Main Street Winter 2019 by Main Street Magazine

Main Street Magazine Editoral Staff

About The Cover

Inspired by the likes of the Grateful Dead and the 1960’s “psychedelic look”, we looked no further than UNH senior and artist Marissa Massaro to bring to life this vision of ours. “For this is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago,” - Grateful Dead, “Box of Rain”

Contributors

Photographers | Artists

Julia Gomes | Contributing Artist Marissa Massaro | Contributing Artist Bailey Schott | Contributing Artist Catrina Marr | Contributing Artist Jack Bouchard | Contributing Photographer Meghan Murphy | Contributing Photographer We’d like to express our gratitude for UNH Printing Services for all their help in printing this and every other edition. We wouldn’t be able to do what we do without them. 2

What’s Inside?

Music: its very nature is stone pg. 16 Clandestine: an interactive experience pg. 18

Poetry: godspeed pg. 14 growing up pg. 15

Creative Writing: you sit on a throne of lies pg. 6 comfort food to cure your loathing pg. 8 a christmas conundrum pg. 10 who are we without fear? pg. 22 tango... whiskey... oscar... pg. 36 the doggone dilemma pg. 38

Personal Narratives: this time for africa pg. 24 senior year SUCKS pg. 28 stepping out of our comfort zones pg. 30 Lifestyle: sexism at unh pg. 32 vape nation pg. 34

Our Favorite Holiday Traditions

Chad: “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” A newfound tradition of no gifts, only stocking stuffers implimented last Holiday season at the Ripley household has given Christmas a completely new meaning for my family and I. Cherish the moments spent next to the Christmas tree, the conversations at Christmas dinner and the simplicity of being surrounded by the people you love the most.

Zach: POW! Some people call them Holiday Crackers, and others say

Holiday Poppers, but whatever term you want to use, these little goodies are a ton of fun for any holiday family gathering. You twist these paper fireworks open with a BANG! After the explosion, from amidst the wreckage, you will discover that you have been gifted with a colorful paper crown and a cool toy. Some come in packs of five, some in ten, and some as large as 15 or 20. No matter how big, or small, your family is you can partake in the joy that is the Holiday Cracker. BOOM! Julia: Skip the seven fishes because nobody likes that. We order Chinese food every Christmas Eve and gather around my mom like kids as she reads “Twas the Night Before Christmas” before bed that night.

Caleb: Going to my grandpa Carlos’ house and watching claymations.

Sam: Chinese food and an Adam Sandler movie; specifically sesame chicken and The Waterboy.

Anna: Appeteasers on top of appateasers. It’s all about the appeteasers.

Delaney: Ripley family Christmas morning. Blanket float on the living room floor, scents of cinnamon buns and freshly brewed coffee filling the brisk air, laughing and making memories with my fam.

photos by Jack Bouchard and Meghan Murphy

Foreword Winter 2019 is all about coming together.

Together, we achieve beautiful things and this edition is just another example of that. With the quick turnaround we had from the Fall edition to this one meant the same amount of work, in a shorter amount of time. With the goal to have it in the hands of our readers prior to everyone departing for winter break, we were left with just over a month to put it all together. Even with some doubts and a long production weekend that I believed would never end, we pulled it off. Through the power of coming together to create something bigger than each and everyone of us, I present to you Main Street Winter 2019. This edition speaks to so much of everything I love about this publication. In the first meeting of this edition, I asked writers to keep in mind the idea of the Holiday season. Through the words that fill these pages, I wanted to emulate the magic of the season and all the fond memories I hold so close to my heart because of this time of year. Everything from the smell of a Christmas tree, the warm cooked meals, to the smiles and cheer that resonates through a room filled with loved ones. The holiday season is a time to come together with family and friends, to celebrate another year and to reflect on all that happened.

Our poetry section is back and better than ever. The art created by Bailey, Marissa, Julia and Catrina bring a creative and unique visual to the words that accompany them. And the ideas surrounding stepping out of your comfort zone, to face fear head on and to cherish change all present themselves in multiple stories throughout this edition. To say the least, this one is truly something special. So as you sit down and read this, or as you are driving to your holiday parties, consider some of these things that I’ve been keeping close to my heart lately.

