of emotion that is exceedingly difficult for their 12-year-old minds to process. As we walk with them through the forest of their youth, we experience exactly what being 12 is like: the endless vulgarities and name-calling, the chest-puffing and ignorance and also - maybe most importantly - the drastic fear and vulnerability of trying to make sense of ourselves and the world

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around us for the first time. Through masterful imagery and arrestingly-captivating scenes, King brings us back to how beautiful the simple age of 12 was. Descriptions such as “I was still sleepy and disoriented, unstrung from my place in space and time,” and “Seeing that outrider of twilight made me feel sad and calm at the same time, brave but not really brave, comfortably lonely,” perfectly depict the feelings that rush through our heads at such a time in our lives.

There are many gorgeous scenes of adolescence throughout “The Body,” including Gordie’s slightly-deranged friend Teddy trying to dodge a train, but Gordie tackling him off the train tracks resulting in a fight and shortly-ensuing concord; one of the four boys, Chris, pulling out four battered Winston cigarettes and handing them out to the fellas, resulting in an after-dinner smoke where they confidently state, “‘Nothin like a smoke after a meal,’ Teddy said. ‘Fucking-A’ Vern agreed”; and maybe the most pertinent, when Gordie wakes up before the rest of his friends one tranquil morning in the woods and spots a doe that he describes as “some sort of gift, something given with a carelessness that was appalling.”

King uses the serene perfection of the deer to symbolize the purity of our childhood, and specifically Gordie’s childhood. Gordie goes on to explain how during the toughest times in his life, he finds himself returning to this memory of the doe cropping in the repose of dawn as a small piece of solace. King uses many images and scenes throughout the story that really depict the simple beauty of our youth, but Gordie’s deer stands out as the most striking, reminding us of the ethereal nature juvenescent wonder seems to carry with it.

It’s hard to articulate this feeling of blissful naivete into words; as King’s Gordie admits to the reader about keeping his moment with the deer to himself, “The most important things are the hardest to say, because words diminish them.” This is exponentially true; the sublimity of our childhood light is far easier to communicate in memories and moments, as opposed to words and explanations.

What I can say about it is that it’s delicate and light, like walking barefoot in the grass on a warm Sunday; it’s buoyant and shiny, like a red balloon floating upward into the immaculate infinite; it’s as fleeting as a ghost, because we never realize what we’re grasping until it’s all but a memory.

Noname puts it best when she closes out her album, “Room 25,” with, “Just boundless movement for joy, nakedness radiance / Through all the joy and all the pain / Don’t forget from where you came / The avenue remembers you / Your song, your truth, your light is proof / That love is still with you.”

“Now you better close your eyes, my child, for a moment / In order to be better in tune with the infinite” Jay Electronica, “better in tune w the infinite,” sampling Professor Marvel, “The Wizard of Oz,” 1939

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Summer 2019

not done yet

Main Street

Chad Ripley | Editor-in-Chief

“Never seen two dudes lovin’ life so much. must be stoked being able to make a living off doing what they love. I’m stoked for them.”- Some random dude on YouTube.

I went back the other day and revisited two songs: “Cyclone” and “A Love Letter From Me To You,” both songs by a band that has left a lasting impression on me. Their vulnerable, stripped down versions deliver a state of awe, as well as impeccable storytelling and raw emotion. While their studio versions deliver on so many different aspects, it’s the band’s ability to break it all down which makes them unique.

This is the story of how I came to meet the band Sticky Fingers.

No, not the famous Rolling Stones album. Sticky Fingers, the five-piece band hailing from Sydney, Australia. The rambunctious crew of Dylan Frost (lead vocals/guitar); Paddy Cornwall (bass/vocals); Seamus Coyle (lead guitar); Beaker Best (drums/ percussion); and fan favorite Freddy Crabs (keys/ synth) comprise a group that has the ability to send you into a melancholic state one moment, a psychedelic trance the next and finally skipping your way down the street with an uncontrollable joy. Simply put, they can do it all.

But after two years of listening and unpacking the endless catalog of this band, there’s something that has never changed. The two songs that exposed me to the band, “Cyclone” and “A Love Letter From me to You,” have forever changed the way I listen to music.

“Cyclone” tells this story of a crumbling relationship, and opens with “Here comes a story of a hurricane / And a temper lost like crying tears in rain / No love is lost or no sweet wisdom gained / So save your tears then save yourself the shame, ” using the storm as a metaphor for the whirlwind of emotions and problems this couple is facing in the demise of their relationship. The peaceful melodic fingerpicking by Coyle in the intro is rudely interrupted by the first line as Frost (aka Dizza) strums three simple chords almost the entirety of the song. You’re left admiring how effortless the notes ring off Coyle and Frost’s guitars.

Frost’s vocal range is tested in the song’s bridge, when he sings, “so bend down them bridges, dig up them bones / What’s that you got? Cause I’ll have one of those / Darcy, I could never hate ya if I tried,” bringing the story of this failing relationship to an end and into the final chorus which he sings, “Cyclone…. You’re on your own” which leads into a guitar solo by Coyle, exposing the raw talent that he holds while playing that six string.

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Summer 2019

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“A Love Letter From Me To You” brings to the table something more playful and exuberant than that of “Cyclone,” exposing the band’s ability to switch from that of a more melancholic vibe to one that brings a smile to your face - and you can’t help but smile when Coyle breaks out into a solo that brings Frost to a sway and puts a smile on his face from ear-toear. The song’s chorus that has Frost singing, “I think you’re real cool / oh come for a swim in my pool,” shines light on this playfulness that Sticky brings to the table in not only this acoustic jam but a handful of their songs.

the past decade.

Now over six years from that acoustic session, and two years since their last record, Sticky Fingers is not done yet. With their new studio album “Yours to Keep” released in February, stifi fans have been gifted with an 11-track album filled with a mix of dreary, dilapidated lyrics while expanding on the reggae-rock sound that has solidified them as one of the most unique bands to come out of Australia in

But the true beauty of the night was when Frost was brought to tears singing “Not Done Yet,” one of the singles from the new record. The song was in memory of Manu, a friend of the band. The lyrics move in an upbeat fashion despite the haunting guitar melody. The chorus tells the story of Frost’s battle with his schizophrenia, which is what sidelined the band for almost a year before releasing this album. “But I won’t see red / Despite what’s within / Yes, I knew you always cared / But I’m not done yet,” he sings during the chorus, shining light on his condition. In the mix of all the emotions during the night, Frost could barely finish the final chorus as tears filled his eyes. Red eyed and wiping his face, he looked to the crowd, mustering up the closest thing to a smile he could. It was a deeply emotional and vulnerable moment for not only Frost, but myself as well. Two years into my relationship with this band, I finally witnessed firsthand the raw emotion that Frost and the other band members pour into their music.

On March 8, 2019 I was lucky enough to witness the band that I had been following for over two and a half years. The Brighton Music Hall was barely standing after the likes of “Bootleg Rascal,” “Gold Snafu” and “Cool & Calm.” While “Australia Street” prompted Frost to jump into the drunken slew of concert-goers for a crowd surf. (Which if you look close enough in the picture, you may see the writer of this piece with uncontrollable bouts of stoke during that sequence of events).

When the band took to intermission and out came Frost and Coyle with two acoustic guitars, I crossed my fingers for the two to play the song that had instilled in me a greater appreciation for music and their work.

And when that fingerpicked intro by Coyle filled the venue, I looked to my cousin Logan with the biggest smile and exclaimed, “cyclone…”

—9—

Summer 2019

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poetry Lucas Henry | Contributing Writer

Waves Over The City The sun sparkles on white-capped tourist heads.

The ebb and flow of human tides, frothing, crashing in the squares, trickling through the streets.

Voluminous they break and bubble away over rocks and deep alleyways.

In their absence is a hush that waits.

A catch between breaths like the empty soda cans they leave behind; hollow, adrift, and sinking fast.

Then the waves come in raging crowds and like a toddler get swept into the tide pools.

Too verdant - too choked with seaweed and critters with claws and ridges that scuttle and hide in nooks, snapping away curious fingers drawn by their painted shells.

Winding Alleys The sun bakes across buildings wound into cool, damp places.

Quiet awe lights tourist faces and store’s hawk shiny trinkets.

The quiet, a hasty blanketa tenuous veil from the bustle In deep winding alleys lustful, for adventure. People wander discover books bound with leather and dust or masks with catchy feathers, resplendent, otherworldly busts the crowds fade away.

Noise like sunlight filters into a deep pond to find what treasures glint in the mud and the fishes.

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Summer 2019

Cafe At Night Steel cages rattle, slam the stones over every store each painted pretty in a different flavor of graffiti like a theater wait that hush our voices.

The sun drops and fingers of light recede, lingering in the old town.

Rainbow hues fade from the city’s crown jewel, but deep in the streets the embers remain.

Sun baked tiles grow cool in streetlight glow.

Shadows toss up across wrought stone facades and lamps bathe the bustle in spotlights.

The cobblestone streets are a new stage and night’s curtains are drawn wide.

Burst of songs drift around corners from street performers and squalls of laughter spill into the alleys like beer running in the cracks.

Decorations of thousands of crenellated lights erupt across the street, draping the city in every color, like a splendid gown awash with neon.

Through the main strip people pack and pearls of revelry come from every restaurant.

Blood pumping through a dancer’s veins, giving life to the old bones of the city.

— 11 —

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SCOPE Presents: Lil Baby & J.I.D

photos by: Chad Ripley instagram: chad_ripley

Summer 2019

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the life of a bearded man Jacob Dawson | Contributing Writer I’ve always thought throughout my life beards carried with them more than just a fuzzy face. The last U.S. president to have a beard was Taft, and with that great power and responsibility came a series of great beards (and moustaches).

Growing up my father had a thick black and gray beard until I started high school, when he surprised us on vacation with a clean face and has kept it ever since. Yet, I never witnessed the untapped potential of my father’s facial hair genes, as his father never kept a beard throughout his life.

I was born with bright blonde hair like my brother. Neither of my parents have blonde hair though; my mother was also born blonde but her hair turned brown over the years. It didn’t take long for this to happen to me.

I was about 10 years old when I first started to notice the tell-tale signs of puberty, including armpit hair. As quickly as I grew three inches in one year, my hair went from blonde to brown. It wasn’t too long after that, in middle school, mind you, my first beard hairs started to come in.

I wasn’t really sure what to do about it. I was clearly the first one in my grade to rocket up in height and have more hair. The term “pedo-stache” was very popular to make fun of people’s early beards and moustaches. So I just shaved.

My parents were pretty shocked when I asked them what kind of razor I should get. I wasn’t very comfortable using shaving cream and a razor, and my father never used them either. We decided on an electric three-blade rotating razor which had a flip-up beard trimmer on the back of it.

I abused that razor all through middle school.

The summer before high school started I basically said “screw it” when I noticed how aggressively the beard was starting to come in. It grew and grew and grew, quickly covering my face and head in brown hair. Looking for something to do when I entered high school, I signed up for the ultimate Frisbee team. In the fun-loving spirit of a high school Frisbee team in Vermont, the older team members quickly took me in.

Surprisingly, we were pretty good that season and lost to the state capital in the finals to earn second overall. There was another player on our team who had a sizable beard and throughout the season mine grew to match his. This quickly earned me the nickname on the team of “Beardz.”

The name caught on so much that teammates and coaches began to forget my real name.

Sophomore year came around and the name started to grow in popularity among my friends and others at school.

Yet I felt the need for a small change and my girlfriend at the time agreed. I broke out the trusted spiral blade razor and took down my cheeks to leave a goatee and moustache. It was a nice change that I kept for only a few months as it was pretty hard to keep up with the need to trim my cheeks.

With the changing seasons, the length and thickness of my beard would change and I welcomed that. It’s great not having to cover my face when I go snowboarding, but when trying to snorkel at the lake back home, my goggles would fill up with water if I kept it at winter’s length.

When I first came to UNH I had the beard and intended to keep it through college, as I have. Despite the promises

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Summer 2019

I made to some people that I would shave before graduation, sorry to disappoint, but I just can’t. It really does take years off a man’s face when they lose their hardearned beard.

I ended up in a cycle of letting my beard rage during the fall in preparation for winter where it came in handy having to walk across campus for classes over the last four years, then shaving down for spring and summer to cool myself. It does make quite a difference in the temperature, believe it or not.

“Beardz” never stayed with me after senior year in high school, but as college progressed the common, “Oh, that kid with the big beard?” question, or similar statements became synonymous with yours truly. I never joined the Frisbee team here but my time at Wildcat Productions, The New Hampshire, WUNH and Lambda Chi Alpha have brought their own beardy experiences.

While college passed and the beard grew, I think its popularity grew with it. My boss at Wildcat Productions once remarked, “You have quite the head of hair, my friend.” “You must initiate The Beard!” an alumni of Lambda Chi wrote on our Facebook page when a picture was posted introducing my rush class in the spring of 2017. The spring of 2017 would prove more influential in the life of my beard than one would think, and that came in the form of a contest unlike any other.

My mother had sent me a link to the Vermont Beardies, a contest throughout my home state to find the best beard and “turn whiskers into wishes.” The contest partnered with the Make-A-Wish chapter in Vermont to raise money and grant a wish to a sick child. In order to compete in the contest, you had to register and raise a certain amount of money for Make-A-Wish.

The Beardies were being judged over spring break which timed out perfectly with my full beard coming out of a brutal winter. I quickly gathered donations north of $300 and was eligible to be judged in the contest with about 20 others. The real kicker was getting to meet Jonathan Goldsmith. You probably know him as “The Most Interesting Man in the World” from the Dos Equis beer commercials; he actually lives in Vermont and was co-sponsoring the event.

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downtown Burlington. First, a pediatrician from the local hospital looked at my beard and remarked on its length and color. Second, I had to fit as many clothespins into my beard as I could with the help of two kids. I got second place in that with 49. Lastly, I had to explain to Goldsmith why I have the best beard in Vermont.

I started this by telling him I was only 20 years old at the time and there were people older than me at the contest with lesser beards. Not only that, Make-A-Wish granted a wish for one of my good friend’s brothers when he was diagnosed with Leukemia. My hair was also a comparable length at the time and I was growing it out to donate to a program Pantene runs where they make wigs for people going through chemotherapy. I had to cram all this explaining into 60 seconds.

I tied for second place overall in the contest and together we raised over $30,000, which was enough to grant two wishes. I entered the contest again this past March but wasn’t as successful in my overall ranking. However, the contest itself has grown so much that we raised over $52,000 this year. After spring break and a couple exams, I had to shave it off and it felt amazing, albeit I’m pretty cold right now.

I look forward to the rest of my life as a bearded man but there are a couple things people need to understand.

Don’t pull on it, it really hurts. I can’t tell you how many times this happened to me at UNH but it never feels any better. I also can’t tell you how many times drunk people have said “Wow, your beard is amazing,” or something along those lines. Don’t ask how it got so big because I have no idea. I don’t do anything special to it besides shampoo and combing when it’s long enough. It’s all in the genes. No, I’m not a fan of so-called “hipsters” with beards. You’re not wearing it for the right reason and stop decorating it for your Instagram.

Beards do carry a symbol of power, of responsibility and of maturity. There is something awe inspiring about a great beard that ironically is hard for me to understand.

I’ve become so used to hair hanging off my chin that I forget it’s there. So beard on you crazy diamond, because those hairs mean a lot to the people around you.

They show your experiences, your personality and your fantastic genes.

The event was held at a funky art and music venue in — 15 —

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curiouser curios Zach Lewis | Content Editor

“The lines in a poem or the lyrics in a song contain all that has been or ever will be. ” We all exist right now. If you can read that sentence, you’re part of the club. What do we do? How does one derive meaning in their life? Is it through family, friends or a religion? Is there a belief or logic behind the mechanization of your actions?

Maybe. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell how much of what we do originates from our own volition. Did I type that sentence because I wanted to or because I have a deadline? Did I perform specific actions to place my reality in the here-ness of now? How much of my free will should I control and how much of my free will is controlled by unconscious motives?

What motion in the universe caused me to place this word right here?

Is this just a random coincidence?

Random. No order. A riddle in the middle of a maze.

Question marks begin to look fake after you type enough of them. What I mean by ‘fake’ is that the concept of the question mark becomes unreal.

The symbol loses all meaning. It’s like when you say the same word over and over and over again, like crepuscular. Crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular-crepuscular. It makes you thirsty for short sharp sounds. Sounds are just vibrations. Some people say the universe is made up of vibrations.

Particles smaller than atoms, smaller than protons, smaller than quarks and smaller than anything you can

conceive.

The biggest thing that humans can barely perceive in its scope, the universe, is supposedly made up of the smallest particles you can barely perceive. William Blake said as much in his poem “Auguries of Innocence,” “To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And Eternity in an hour.” This magazine you’re reading is a representation of eternity. Your smart phone that needs to be charged holds a glimpse into the infinite (which is probably why the battery is always dying). The lines in a poem or the lyrics in a song contain all that has been or ever will be. The vagueness inherent in all this meaning creates a paradox. Humans (which, I’m totally one of those) do not feel comfortable with holding two conflicting ideas in their heads. We (cause I’m — 16 —

definitely a human and with all of you on this, not an alien or a, uh, robot, no that would be silly) like to assign value. That ocean is blue or that cat is fuzzy and this thought is wrong or that thought is right.

Bumblebees don’t worry about this.

They just buzz around, make honey and confuse cartoon bears. I was probably a dragon in a past life.

This leads to how often do we get to experience existence. Is it one and done? Are we only a cohesion of chemicals, and then we dissipate back into Mother Earth? Do we have

“Gravitate towards what feels right. Listen to yourself. Meditate.

Exercise (your body and your mind.)”

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“Bumblebees don’t worry about this. They just buzz around, make honey and confuse cartoon bears. I was probably a dragon...”

souls that drift along to the various afterlife after parties, and depending on the guest list, some parties are better than others? Do we get shot back out into the world as another player on the stage? Are we all just different aspects of the same consciousness that experiences itself through the process of existence? Or are we all in a computer simulation or floating on a disc on a turtle’s back? Would we find the sunset beautiful if we were silicon-based life forms instead of good ol’ carbon? “He who Doubts from what he sees / Will neer Believe do what you Please / If the Sun & Moon should Doubt / Theyd immediately Go out.”

It’s confusing enough to pick the right movie to watch on Netflix or the right podcast to listen to on the drive home, let alone an overarching belief structure that encompasses the totality of existence.

Gravitate towards what feels right.

Listen to yourself. Meditate. Exercise (your body and your mind.) If you start listening to yourself long enough, you might start to hear something. That grumbling is your

stomach, so you should eat some food. Wait, what’s that? Oh, it’s the car behind you honking its horn because you’ve been zoned out at the Mast Road stop sign for quite a bit of time while you try to figure out the meaning of life. William Blake also said, and from the same poem as the earlier passages, “A truth that’s told with bad intent / Beats all the Lies you can invent.” How many great ideas have been spoiled in human history by their truth being told by those with nefarious reasons? How many people have been killed in the name of a belief? That negative voice inside your head isn’t you, it’s the internalized pain that some hurt human breathed into your mind.

Let the good times roll. Follow the positive vibes.

On the flip side of that, don’t let good news from a tainted source obscure the value of that good news.

Objectivity is the key to open the lock on your mind palace. Be wary of those that tell you they know the absolute truth. Most of those people don’t have your best interest at heart. I don’t have any answers, but — 17 —

I’m filled to the brim with questions.

“The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons / Are the Fruits of the Two seasons / The Questioner who sits so sly / Shall never know how to Reply.”

If you’re able to find some truth in anything that you do, follow that thread and don’t be afraid to ask questions. We all know brevity is the soul of with and to avoid coming off like Polonius, so I’ll end this digression with a call to curiosity. Look for the answers to whatever question you have. Change your routine and paths if you discover what you’re doing isn’t working. Read books and write shit. Read books and write shit. That wasn’t a glitch, it was a non-random, random occurrence.