This annual journey continues to teach that... patience is the key to contentment, the future can only come one day at a time, endings are new beginnings, the soul would have no rainbow if the eyes no tears, nothing is permanent except change, the problems of life can only be solved by seeing beyond them, a happy ending depends on when you stop the story, everything comes from nothing, the way up and the way down are the same way, and there is no wrong time to do the right thing. - Rob Robertson, UNH Professor

Live in the moment and disconnect from all that is consuming you. Reconnect with the people, places and things that bring you the most joy. Share a meal with loved ones and laugh until your stomach hurts. Ask someone “how are you, really?” Don’t be afraid to be honest and vulnerable. Cry when you need to fucking cry. If someone can’t handle you at your worst, then they don’t deserve you at your best. Open up to new experiences and adventures, don’t get caught up in the monotony of life. Stretch, breathe and take in everything that surrounds you. Sing loud and dance like you are the only one in the room. Anytime someone you love walks through the door, make it be known that you love them and appreciate them. Laugh at yourself and realize that the future isn’t guaranteed. Adjust and overcome, there is no better time than now to do something you’ve always wanted to do. Take the risk to be alive and express what you truly are. You never know, something beautiful might just come out of turning the fucking page.

Lines like “We need to throw our calendars of the window and crank up the music. We need to be around friends, family and people we’ve never spoken to,” in Evan’s piece “Comfort Food to Cure your Loathing” is exactly what I envisioned when I thought about Winter 2019. Celebrating the true meaning of these holidays; rejoicing in the comfort of being surrounded by the people you love and care about the most and leaving all the bullshit that has flooded your life in the past few months, at the door. And, “I love the magic, the music and the emphasis of giving. Christmas never fails to remind me of the people I love and cherish,” in Marlies’ piece “The Commercialized Christmas Conundrum” further driving home how special this time of the year can be.

Thank you all so much for your love and support. Eat, drink and be merry--Happy holidays. As always, with love,

But between all the holiday spirit lies so much more in this magazine. The comedic value in stories like “You Sit on a Throne of Lies” by Caroline and Zach’s inner dialogue while traveling home for the holidays hits home in so many different aspects.

Chad and the rest of the Main Street team.

You Sit on a Throne of Lies

When I was in third grade, my friend Allie and I were playing in my basement and went looking for some toys in the back storage room. You might ask: Why were we looking so hard? No idea, but we were. We came across a huge trash bag inside of a bin. So naturally, as any 8 year old would, we opened it. My Little Pony, American Girl Doll clothes, spy gear... We hit absolute jackpot. We looked at each other with confusion and from what I remember, we both just stared for a second, trying to put the pieces together. It’s December, why would mom and dad hide this? How come it was hidden? Wait... this is the stuff I put on my Christmas list—NO WAY. Allie and I discussed the probability that the rumors could be true. Was he fake? The fat guy with a beard who made toys with little people and then flew them around the world in one night on a sleigh led by animals with no wings that could fly? It was too legit to be fake. Being the youngest of three, I was an absolute schemer. I was also the last of the litter to believe in santa. Allie and I went upstairs to my dad in the kitchen and sat him down. I began the interrogation with a tough one: Would you ever lie to me? How does a parent answer that? Parents feed kids lies all the time but it’s for their own good. I don’t remember the answer to this question but I do know that I grilled him with the “Is Santa real?” after that. Guess what he did? Lied; told me the jolly guy was real. I learned two things that day: santa was a phony and so was my dad.

Allie and I decided that if we didn’t believe in santa and it just so happened that he was real, that his sleigh wouldn’t fly on Christmas and it would be our fault. So, we made a pact that we would believe in him even when we knew he was fake; makes perfect sense right? If you really think about it, it’s incredible that for generations, santa is a worldwide-kept secret from kids. Pretty much every child goes through the cycle of believing in santa and inevitably being heart broken when finding out that he’s a hoax. With kids having so much access to the internet, it makes me wonder if the secret will be spoiled earlier for kids in the generations to come. I just hope that the tradition lives on and that I am not spoiling the news for anyone on this college campus that the big guy, in fact, does not exist. If I did, my apologies. In the holiday spirit, I decided to go around and ask people: How did you find out santa wasn’t real?

WE L C OME words by caroline fitzgerald 6

How did you find out Santa wasn’t real?