This is my advice as a human.

illustrations by: bailey schott

illustration by: Bailey Schott — 18 —

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Featuring: Jenna Rheault Sean Crimmins | Contributing Writer sive game because I take a lot of pride in being a stay at home defenseman. My team pushes me everyday to get better so I can’t thank them enough for helping me receive this award.”

This past season was the best of Rheault’s career with two goals to tie her career high while also posting a career high eight assists for a career high 10 points. But she still stayed true to her stay at home defenseman mentality as she was second on the team in blocked shots with 50, trailing only freshman Warren Talli’s 52 blocks.

“I like to block shots a lot, prevent the puck from getting into the back of the net,” Rheault said. Blocking shots was definitely something she did well, tallying up a massive 218 blocks over the course of four seasons, which averages out to just over 1.5 blocked shots per game. Rheault also said she likes “doing the little things, like blocking shots, getting the puck out (of the defensive zone) the first time, winning one on one battles. I take pride in that.”

While most people would disregard the draft of the National Women’s Hockey League, it held some significance for the University of New Hampshire in the 2018 draft, as senior defense, Jenna Rheault was selected 25th overall by the Boston Pride. She was one of nine women from the Hockey East division alone to be selected in the draft. The draft was held via Twitter and went over the course of two days and it originally came as a shock to her as she wasn’t expecting to be drafted.

“I found out on the Monday before and it was really hard keeping that secret to myself because I really wanted to tell everyone,” Rheault said. “But being able to able to grow the game of women’s hockey is really cool and I was just honored and very thankful and grateful.” She is also the third Wildcat to be drafted since 2017. During her four years she played in all 143 games posting six goals and 18 assists for 24 points.

Rheault classifies herself as a stay at home defenseman, putting her responsibilities on defense first then worrying about offense. “I do try to use my skating ability to get up in the play and this year I feel like I did connect more offensively, being able to connect passes when I should.” She also won the Colleen Coyne Defensive Player Award, which is a team award handed out to who gets nominated by the players and coaches.

“It’s an honor to be nominated for having a great defen-

That idea of doing the little things seems to extend off the ice. Teammate, junior, Meghara McManus said, “Her contagious energy and competitive spirit are among many assets that she brings to the team. Not only is she a great person, but her talent that she displays on ice is remarkable. Her skating and hockey IQ enable her to be the playmaker that she is. Jenna’s work ethic and leadership is inspiring to those around her” Just because she is going to a new team doesn’t mean she is going to become a new player. “I still want to have that defensive mindset, but I do want to be able to contribute offensively and be able to build off of what I was able to produce this year as a senior,” she said.

As did many other kids who grew up playing hockey, she got into it from family members who played. In her case, this was her grandfather, father, uncle and brother who all also played at the collegiate level as forwards.

Unlike they did, Rheault went with defense as she wanted to be different from them. As a matter of fact, her first college level goal came at Clarkson, where her grandfather used to play.

“I believe it was because he was watching over me, but that was a really exciting moment for me,” Rheault said.

Until she is called by the league to sign contracts, Rheault will still be at home training off the ice and skating with a professional women’s program in Bedford, Massachusetts.

— 19—

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Abroad? Abort.

Julia Scorese | Content Editor

“I can’t wait to go abroad,” I told everyone and myself, up until the point I filled out my application and my parents just said no. That was a really hard no - with no ifs, ands or buts, unless I miraculously came up with the 10 grand to travel, all by myself. Completely out of the picture. No part time job, no selling my closet, and no 21st birthday funds would be enough to cover the expenses and earn a solid yes from my parents.

I’ve heard studying abroad is not for everyone, people like myself - an uncultured 20-year-old with comeand-go anxiety and no past traveling experience. I couldn’t argue that one, but that didn’t change my urging desire.

And so I was devastated, as you can imagine. I’d be missing out on traveling Europe with some of my best friends. Stuck in Durham, New Hampshire with my nose in books and covering campus news for the next four months. Travel writing sounded way too good.

Luckily, my best friend pulled back and decided she’d stay the semester too the day applications were due. With the whole, “everything happens for a reason” mentality, things were starting to look up from there, and we decided the best of both worlds would be to visit our six friends in Barcelona on spring break. The trend caught on, and about 15 others in our circle decided to buy their tickets too.

They say Barcelona is the like the party capital of the world - with a big emphasis on consuming bloody mary’s with every lunch and brunch, wine with every dinner and simply not sleeping. Needless to say, by the end of the week I was sure as hell ready to go home - the best eight days of my life, but eight was enough.

They forget to mention the blunt

truth when it comes to studying abroad. We see the pictures of what looks like a glimpse of reality: champagne with a view, boat cruises and rooftops; and when asked how it was, there’s no better way to sum up a four month experience than blatantly saying, “It was amazing”.

If you wanted to get into it, where would you even begin?

“We see the pictures of what looks like a glimpse of reality: champagne with a view, boat cruises and rooftops...”

Don’t get me wrong, the pros are limitless: the best clubs you’ll ever step foot in, the cheapest drinks, shopping and views that’ll take your breath away. And yes, I’d still love to find myself in Europe eventually binge eating the food you only see on Instagram, skiing colossal slopes, and travel blogging the whole ride, but in five years perhaps.

So here’s how it goes...

My best friend and I hopped on the plane, departing from Boston with expectations of simply sightseeing and getting lost in the alleys of the Gothic Quarter every day, sipping wine and sampling every tapa we could get our hands on. When we arrived after 16 hours of travel, it was a pleasant surprise to hear we’d be having a “chill night.” Our plans consisted of pasta and wine at, notoriously, Beyonce’s “favorite restaurant,” and a couple drinks at a bar across the street. Sounded ideal, — 20 —

although I knew I couldn’t keep my eyes open without a coffee or two at the dinner table.

After a couple drinks the group said, fuck it and made the collective decision to finish the night off at one of their favorite clubs. We couldn’t say no. It was the first night all the girls were together in three months - in freaking Barcelona. We had to have a night yet be well enough to explore the city in the morning. You can only imagine how that ended.

Our group split within minutes of entering the mosh pit, and all I could remember was my worried father’s reminders to all stay together, especially at the clubs. “Don’t take drinks from strangers. There’s a lot of creeps out there. You know the drill.” Thirty minutes in, two of my friends are tossing back shots with a close in age, brown-haired stranger, who claims he can’t be in the background of any snapchats because he’s on the Barcelona soccer team and tomorrow’s game day. “Ha ha ha. So we’re getting drugged.” Flash forward another 30, my friend gets a fist to the face by a male security guard for hopping the VIP fence.

A freaking punch?! If you haven’t already heard, Barcelona is basically a free-for-all, no rules whatsoever.

While weaving my way through the crowd to find the exit, I got a drink thrown to my chest for “pushing” a nasty girl, who then tried to square up and fight. I could not get arrested here. Don’t worry, I didn’t.

“You need a cigarette,” said my friend. And damn right, I smoked that cigarette even though I told myself I’d never get into that.

I knew this was about to be the best, but scariest week of my life.

We ended up surviving, but to my surprise, 4:00 am is considered an early night. The next morning we woke at noon. Brunch started at 2:00, then drinks, dinner at 9:00,

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pregame at 12:00, club at 1:00. This went on repeat, except the following nights ended at 6:00 am.

We later come to find out that Sketchy Club Guy isn’t on the roster when half the group decided they wanted to attend the big soccer game. The rest of us walked around the city like zombies from the night before. This is when the reality rolled in, and I now understood why everyone either wears sunglasses or looks away from the camera in all Instagram posts. I felt like a bag of asses, but really needed those good pictures. Already, this week wasn’t the classy, relaxing paradise I expected, but the memories were becoming horrifyingly priceless.

“This week wasn’t the classy relaxing paradise I expected, but the memories were becoming horrifyingly priceless.”

Day two, one of my friends comes back without a phone and debit card after the metro ride back from the game. Apparently pickpocketing is a huge thing. We were warned, but little did we know how sly they could be. We learned our lesson and started purchasing cross-body fanny packs after another two got their phones snatched by day four. While answering a call outside the club, another got the necklace ripped off by a boy, no older than 15. Things were progressively getting scarier.

Those without phones were screwed at the clubs when it came to scout-

ing each other out of a sea of people. One of the girls had no way of getting home aside from flagging down strangers to order her a taxi, bribing them by saying she’s alone with no phone and card - everything you don’t do in a foreign country. She winded up sleeping on a random man’s couch because she couldn’t get in. If that was any other man, we’d probably never see her again.

The next night we lost another friend with no phone and no perception of time; we spent two hours searching nearby bars and attempting to get video surveillance which the front desk would not provide to us under any circumstances. Again, they couldn’t care less in Barcelona.

Turns out he drunkenly thought everyone left for the club without him, so he hung out in the mosh pit alone for four hours. Amen.

To wrap things up...

Throughout the week there wound up being several obvious attempts at us girls being sex-trafficked, creeped on and eyed down as pickpocketing prey. One of us ended up in the emergency room for intoxication related reasons. From time to time we couldn’t piece together the night. We slept four to a bed on three occasions. There was some bickering and crying, water deprivation, bruises, cold showers, over tiredness and of course, cigarettes.

Somehow, I have to say, Barcelona has a piece of my heart. In the midst of it all I ended up making an appearance to every must-see site, some beautiful views that overlooked the city and a whole ton of shops. I spent $1,500. Worth every penny.

So, after eight days of what felt like 10 years were taken off my life, I was ready to go home.

Leaving the club at 5:00 a.m. to make to the airport by 6:00 sounded like fun and games until we missed

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our flight back to Boston - there went another $1,000. That can be saved for another story.

Like I mentioned about the reality: nothing besides the experiences like these will do the journey it justice.

My posts might’ve been outside breathtaking monuments and rooftop pools, but I was really hanging on by a thread. Maybe if you zoom in you could tell. This, this right here is the real deal, but only a small fraction of it.

If you get lucky enough to study abroad, great. If you don’t, that’s okay. And if you decide to visit friends like mine, good luck.

“If you get lucky

enough to study abroad, great. If you don’t, that’s okay. And if you decide to visit friends like mine, good luck.”

The pissing competition when we got back from spring break was comical - lots of weird brags about how Punta Cana was “way scarier” of a shit show than Miami, vice versa.

We just laughed.

This all made me question how the hell my friends did this for a semester. Absolute troopers. But now I must say, I no longer hate my parents for driving “no” into my ear when I wanted to go abroad, but I still won’t give them that satisfaction. I’ll give them the party line: “It was amazing.” That’s all they need to know.

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mr. nobody Casey Farrell | Contributing Writer Mr. Nobody lived on a street with no name, his wife and children were quite plain. He had a job that no one knew, for the conversations he had with people were few. Look at him walk, look at him talk. He barely ever made a sound and he always seemed to retain a constant frown. But what was wrong with Mr. Nobody no one knew. No one in his life, not even his wife knew. Mr. Nobody had a name; it was Joseph. His constant frown began with the diagnosis.

He had the sickness, the worst kind. The one that hits you so hard that it leaves you with no time. No one in the town knew what it was like to walk in his shoes. In fact, people only knew rumors of him that most thought to be untrue. But Mr. Nobody didn’t have to be nobody. He should have spoken up and became somebody. Joseph felt alone, but he could have picked up the phone. There were others like him you know. Oh, but he did something that he wasn’t supposed to do. Oh god, they all thought, what did he do? They would find him with others out in the open speaking to the crows. “Will I see you tomorrow, in a week? I don’t know if I can handle this much more, everyone is treating me as though I am a freak. Who could have told them?” they all said.

You see Mr. Nobody wasn’t always a nobody; in fact, he used to be somebody. But he let it slip away with each passing birthday until it started to fade. A hollow shell of his former self, he now retained the features of a doll on a shelf. Everyone would ask Mr. Nobody what was troubling him so much. But time and time again he only gave a shrug. This continued until people stopped asking. It wasn’t that they didn’t care but that they didn’t know how to help.

No one knew how Mr. Nobody felt.

So every day the man in gray would go and work from 9 to 5 just doing his time. His problem was that he always said yes, never giving anything a second guess. Yes to this, yes to that, yes to all the facts. He did what he was told since he was just barely 3 years old. “Now Mr. Nobody you must do this… ” they would all say. “You will get a job and then settle down with a nice girl and start a family, that’s what God wants and that’s what we want”.

Everything from his tie to his shoes to the kind of car he drove, everything was mundane. Gray and

white were his colors of choice along with a very monotone voice. His wife would always talk but she would never listen to anything he ever had to say.

She never saw the hints that he wasn’t okay to the point that he was losing himself. Me, myself and I were always at the forefront of her mind. The kids were busy being kids, off playing with their neighborhood friends so that they never saw the cloud that hung over their father’s head. Mr. Nobody would have to work all day late into the night so the only time he had to see them was at night. “Read us a story Dad,” they’d say, “please we haven’t seen you all day! Read us the one about the witch, the wizard and the knight.”

Then one day everything changed; his whole life began to rearrange. There was a new guy at work and his name was Trent. He was one of the most colorful people that Mr. Nobody ever met. Look at him talk, look at his walk, he’s so full of life. He wore browns, blacks, blues, reds and even periwinkles, too. No one else seemed to pay attention to Trent which Mr. Nobody found downright strange.

Here’s this man so vibrant, so different from everyone else. He had to talk to him and find out what he was truly like. So for the first time, he got up from his desk and talked to someone else in the office.

Each time they talked about nothing and yet everything at the same time. His eyes were so kind but at the same time seemed to retain strength. As they became closer Trent began to confide in him. He hadn’t felt like this way about someone in a while.

Mr. Nobody’s heart began to beat faster as he felt the same. They talked for hours as the sun fell under the line of the horizon until they could only see each other from the light of the moon. It was the first time that Mr. Nobody didn’t have to fight with himself, he could just be. That’s when the seed of their relationship began to grow and it showed.

But it couldn’t last. Actions from Trent’s past started to catch up with him. He started getting sick, so sick to the point he wouldn’t show up to work for days.

What could be going on with Trent, Mr. Nobody thought, he was dying inside because he was the only one that seemed to notice his absence while everyone else wasn’t even phased. He was getting nervous. It took him an entire day to muster up the courage to call but he was still afraid. He prayed that nothing was wrong but deep down he knew

— 22 —

Summer 2019

something had happened.

The phone rang and rang until Mr. Nobody thought he would surely get the answering machine again.

The hope that he held close to his heart began to drain, to the point it felt hard to breathe.

“Hello” Trent said as he coughed.

“Hey, it’s me where have you… ” Mr. Nobody said reluctantly.

“Ya what do you need?” he said sharply.

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So time passed and things got worse and Mr. Nobody started to decay. He was starting to fade in and out to the point that he had to go to the hospital.

There Mr. Nobody lied in blue and white, in his shallow grave. There he waited for him to come as he felt more and more numb. “Hello is anyone there? Does anyone care?” he called out weakly.

Doctors and nurses used to show up every day but now he was lucky if they show up weekly. Tick tock, tick tock, Mr. Nobody kept catching himself staring at the clock.

About a week passed and he left, checking himself out. There wasn’t anything they could really do for him. He committed his sin and now he had to deal with it. There was not a single doubt in his mind, he was feeling more than fine. Walking out with a pink T-Shirt and jeans he was feeling free. The birds sang as he made his way down the street. Oh, you should have seen the smile on his face, it was the first time he wore one in town. He wore it damn proud like a king with his crown. For his entire life, every day was exactly the same but today was much different.

Today he would look for support, one that someone of his particular circumstance could afford. He had heard of the support groups that they had in the local community center and he decided to give it a chance.

“I just wanted to know what’s going on?” “... I thought... I thought you were clean. You’re the one that gave me this shit.”

“I don’t understand, it couldn’t have been me, I only have... ” said Mr. Nobody.

“Don’t call here anymore!” screamed Trent.

“There Mr. Nobody lied in blue and white, in his shallow grave.

There he waited for him to come as he felt more and more numb.

‘Hello is anyone there? Does anyone care?’ he called out weakly.”

“First time?” said the young woman dressed in a David Bowie shirt “Uh... ya I guess it is,” he said

Dear Trent, I know it’s been a while but you still haven’t written or called and now I’m beginning to think that I will never hear from you at all. Sarah took the kids after she found my test results and confronted me.

She said that “she couldn’t be with a faggot, especially one that could harm our kids.” I can’t handle the silence and how it grows with each passing day.

Others know now and I swear it’s the silence that hurts the most and the fact that I can no longer be juxtaposed with this town. I don’t blame you for everything that’s happened to me, but can’t you see?

You’re everything to me. Please come home, I miss you. I’m starting to forget the little things, like the details of your face. This place just isn’t the same without you. At the other side of this letter is my new number and address. I confess this place isn’t as nice as yours, but we could make do? After all, I would do anything for you.

“ Welcome to the land of the misfit toys, here’s a couple of packets, take off your jacket and stay a while. This is a place where we can listen to one another. Normally we go around the circle, say our name and what’s been going on in our lives. Why don’t you go first, Mr... ” “Jo... Joseph is fine,” he said softly.

“Okay, Joseph why don’t you start us off for today.”

“Hi everyone... my name is Joseph and I’m sick of everyone defining me by my diagnosis. They keep telling me to take it one day at a time. But it’s hard to find what I’m living for. Since I took this path I lost one, two, three, four people that I care about.

If you were to tell me that I would be standing here with you a year ago I would have told you that you were crazy.

“But lately, life has been anything but ordinary.”

-Joseph — 23 —

Summer 2019

death by drama

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Anonymous

right off. I could tell she wasn’t gonna take any of my bullshit, and lord knows I need more people like that in my life. Gianna* arrived last, and stayed to chat the longest. She seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t get as good of a read off her as I could the other two. It didn’t matter; we had a long time to get to know each other.

I hate the word bitch.

I hate it when it’s used by anyone, but I especially hate to use it myself. I’ll be honest—I use it all the time. I throw it out as a joke, I refer to myself as one, hell, I even use it as a verb. It’s very effective and really gets the point across. But I can’t stand it when it’s used in anger to bring someone down.

Now that you know that it’s not just any word to me, i hopeyou can fully grasp how strongly I must feel when I say the following: My roommate is a real c***.

Two years ago, I moved in with three girls who already knew each other. Two of them had lived together the year before, and they had met and befriended the third during that time. I had applied to be an RA, and everyone I spoke to told me I would get it. It was such a sure thing that I—even being the wildly anal-retentive person that I am—didn’t have a back-up plan for where I would live if I didn’t get the position.

Cut to two months later. Sarah and Olivia have welcomed me into the fold. We go out to lunch and dinner.

We hang out on weekends. We go on group dates with our boyfriends. Life is good.

Gianna seems distant. At first I thought she was just really studious. Whenever we asked her to do anything with us, she bowed out, citing a need to study or do homework. Initially I thought nothing of it, but over time I saw the toll it was taking on Sarah. The year before, the two of them had apparently been inseparable.

Now, Sarah saw Gianna’s long list of excuses and took the hint—Gianna didn’t want to spend time with her anymore.

“One fateful day, we committed our fatal crime. We didn’t invite her to Bingo.”

For those of you playing along at home, no, I did not get the job.

So I took to Facebook to find a group to join. Considering it was my junior year, I thought an apartment would be the best choice. I started my search there.

After responding to numerous pleas online, I found three girls who seemed great. They shared my desire for a chore chart and tidy living space, they weren’t afraid to let loose on the weekends, and, most importantly, they seemed like really cool people. I won the lottery my freshman year with my random roommates, and I thought I had used up all my luck. When I found these girls, it was a dream come true.

Well, obviously it wasn’t, or there wouldn’t be a story to tell.

The summer before junior year was a long slew of groupchat messages sorting out who would buy what for the apartment and who already had what. Sarah had a whiteboard and would be getting to the apartment before the rest of us, so she made a chore chart. Everyone signed off on it in the groupchat. I was pumped. From talking to these people I got the vibe that they were super laidback, but clearly they were still willing to put the time in to make it a nice place to live.