“So every year at my grandparents’ on my mom’s side we have a Christmas Eve party and we would go santa hunting and we would find santa on one of the roofs of the house and we would have to run inside before he saw us or we wouldn’t get presents and then there would be candy in the back yard that he threw. Then at the end of the night we would drive home. The morning of Christmas my mom was talking to my other grandmother on the phone and it was loud and we all heard her say, ‘How was the Christmas party? Who dressed up: Richie or Woody?’ And then it all made sense to me that he wasn’t real. The reason I remember this so vividly is because I was embarrassingly too old to find out santa wasn’t real. I would bring pictures into school of santa on the roof to prove to my friends that we would see him every year.” -Lily Ford, UNH grad

“Why am I legit stupid? I literally found out first that the tooth fairy was fake… then the Easter bunny… like you would have thought I would put two and two together and say woah santa must be fake. But anyway, it was fifth grade. Went home and asked my mom because some dickhead said something in class. Mom sat me down and said that it doesn’t take away the magic of Christmas.” -Nancy Amiola, UNH Senior

“I don’t remember how old I was but I remember it was on Easter. I noticed my uncles go outside with shopping bags full of eggs and I went to my mom and asked if the Easter bunny was real. My mom said ‘Do you believe it is?’ I said ‘I don’t think so,’ and then I said, ‘Wait! Does that mean Santa isn’t either?!’ And I cried. Then we ate chocolate bunnies and I was okay.” -Meghan Murphy, UNH Senior “Mine is pretty typical. I started to notice the handwriting on santa’s note was the same as my moms and then I was like freaking great.” -Shannon Lambert, UNH Junior

“I walked onto the bus in second grade and right when I sat down Alex Jesse looks at me and goes, ‘You know Santa is your parents right?’” -Emily Thompson, Junior

“My friend Nick told me in 4th grade and I was like ya ok dude and he was like my mom told me and I was just like fuck Diane would never lie to us” -Ryan Depaolo, UNH Senior “My mom told me on the 13th birthday because ‘I was a teenager now.’ And then added the Easter bunny to the list and I cried and said it was the worst birthday ever” -Ashley Mcmanus, UNH senior

S A N T A art by catrina marr 7

Comfort Food to Cure Your Loathing

Words By Evan Ringle 8

ou don’t need to be Teiresias or Nostradamus to know that we’re living in dire times. Regions across the world are growing more unstable by the day. Thirty million people in the United States don’t have health insurance. You have a sizable portion of America’s working class laboring two to three jobs a day. And if you placed the average UNH student in a room without any means of stimulation, chances are in about 10 minutes you’ll have a crazed lunatic jumping off the walls frothing with malignant terror over the fact that they’re almost $100,000 in student debt. It’s 80 degrees in October. Kanye West is wearing a MAGA hat. We’re currently living in a culture engorged with wickedness and depravity.

something you’ve made yourself are all reasons why cooking is the perfect escape from the worry and turmoil of your everyday life. I cooked a lot of different things. I made steak and roasted potatoes with garlic-infused asparagus. I made chocolate mousse with homemade whipped cream. I made pulled pork sliders and coleslaw with corn on the cob. But I had one muse, a challenger who kept me guessing each time I tried to make sense of it: fried chicken.

Fried chicken is a culinary behemoth and has probably forced many to quit cooking altogether and rely solely on Hungry Man and Tyson frozen meals We live in a constant state of fight or flight. But it doesn’t have to be this until they inevitably die. It’s a food that, if you don’t respect it or give it way. In fact, I think I might have the cure. The anecdote to our aggression, the attention it deserves, will kick your ass. The seasoning of the flour, the the vaccine to our combustion, the device to kick us into neutral and keep us temperature of the oil, and the way the chicken is breaded are all pivotal from burning out too quickly—is comfort elements to ensuring you have the perfect, food. More specifically, fried chicken. tender fried chicken. It’s not some“In such a crazy time to be an flavorful, thing that comes naturally the first time Now, you might want to re-read that last American, or just to be a human, around. Unfortunately, like most important sentence, and perhaps take a moment to skills, it requires practice: trials of not now more than ever must we remember check your pulse. But once you’ve stabilized breading enough; not getting the temperayourself, get back on the horse and carry that we all have families. We all have ture hot enough; getting 400 degree oil on. What we need right now in this fucked friends who we ache to see at the end shot into your eye. up time is a moment to breathe. We need to throw our calendars out the window and of every week and we all have passions Separate from the fried chicken itself is the crank up the music. We need to be around experience that comes after. What makes that make us so much more than our friends, family and people we’ve never fried chicken so worth the trouble is the spoken to. We need community, camaraphysical forms. In a time of so much reward of sharing what you’ve made with derie. And there is no better tool than fried the people you love. One of my favorite hate, and so much divisiveness, what’s chicken. moments of that time of soul-crushing a better way to come together than to monotony was a night in early October Let’s rewind a year. I’m a student at Nashwhere my friends came over and I made share a meal?” ua Community College, fulfilling my final them fried chicken. They sat around my requirements for my associate’s degree, and kitchen table as I went through the artform, working 45 hours a week at the grocery store I’ve worked at for the last four drinking and laughing, what about, I can’t remember. But I love that night years. I’m a mess. Each day is a repeat of the same thing that happened the because within that kitchen for about two hours, I forgot about school. I day before. I wake up, I go to school, I leave school, I go to work, I come forgot about work. And I forgot about all the things that get me so fired up. home, I fall asleep. Rinse, repeat. I feel myself getting angrier at people who drive under the speed limit. My hostility intensifies for customers lecturing Escapism is an undervalued commodity that we often feel guilty for. But me why they tend to go to the grocery store down the street instead of the it’s not the same thing as burying our heads in the sand. It’s important to one I’m working in right now. Something needed to change. So I poured be active and aware of what’s going on in our whirling thunderstorm of a myself into something I had always enjoyed, but radicalized my enthusiasm. world. But we can’t let that anger and frustration deprive us of our common I started to cook. humanity. In such a crazy time to be an American, or just to be a human, now more than ever must we remember that we all have families. We all Cooking is a practice of expression. It’s a constructive, creative and meditative have friends who we ache to see at the end of every week and we all have process that gives you gratification and satisfaction upon completion. The passions that make us so much more than our physical forms. In a time of so precision involved in slicing and dicing peppers and onions, the attentiveness much hate, and so much divisiveness, what’s a better way to come together necessary to tell when a piece of meat is perfectly cooked and the taste of than to share a meal? 9