Like a mail-order bride, I didn’t meet my roommates until we were fully committed. Move-in day, I got there second. Sarah* had to go off to work, but seemed sweet. Olivia* came in while I was unpacking. She said hi quickly, then went off to unpack herself. I liked her

One fateful day, Sarah, Olivia and I committed our fatal crime. We didn’t invite Gianna to come with us to Bingo.

After two months of watching my new friends get blown off and hurt by Gianna, I felt no sympathy. She and I had never struck up more than a shallow relationship of coexistence. Even when we all went out together, she had an odd habit of not making eye-contact with me, and not asking me questions directly. Understandably, this did not warm me up to her. So, when none of us made the suggestion that we add her to our plans, I wasn’t particularly perturbed. To me, it was a long time coming. Frankly, I was glad I wouldn’t have to deal with being shunned all night.

Gianna took it to heart, and so began the beginning of the end.

After we didn’t invite her to one event—following months of begging her to come out with us being met by rejection—she started an absolute shitstorm, for lack of a better term. Crying, fights, storming out to sleep at

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her boyfriend’s. If you’ve seen it in a teenage movie, it happened to us. I assumed that Olivia and Sarah would just stop dealing with Gianna and that the three of us would move on in the opposite direction of her.

“If you’ve seen it in a teenage movie, it happened to us.”

But Olivia had classes with her that got too uncomfortable to be worth the tension. And my initial judgement about Sarah was right; she was sweet. Too sweet to not feel badly at losing a friendship. She felt like she shared the blame by not inviting Gianna to come with us. She was even more heartbroken than she was before, when it was just Gianna’s own bad behavior weighing her down.

Gianna would never come to reason on her own. And so, because their lives were made more difficult by the situation, Olivia and Sarah bit the bullet and each apologized to Gianna. They had big fights and screamed it out—Olivia apparently almost caused Gianna to move out—but eventually she made nice with both of them.

Here is where my path diverges. I didn’t think I had anything to apologize for. Gianna and I had not been friends before, and we never even spoke, especially not about what happened. I assumed that after she sorted her issues with the other girls, she and I could go back to our understated coexistence.

At this point in time I did not know two things that would have greatly changed this outcome. 1: Gianna does not work like you and I do. Her brain functions in an entirely different orbit, where she is at the center, and those who displease her must apologize for their insolence. And 2: Gianna had overheard a conversation between Sarah and me.

After we excluded her from Bingo and before the apologies and subsequent make-ups were made, I was at home in the kitchen with Sarah. Sarah was upset and was complaining about how hurt she felt by Gianna’s actions. I was telling Sarah that she had every right to be upset. I listed off every way in which Gianna mistreated Sarah, and Sarah agreed. I was relieved. I thought Sarah deserved to be treated much better, and I was glad she finally saw it.

Outside of the apartment, Gianna was standing with her ear to the door. She heard me convincing Sarah that she, Gianna, had been treating her poorly. In tears, Gianna left for her boyfriend’s and didn’t come back for a day and a half. All the while, she text-bombed Sarah about what I had done and didn’t say a word to me.

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And so, when the others apologized to her I didn’t know I had anything to apologize for. If I had known she had heard us, I probably would have said something. It’s a pretty shitty thing to hear the people you live with talking badly about you behind your back. But Gianna never said a word and so I went on, blissfully unaware of any conflict.

For two years now, Gianna has shunned and mistreated me. When she does talk to me, it’s to call me out in a groupchat for inane apartment dramas. The dishwasher, thermostat and refrigerator were all fair game. She’s taken her frustration out with passive aggressiveness, bullying and belittling. Trying to turn the others against me and, when that didn’t work, screaming at me in frustration.

I tried fifty different solutions. Being the bigger person.

Taking it all like a joke. Trying to have a rational conversation with her. Doing nothing and hoping it would get better. Even doing what the others told me she wanted.

By the time this issue had started, we were all locked into living together the next year. It would be too hard to move out, and it would put Sarah and Olivia in a tight spot. So after year one, I decided to just deal.

For all of my strategies, the only thing that worked was the one that didn’t come naturally to me. I’ve never been one to let go. I have an opinion and a worry about everything. I can count on one hand the number of times in my life I’ve said “fuck it” and meant it. It’s just not who I am. Gianna knew that and used it. It worked out really well for her.

“You can’t treat people the way she does and not be miserable.”

After all this time, I had to just say “fuck it” and move on.

Once I let go of the death grip I had on the situation, I realized something. Gianna made me really sad. Not because of how she treats me (although that hurts), but because of how her own life must be. You can’t treat people the way she does and not be miserable. That sort of selfish worldview will never beget happiness. Every bit of misery she gets will come back to her twofold.

I’m not upset with her anymore. If she needs me to be a punching bag for the last 30 days before we graduate, she can go right ahead. She’s only hurting herself, and the sooner she learns that, the sooner she can be happy.

I want that for her and for the people in her life. If I’ve learned anything from two years of negativity, it’s that we need a whole lot less of it in this world. *Names have been changed for the privacy of the author.

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when satire goes too far Laney Meldrum | Contributing Writer

Almost everyone in our generation knows the physically painful secondhand embarrassment that comes with watching “The Office.” For me, it was almost too much to bear when my friends first introduced me to the show. But once I got used to Michael Scott’s socially oblivious shenanigans, I began to appreciate the humor and I got very invested. I think I finished all nine seasons over the course of the summer before college and the first month of my freshman year. The show aired from 2005 to 2013, but its legacy lives on strong - nearly everyone I know likes “The Office” and I’m constantly running into references to it in my daily life.

“Offices were filled with with an ‘I’m not racist, I’m voting for Obama!’ mentality. “

the “H.E.R.O.” initiative that Michael makes a joke of or the “Print in All Colors” program that gives Kelly the opportunity to buy the whole office Hello Kitty laptop cases.

I’ve always been passionate about feminism and social change, and I view the world through this lens. I can’t watch a show or read a book without being curious about the way it portrays gender roles, whether it upholds or challenges stereotypes and what kind of message it seeks to send. In order to enjoy “The Office,” I had to put some of this aside. There’s a lot to unpack in the show in terms of misogyny, racism, homophobia and just about every other social issue. I found it hard to analyze at first because there seemed to be so many layers to the comedy and satire. In the early 2000s, workplaces were attempting to eradicate racial prejudices and discrimination, and offices were filled with well meaning but misinformed white liberals with an “I’m not racist, I’m voting for Obama!” mentality.

A classic example of this is the episode “Diversity Day.” Michael Scott attempts to educate the office about racism by singling out people of color and making inappropriate comments and jokes about racial identities. I always saw this whole episode as a sympathetic nod to the people of color who have to deal with this bullshit from the Michaels of the world. But on a deeper level, the show mocks the attempts workplaces make to end prejudice, with

While the show plays with different elements of our society’s battle with racial issues, it also grapples with gender roles. Everyone loves Pam, a mellow, quiet woman who doesn’t want to upset anyone and has been stuck in a three-year engagement with an asshole. Then we are introduced to Kelly and Angela, two polar opposites who both contrast her. Kelly’s character portrays womanhood as silly and shallow, with her obsessions with celebrities and fashion, whereas Angela is strict and religious (although she proves to be hypocritical in her views when she has multiple affairs). Pam is seen as the ideal woman, more level-headed than Kelly but more easy-going than Angela.

I’m just tired of Angela’s bigotry being excused as a character trait and Kelly’s vibrant femininity being portrayed as stupid and inferior. I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that Kelly is the one of the only women of color on the show and is also taken the least seriously. I was happy when Pam left Roy, went to art school and began standing up for herself and putting her needs first. However, all this awakening really amounted to was her getting married and becoming a mother. We’re supposed to see her relationship with Jim as empowering, and while Jim is much more collected and respectful than most of the men in “The Office,” I don’t think that not hating

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women makes you an admirable man - that’s literally the bare minimum.

Pam’s choice to give up on art school and settle down with Jim doesn’t bother me at all; I admire working mothers and their tireless commitment to providing for their families as well as the 24/7 job of parenting. What I have a problem with is the way this choice makes her the ideal woman. I felt like Pam’s career was anti-climactic. The message this sends to women is that it’s okay to feel empowered and pursue a career, as long as you don’t stray too far from your assigned role in our society. You can be independent from men, but not too much. You can make your voice heard, but you can’t get too loud.

“I don’t think that not hating women makes you an admirable man - that’s literally the bare minimum.”

As a woman, one of the aspects of “The Office” that bothers me the most is Michael Scott’s approach to dating. As Michael pursues inappropriate and unprofessional relationships with nearly every woman he meets, we’re expected to believe that he’s a nice guy underneath all of his social blunders. However, I can’t see it this way - all I see is a man who refuses to take a “no” from a woman and believes sexual conquests will fix his insecurity and loneliness. After harassing Jan for months and ignoring all of her refusals, we finally see her give in and reveal that she wanted Michael all along. This teaches men that if they pester women enough, they will eventually give in, which is not how it works at all.

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I think part of the reason “The Office” resonates so strongly with so many generations is its mockery of the awkward scenarios people find themselves in everyday at school or at a job. The show takes the mundane lives of office workers and blows up the everyday interactions into something slapstick, sarcastic and hilarious. As Pam says, “There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“The show takes the mundane lives of office workers and blows up the everyday interactions into something slapstick, sarcastic and hilarious. “ As movements like Black Lives Matter and #MeToo gain popularity, people have started talking about issues like workplace sexual harassment, discrimination, hate speech and what it means for a joke to be taken too far. People are forced to face their privilege to reevaluate the way our society functions and how their own actions play into that, and this awakening can be uncomfortable. In “The Office,” all of these different elements play out in the chaotic world of Dunder Mifflin. I don’t think we should label the show as problematic and completely boycott it. I just think that when we watch the show, we should think about the way “The Office” plays into our society’s battle for social justice, and how it provides a snapshot of our progress as well as the long way we have to go.

Angela finds herself in this same situation with Andy. He pesters her with a song, an ice sculpture, a cat and lots of unwelcome flirting until she eventually gives in to a relationship that she clearly doesn’t want - she answers his proposal with “I guess.” The men of “The Office” and their attempts to navigate the dating world seem funny on the show, but imagining someone treating women this way in real life is kind of horrifying, and I don’t think this kind of behavior should be normalized.

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the arrest bracket Meaghan Scotti | Contributing Writer

As the excitement of March Madness brackets come to a close, the police force of Durham start up their own annual bracket: The Arrest Bracket. In the college town of Durham, night life is booming with drunk students, who become easy wins for the officers participating in the bracket. “There’s a reason why Durham has one of the highest alcohol and drug related arrest rates in the country,” said Officer Tim Lee. “Every year around this time when we start counting up each officer’s numbers, the competition starts to heat up.”

Officer Lee is referring to the number of arrests that each officer is able to make, with the winner claiming a large cash prize. Lee has been the champ for the past three consecutive years. He’s an important man and hard to get in touch with for a meeting. For the interview, we brought donuts as a show of good faith. When asked about his secret to success, he had a simple answer.

“It’s all about having solid relationships with members of the community,” he said while taking a large bite of a donut. Jelly escaped from the corner of his mouth, and stuck to his cheek. It seemed as though Lee was reveling in his glory and didn’t notice. He took another bite, adding, “I don’t want to say too much and risk the other guys at the station finding out how I do it, but I will say it’s not only about having these relationships, but also knowing what relationships to focus on.” Lee reached for a second donut, powdered this time. We asked him to elaborate. When he declined to answer, we realized we had all of the information we were going to get from Officer Lee and needed to start looking elsewhere to answer this question.

We didn’t know where to start. Upon digging further into what Officer Lee was referring to, we stumbled upon an even more surprising discovery. Lee works in cahoots with those who know the ins and outs of the weekend nightlife of UNH. Specifically, a member of fraternity and popular party destination: Alpha Chai Latte. Frat star Josh Englewood was able to give us more details on how Alpha Chai and Officer Lee have formed this unusual relationship, and why it works.

We knocked on the door of the Alpha Chai house to meet with Josh. One of his brothers let us in and led us across the sticky floors to where we could talk to Josh in private.

Josh was tall, polite and inviting. “Do you want anything to eat or drink while you’re here?” he asked, offering us a Natty Light as he cracked open a can. Josh seemed a little nervous about this interview, leaving us to wonder: what kind of implications does this arrangement have when it comes to his relationship with his brothers, the student body and the police? We sat down on an equally sticky sofa and began asking him questions.

“Whoever in that police station wins the bracket collects a pretty nice prize. Officer Lee promised to give us a cut of his winnings if we keep him informed about where he can get the numbers he needs to win,” explained Josh. “This is really huge for us because we really need the money. We haven’t had toilet paper in the house for almost a month and a half now. That money from Officer Lee really comes in clutch when we’re running low on the essentials.”

As the days get warmer and spring begins to bloom, darty season approaches, and so do more opportunities for officers to make more arrests before they’re eliminated from the bracket. The influx of students walking around with open containers is certain to feed into these numbers.

“I’ve got a lot riding on the upcoming darty season.” Josh told us as he contemplated the seriousness of his statement and took a rip from his Juul, which was being held by a naked pledge with a brown paper bag over his head.

“I don’t want to rat anyone out, but things in the house are getting bad. It’s a free for all in here, every man for himself. The other day a couple of guys got in a fight over the last of the Cheetos. It was bad.”

Josh took a final swig of his drink, and then crushed the can against his forehead, as if out of habit. He pulled another out of the pocket of his salmon-colored Chubbies shorts. The inner turmoil Josh had been experiencing was palpable. His brothers look up to him, and he doesn’t want to let them down.

“A lot of the guys would be disappointed if they knew about this arrangement I think. Countless times I’ve heard my brothers yelling shit like ‘Fuck 12’ and I’m worried they’d consider me a traitor. I’m even more worried because the pressure has been really getting to me. It’s been messing up my game in pong, stack cup, everything, really. I had to drink the bitch cup the other night. That hadn’t happened to me since orientation of freshman year.” Josh took another long rip from his Juul.

When we first looked into the shockingly high arrest rate in the town of Durham, we weren’t expecting to stumble upon a ring of bets made by officers involving said arrests, or a conspiracy uniting both police and frat boys. However, these are the realities that most of the UNH community is shielded from. This shocking discovery has shown us why the arrest rates are so high, and how this might affect the upcoming darty season. With one phenomenon unique to UNH culture explained, we will next examine the ample parking tickets and fines that plague the wallets of students.

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a college “scandal” Caroline Fitzgerald | Contributing Writer

So what happened anyway? Just in case anyone is a little rusty on their current events lets recap what has been going on with this college scandal: 1. 50 people have been charged including college coaches, standardized test administrators, and parents, with basically cheating and paying their way into prestigious universities: AKA parents are paying under the table money to get their kids into school 2. The schools involved were University of Southern California, Yale, UCLA, Stanford, georgetown, Wake Forest, UT austin, University of San Diego If you are asking yourself why this is such a big deal, you’re not alone. I think we all can name a couple friends or high school acquaintances who ended up at a school that lets say was a little more academically inclined or challenging than they were fit for. Did their dad donate a building? Did their college coach call in a few favors with admissions? We don’t know. And that’s the thing, we don’t ever hear about it, it just kind of happens and we don’t ask questions. Meanwhile CNN, The New York Times, and any other newsroom is losing their cool over this like it has never happened before.

But what has got to be the best part about all of this is that Lori Loughlin, better known as aunt Becky from Full House, is in the midst of it all. She literally went to the ends of this earth to get her youtube famous daughter into University of Southern California. Some may know her daughter as a youtube star, Olivia Jade. Olivia Jade is your prototype of a privileged teenage girl who lives off of her parents money, and money from her sponsors. In a video where she talks about her future plans after college she explained that she really didn’t need to go to college because she has jobs set up and enough money to not worry, “I do want the experience of game days, partying… I don’t really care about school” she said. So in a way I do feel bad because she is being dragged through the mud for something that happens all the time, but in a way I think Karma is playing its role and I will just sip my tea and watch.

Did Olivia Jade know she was being admitted into USC illegally? Yes, of course she did. First off: you know if you are qualified to get into a school, second: her and her sister sent pictures of them on ergometers (rowing machines) with their applications, insinuating they were going to the school for rowing. Like come on, you had a photoshoot on rowing machines? Just donate a library like a normal billionaire, jeez. Since this scandal has broke, Olivia Jade has left USC, lost a bunch of sponsors including Sephora, Tresemme, and Estee Lauder.

Another thought on all of this malarkey: who the heck paid to get their child into University of San Diego, the acceptance rate is 51.7%. Now by no means am I saying University of San Diego is a bad school, it’s just that if you are going to

throw your money at a school it might as well be the Princetons and Harvard’s of the world. Like if I had Jordan Belfort money, the odds of me attending UNH would be slim to none.

Good news for the students involved, they are not being charged with anything. Bad news for aunt Becky, that’s not the case. She went to court in LA and then got released on one million dollar bail. If my bail was one million dollars, my loved ones would say “Best of luck behind bars!”

For the years to come when I ask for a birthday gift, my family will be playing the “we paid for your college tuition” card, which is very reasonable considering how overpriced school is. Out of state tuition at UNH without scholarships, grants, and loans is roughly $45,000, in state about $28,000, which is including housing and . Let’s do some quick math, there are about 14,000 undergrad students, and 44% of the students are in state. So lets say 7,840 are paying out of state and 6,160 are paying in state, that adds up to around 5.3 million dollars for just one year. Have you seen the library bathrooms?! Good God that does not make sense. We leave after four years with a piece of paper, basically a participation trophy. I love this school, but jeez sometimes it feels like they are robbing us.

So what’s happening now? Although she has not publically spoken about the charges, well, Aunt Becky has been walking into her court dates, signing autographs and taking pictures. Just like any other convict, right? Aunt Becky is pleading not guilty, which is bold to say the least, considering thirteen other parents involved in the case are pleading guilty.

Pleading not guilty could put Aunt Becky and her husband Mossimo Giannulli in prison for up to 40 years. Is she nuts?

Does Aunt Becky really think she is going to be found not guilty after her family got dragged through the mud, her daughter dropped out of school, she sent photos of her daughter on rowing machines, and there are emails between her and admissions about this?

Or does does she have something up her sleeve that we don’t know about? Is she going to pay the jury $500,000 more? I will ponder these questions while I watch an episode of Full House.

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The Stigma Is Real Delaney Ripley | Contributing Writer

“One in every five women uses Planned Parenthood as their means for receiving medical assistance.”

2.4 million patients. 9.7 million services provided. Would it shock you to find out only a mere 3.7 percent of these services are geared towards abortion procedures?

According to the 2017 Planned Parenthood Report, 48.7 percent of services provided were STI testing and treatment, 27.1 percent were for contraception, 13.4 percent were other women’s health services, 6.3 percent cancer screenings and prevention and 1.1 percent were other services.

These numbers are not misleading. They are a raw depiction of the vast amount of services this organization provides for cancer screenings, HIV diagnoses or assistance during a crisis such as an incidence of sexual violence and the number of lives these services improve or save on a yearly basis.

Pro-Life individuals can be seen in the media outside of Planned Parenthood clinics, throwing anti-abortion flyers at car windshields and preaching that

individuals who use Planned Parenthood are “murderers, evil, inhumane.” A woman living below the poverty line going in to get a breast exam that she would not have been able to get through a primary care physician is deemed as a killer for stepping foot into this clinic. Does anyone else see something wrong with that?

istration finalized the new “Protect Life Rule.” This new rule bars administrations that provide abortion referrals from receiving federal family planning money.

This is another step towards taking millions of dollars that fund Planned Parenthood and giving it to religious, anti-abortion groups.

The truth is simple: Planned Parenthood is necessary, especially in our society today where one in every five women use Planned Parenthood as their means for receiving medical assistance.

“On February 22,

This controversial organization has faced its fair share of hate throughout its time, but on February 22, 2019, the Trump admin— 30 —

2019, the Trump administration finalized the ‘Protect Life Rule’”

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help them with making the best decision for their own health,” Wen said. “My patients expect me to speak honestly with them, to answer their questions, to help them in their time of need. It’s unconscionable and unethical for politicians to restrict doctors like me from speaking honestly to our patients.”

Title X provides grants to family planning and reproductive health care centers that serve people who cannot afford health insurance and who, therefore, do not have access to a primary care physician. Under this new rule from the Trump administration, any organization that provides abortions or gives referrals for them is ineligible for Title X funding. This means that the money can’t cover other procedures and testings done by Planned Parenthood either. Organizations receiving money through Title X will still be able to perform abortions, but they will have to be done in a separate facility and they may not give information to patients regarding referrals for any abortion services.

Title X and health centers were created around family planning in order to reduce the need for abortions by lowering the number of unintended pregnancies.

Under the Obama administration,

birth rate amongst teens hit an all-time low, down more than 60 percent in the last 25 years.

Because of the change to Title X, Planned Parenthood now has a choice to make. Help an individual who has become pregnant unintentionally and allow them to own their body, or lose the funding for other services that help hundreds upon thousands of women. This is a choice no medical professional should ever have to make. Holding back information regarding how to help a person medically can be seen as ethically wrong.

Dr. Leana Wen, president of Planned Parenthood, advocated recently to NPR about the dangers and ethical dilemmas that could arise with withholding information about abortion from Title X patients, which would violate medical ethics. “As a doctor, this compromises the oath that I took to serve my patients and — 31—

Will women ever truly have complete control over their bodies?

When will the government, laws and policies come together to create a system where women can decide what they would like to do with their bodies? Organizations encourage abstinence to lower the number of abortions, but in many cases, abstinence is not an option. Sexual violence is an issue that is growing by the day. One in five women will be sexually abused at one point in their life, and pregnancies occurring from rape are an issue that is not seen in the media.

“Will women ever truly have complete control over their bodies?”

Planned Parenthood reaches 1.2 million people through education and outreach. This program does not only provide health services for the underfunded but provides education about women’s health issues through mobile, online apps and websites.

This program is truly more than just an “abortion clinic.” If people were to look past the stigma, they would see the millions of people its services have saved.

it was a good year to be a wildcat...

photographs by: Meghan Murphy instagram: @meghanrosephoto

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Homelessness During the winter Devin Jones | Contributing Writer At St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Dover, Jacob Guyotte serves people with a smile as he hands out food and conversates with the many people that stop by there.

This is just one of the many things Guyotte does to help homeless people in need during the winter months.

Guyotte currently works at the University of New Hampshire’s Grounds & Events, and was formerly homeless as a child in Plymouth, New Hampshire. He is a former community coordinator, working with people who are close to being homeless or are homeless. He was inspired to work in human services after volunteering at local soup kitchens and working with some of the people there.

“I was in the sixth grade and it was winter time and at the homeless shelter you would have to be outside all day because they expect you to be out looking for a job,” said Guyotte. “When I was there at that age there was no jobs I had at the moment. Even the children had to be out in the cold trying to find warm places. You were expected to come back at 5 p.m. that night and expected to leave for the day by 9 a.m.”

He said, “In the summer time the second time I was homeless I slept in a tent, and as a kid it was great; it was like we were camping. But when it got to be October or November, then it was really rough to be outside, it was really cold. My brother and I had to share a tent.”

With limited places for homeless people to go, shelters like My Friend’s Place in Dover and Cross

Roads House in Portsmouth have maximum occupancy throughout the winter months and have to turn many people away. My Friend’s Place has eight bedrooms, and a 17-person capacity.

Crossroads House has 88 beds in total.

Susan Ford, executive director of My Friend’s Place, said they’re booked completely throughout the year.

“There are a lot of people that get turned away unfortunately,” said Ford. “We are full seven days a week, 365 days a year. That said, we do get more calls in the win— 34 —

ter months from people seeking shelter. In Strafford County we do currently have an organization that prioritizes the ‘waitlist’ for shelter. In other words, someone who is outside or sleeping in their car would get referred to an empty bed in either our shelter or Cross Roads House before someone who is couch surfing or doubled up in an apartment.”

According to the NH Coalition to End Homelessness (NHCEH), there has been a 10 percent increase in overall homelessness from 2016 to 2018. Strafford County saw a 45 percent increase.

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According to NHCEH, Strafford County also saw a 150 percent increase in “unsheltered homelessness” between the two years. “’Unsheltered homelessness,’ which is when homeless people literally have no shelter to stay in and sleep either in the woods or another place,” said the NHCEH. Unsheltered homelessness is the most visible face of homelessness, and in many cases face the greatest barriers to stability. They often have longer histories of homelessness and higher rates of physical, mental and behavioral health challenges.

“The homeless populations down south like in Florida are a lot bigger and more spread out,” said Guyotte. “They have the opportunity to have an easier life as a homeless person and have more opportunities than around here.

The cold is the big problem; it’s really hard to be homeless here.

There’s no real funding or structure for people who become homeless.”

Most solutions for homelessness like shelters include a criteria for being able to get in, like staying sober.

Our criteria for eligible clients are as followed: one, they cannot be a convicted felon arsonist or sex offender,” said Ford. “And two, they are willing to sign and agree to the house rules, major among them stay clean and sober during their stay here. We will also take clients from wherever they find us if we have space.”

themselves.

“My Friend’s Place is hard to get into,” said Guyotte. “They except only women and children, and if you were a single male you pretty much get turned away. The single male has really no place to go.”

When homeless people aren’t accepted into the shelter, they have to look for other places to sleep, which can include the woods.

“In Dover down in the woods is a popular place and down by the rivers there was a lot of homeless people, but they cleared that out a lot so no one can stay there anymore, but behind Broadway Street by the train tracks is popular too,” said Guyotte. “When you sleep in the woods, you’re stripped of everything everyone else has, so your self-esteem just drops. It’s hard.”

As the cold temperatures continue on, My Friend’s Place is looking for possible solutions to combat homelessness in this area during the winter months, especially for single people who are homeless.

However, over half of the people homeless in Strafford County are not in families and are by themselves.

This criteria works well for families who are struggling to find housing, which, according to the NHCEH, was about 42 families in Strafford County this past year.

However, over half of the homeless people in Strafford County are not in families and are by — 35 —

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“There is a task force right now looking into a low barrier warming shelter for those that are outside,” said Ford. “This would be for singles only and no eligible criteria other than homeless and single. Right now, we need more low income housing. There is nowhere to put clients once they come in here.”

“Volunteering and doing what we can is good. It’s vital,” said Guyotte. “Donating waterproof gloves.

Donating wool socks and boots.

Finding out what the kids needs is very important. More importantly we need to raise more awareness with our communities and our leaders.”

For My Friend’s Place, more space is needed to shelter more people.

“I think we need more single bed spaces and a separate place for more family bed spaces,” said Ford. “Ultimately for the numbers to go down especially for families we need more housing stock to place these people into, and case managers to assist them to staying in their units.”

“We need to let homeless people know that there’s hope,” said Guyotte, “and there’s a future.”

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eternal patrol: the uss thresher Douglas Rodoski | Contributing Writer On April 9, 1963, the USS Thresher departed the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard for sea trials (deep diving exercises) en route to an area approximately 200 miles East of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Lieutenant Commander John Wesley Harvey was in command of the nuclear-powered attack submarine which had 112 crew members and 17 technical observers on board.

Accompanied by her escort ship the USS Skylark, Thresher began her final mission in the early morning of April 10, 1963. Tragically, 129 sailors and civilians were lost when Thresher unexpectedly plunged to the sea floor, more than 8,400 feet beneath the waves.

As a child I was intrigued by submarines; I read Clive Cussler’s “Raise the Titanic” in junior high school and received my scuba certification in 1983. Between military enlistments, I went to a trade school in New York for commercial diving and worked briefly in two related jobs. Living on the New Hampshire seacoast off and on since the 1980s, I always enjoy viewing the USS Albacore in Portsmouth, by the Piscataqua River.

I cannot recall the first time I had heard about Thresher; however, it always seems to be on my mind.

Through tragedy and darkness can come a ray of light; the sacrifice of the 129 sailors and civilians was not in vain, as submarine technology is now safer and more efficient.

On the morning of April 13, 2019, I was privileged to be able to attend the 56th annual memorial service for the USS Thresher. It took place at Traip Academy in Kittery, Maine. Visitors were greeted by members of

United States Submarine Veterans (USSVI) Thresher Base, and veteran submariners of years past. Outside the entrance, all could view a scale model of Thresher, with volunteers answering any questions.

Inside the packed gymnasium, those present were greeted by Gary Hildreth, the former commander of USSVI Thresher Base. (The current commander is Kevin Galeaz.) The National Anthem was led by sisters Deb Arsenault Henderson and Lori Arsenault, daughters of ENCA(SS) Tilmon J. Arsenault. Navy Chaplain Nathan Ferrel, from Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, was on hand for the initial invocation, and subsequent prayers. There was a question and answer period where the audience interacted with former Thresher crew members.

These veteran submariners related the story about a trip to San Juan, prior to the final mission. Thresher had lost power and had to connect with a power cable attached to another vessel in port there. The sailors were returning from shore leave, and after living it up were told they had to sleep on the dock because repairs were being done below decks in 135-degree temperatures.

Betty Stephenson, sister of EM2(SS) Richard W. Jones, read to the audience from a Milford, New Hampshire article entitled “ Pride and Sadness.” She also recalled how fun-loving her older brother was, with his childhood pranks. She spoke of a surprise visit home just before Thresher’s final mission. Stephenson gave a passionate description of the phone call from a family friend, notifying her that the Thresher was lost at sea.

The keynote speaker on this day was Commander Brent Spillner, of USS Springfield (SSN 761). He acknowledged the surviving family members.

“After the tragic events with Thresher,” Spillner said, “the Navy has SUBSAFE technology in place to ensure that sailors serving in harm’s way are protected to the highest degree possible.”

“In the past equipment and technology was tested to see when it would fail,” he said. “Now there is a standard in place that makes failure unacceptable.”

One of the submariners on site this day explained to me that SUBSAFE is a way of ensuring a submarine’s positive buoyancy, at all times. Also, it prevents invasive seawater incidents and casualties.

In the 50 years since the inception of the SUBSAFE program, there has not been a loss of a SUBSAFE certified submarine. The SUBSAFE program has also been utilized as a safety standard when analyzing the

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Summer 2019

Main Street

loss of both Space Shuttles Challenger and Columbia.

It should be noted that the deep ocean is referred to as Inner Space by many scientists; it shares many of the physical challenges of Outer Space. Fittingly, one of the proposed sites for the Thresher Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery is located near the memorials for Challenger and Columbia.

In 1985 oceanographer and Naval Reserve commanding officer Robert Ballard shocked the world when he found the Titanic. (The supposedly unsinkable liner that struck an iceberg on April 15, 1912.) According to a CBS article in 2018, how he did it remained a highly-classified U.S. government Cold War secret for decades.

After the memorial, I spent a moment conversing with Lori Arsenault. She told me how she used a crowdsource choir to help with the day’s music events. Also, she spoke with passion about the importance of SUBSAFE technology.

In 1982, when Ballard, who had performed a number of top secret Naval missions during the Cold War, was developing his own remotely-operated underwater vehicle. In need of financial help with for his work, Ballard asked if the Navy would help fund his project.

“There comes a point when heart and soul take priority over science and technology,” she said. “The people who design machines for service members need to ask the question: ‘What cannot fail?’”

“I was taken aback by that,” Deputy Chief of Naval Operations Ronald Thunman recalled. “I said, ‘Come on, this is a serious, top secret operation. Find the Titanic? That’s crazy!’”

The tragedy of the Thresher came during the Cold War. There was competition with the USSR in regards to submarine technology. In the early 1960s, the Russians had 36 nuclear submarines compared to just 11 produced by the United States.

Thurman agreed, but on the condition that Ballard also surveys the wrecks of two U.S. nuclear submarines – the Thresher and the Scorpion – which had sunk in the Atlantic in the 1960s.

On April 12, 1963, President John F. Kennedy ordered that flags across the country be flown at half-mast to honor the lives lost aboard the Thresher.

Thresher had a displacement of 3,700 tons surfaced, and 4,300 tons submerged. With a length of 278 feet 6 inches (84.9 meters) and a beam of 31 feet 8 (9.45 meters) it was capable of speeds over 20 knots. Armament included four torpedo tubes.

After an extensive underwater search conducted by the oceanographic ship Mizar and others, Thresher’s remains were located in 1964 with the aid of the deep-submergence vehicle Trieste 2.

A court of inquiry investigated the incident. With the use of deep-sea photography, recovered artifacts such as O-rings, and evaluation of Thresher’s design and operations, it was determined that Thresher probably sank due to a piping failure, subsequent loss of power and inability to blow ballast tanks rapidly enough to avoid sinking.

Over the years since the Thresher tragedy, the Navy has returned to the site of the wreckage six times to monitor radioactivity in the area. This was done most recently in 1998. A 2011 survey reported that the Thresher wreckage “had no discernible effect of radioactivity” on the surrounding environment.

Another intriguing aspect of the Thresher story was the circumstance of the wreckage survey. The submariners at Saturday’s memorial ceremony confirmed it when I asked.

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Scorpion had sunk in the Atlantic in May 1968, with a loss of 99 crew members.

According to the CBS article, the focus of this mission was to find the Scorpion. The Cold War was still going on; the Navy didn’t want the Russians to find either submarine. “It was very top secret,” Ballard said. “And so I said, ‘Well, let’s tell the world I am going after the Titanic.’”

When Saturday’s ceremony concluded, a wreath was placed in the water near one of the channels of the Piscataqua River, near the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard. The Honor Guard fired three shots, and taps were played. It was a meaningful salute to the courageous sailors and civilians of the Thresher. They will always be on eternal patrol.

Summer 2019

Main Street

Turning the page Jamie Ammon | Managing Editor My time at Main Street Magazine has been marked by long production weekends, InDesign headaches and a lot of red pen. I’ve sat in a chair in the newsroom playing with the InDesign layout on the same story for three hours straight.

I’ve spent eight hours a day each day of the weekend working on story after story, even before I officially worked for the magazine. But the frustration of being forced to function with a fidgety program does not even come close to overshadowing the satisfaction I got from doing the work that I love.

When I express to people how much I love editing, I get some odd looks. And yes, I’m talking about the nitty gritty, keep it in parallel structure, no-more-oxford-comma kind of editing. That painstaking process of perfecting each word, sentence and phrasal structure. To some people, it sounds like hell. To me, it sounds like home. There is nothing more satisfying than taking a story with creative potential but poor execution and turning it into a fine-tuned model of the writer’s ability. I get to be the one to make the piece something to remember. To make the writer take it to their first English teacher and say, “Look what I’ve created.

This is the path you set me on.” Editors may be behind the scenes, but without our work the scene would fall apart.

I was never the kid who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up. My brother wanted to be an entrepreneur, like our dad. My sister dreamed of being an architect since she could stack blocks. They each got set on their paths right from the start. Me? I waffled.

At the beginning of each school year, especially when you’re young, you get asked what you want to be when you grow up. My answers oscillated. “A teacher.” “A mom.” “I don’t know, I just want to travel the world.” Eventually you get to the point where, late in high school, you’re applying to colleges and picking majors and every damn adult in your life asks you, “So, what’s next?” I rolled the dice. I’d always loved language; I took three years of Spanish and a year and a half of German in high school. I had a knack for it, so why not stick with it? Isn’t that what they always say?

“If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.” It would be a few years before I figured out that the second half of that saying is, “because no one is hiring.”

I picked Spanish for a major and enrolled in a linguistics class for good measure. (Hey, if you’re good at some languages, why not learn about all of them?) A week into classes, I fell in love. With linguistics, that is. I switched to a double major and signed up for more language classes, sticking with Spanish and German and eventually adding French. I got my gen eds out of the way early, so by the time I got to my junior year I had way too much free time.

I wandered around U Day and that’s where I met Main Street.

I knew I wanted to get involved, but after the first meeting I realized that I lacked something the other writers had—

ideas. When tasked with a topic, I can churn out the required 800 to 1,200 words in an hour. But I just didn’t have my own story to tell. I pushed out a few mediocre missives, but I was never really satisfied or proud of my work. In an effort to still be involved at MSM even if I wasn’t a fountain of creativity, I asked if I might be able to help edit. There weren’t any positions available, but the Editor-in-Chief at the time, Andrew, saw no reason I couldn’t help out.

I had found my passion. The answer to the age-old question of “what do you want to be when you grow up.” I found something in that newsroom that I thought I might never find: drive. All I wanted to do was edit. We would spend day in and day out on production weekend sitting in that same claustrophobic room, shifting in our chairs trying to get comfortable after eight hours on our asses. But I couldn’t get enough. I wanted nothing more than to rip apart prose with my trusty (cliché) red pen.

I quickly earned a reputation among the more senior editors for being ruthless with my grammar corrections. It’s not something I ever thought I would be proud of—in any other circle, it would actually be very embarrassing—but here, it was a badge of honor. Any particularly tricky story got passed off to me. Nine times out of 10, I was the last one to look at every story before it was cleared. It took me my whole life, but finally I had found somewhere I was really needed.

I went from pseudo-editor to Content Editor to Managing Editor in my year and a half career at Main Street.

Each role brought new challenges and—cheesy as it may seem—honest-to-god life lessons. I learned how to work to a deadline. How to stand up for myself. How to apply my newfound skills in all areas of my life.

I loved each job more than the one before. The last hat I tried on, Managing Editor, showed me that editing isn’t the only thing I’m passionate about. Being in charge of making that final product perfect and managing the people who make it all happen was something I really developed a love for. I had spent over a year being hung up by InDesign, and it felt amazing to be able to pass on the knowledge that I had finally smoothed out. I was able to help cultivate the next generation of MSM, and these awesome people are going to kick ass. I wish I could take some credit for what they’ve learned and how talented they are, but I know it’s all on them. I’m just proud I got to be a part of it before I go.

I can edit for the rest of my life. But I can never again be a member of this team, with these people in this newsroom.

I’m leaving the life that I’ve known for the last four years and starting fresh once again. Graduating and moving on to the next chapter in my life. But there’s not a thing I’m going to miss more than my editors and this magazine, and that stuffy old Newsroom.

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Summer 2019

D w. . .

staff picks Things that MSM Staff Love Right Now

Main Street

Zach Lewis I’m loving the three words in the English language that begin with ‘DW.’ Those words are dwindle, dwarf and dwell. Here they are in a sentence: I wouldn’t dwell too long on the dwindling nature of dwarf stars. Words are fun!

Jamie Ammon

Caleb Jagoda Jay Electronica is an alien, but a very artistically-inclined alien. He’s also a rapper, I guess, but not in the traditional sense. He releases about a song a year (if that), raps over movie scores, discusses UFO phenomenons off the coast of Japan, divulges in Five Percenter ideology, dubs himself the “Phantom of the Chakras” and claims that when he raps, “My ears start ringing, my nose get bloody / I feel a little bit of pressure on my right brain.” So yeah, he’s more of an alien

STARTING OVER. When I graduate in less than a month, I’ll be completely moving on. New city, new job, new apartment, new roommate, new chapter in my life. I might as well have a full breakdown and shave my head for good measure, am I right?

Julia Scorese Freshly 21-year-old / end of the semester habits that consist of blowing my money and frequently stressing myself out - love the leisure, hate the routine. My embarrassing guilty pleasure, “Call Her Daddy”, the overly explicit, fairly new podcast. Tabasco sauce on everything besides cake.

Billions, Season 4. Khalid’s “Free Spirit.”

Chad Ripley Her’s, the indie rock duo from the United Kingdom died tragically just about a month ago while on their first U.S. tour - just as I was getting into their music. “Harvey,” “Marcel,” “She Needs Him” and “What Once Was” bring to the table something unique and totally different than anything I’ve listened to. May their passion and zest live on. For the sake of Her’s and everyone else’s lives, please don’t drink and drive this summer or ever.

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Main Street 2019