The Commercialized Christmas Conundrum

Words by Marlies Amberger 10

ovember 1, 12:01 am. Sleeping soundly in your bed, something conjures your mind to consciousness. You sit up, blearyeyed and groggy. You hear something in the distance—faintly, but it’s there. It sounds almost like… bells. A melody sings its way to your window and settles into your room. You recognize it. It gets closer, and closer, until suddenly, Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” is blasting. Garland and ornaments explode along the walls and you find yourself dressed in an ugly holiday sweater and a Santa hat. Halloween is over—and there’s no turning back. This is it. The holiday season has begun. Each year it seems that hints of Christmas creep further and further into early November. It feels like there is no space for thoughts that are not centered around Christmas during November and December. A trip to Target finds a swarm of holiday pajamas, each adorned with reindeer and a caricature of Santa’s cherry red face. The radio blares Christmas music shamelessly when it’s still above freezing. Holiday deals are plastered on the TV before you even have a chance to finish Nightmare on Elm Street. Personally, I am all for starting Christmas as soon as socially accepted. I love the magic, the music and the emphasis on giving. Christmas never fails to remind me of the people I love and cherish. Baking cookies, watching Elf and celebrating the holidays with my friends and family has become my favorite time of year. But even I cannot deny that the commercialization of Christmas is force fed into our minds alarmingly close to Halloween, or exceedingly early in general. What other holiday do we celebrate two to three months in advance? It’s not that people aren’t allowed to celebrate the holidays earlier than everyone else—it’s that we’re being told to. Perhaps Black Friday embodies the commercialization of Christmas perfectly. The day the stores turn a profit is also the day that we forget Thanksgiving was four hours ago and turn our sights to the sales. It’s about getting the best price on the perfect present for the cherished loved one. In the rush of the crowd to find these items, it’s easy to give in to the corporate view of the holiday season. I’ve never been one to give in to the cynicism that the hullabaloo of Christmas is the result of capitalism. I chalk my love for the holidays up to the importance of spending time with family and the giving nature of the holiday. The traditions I have with my family on Christmas Eve are little things I look forward to year after year: the candlelight church service, looking at lights, getting new pajamas just before we go off to sleep. These are what make Christmas special to me—not the gigantic inflatable Santas on the neighborhood lawns or the 50 percent off holiday items sale at Macy’s. The holiday season is all about kindness and joy. Sometimes it’s difficult to find these things in the world, especially with materialistic ideas and cynicism pushed on us from all sides. So, if some people want to embrace giving and generosity and celebrate them before December 1, who am I to say no? 11

The C ohere nt In stress ed Co ner-M onolo llege g Stud ent o ue of an naT O rip H verwork ed an ome d for t he H Overolida ys

ewis L h c a Z y b s d r Wo

Pre-Departure We are driving to Virginia for Thanksgiving from New Hampshire. I have nothing to wear. Wait a minute, yes, I do, but I need to do laundry. Laundry, you foul beast, I shall vanquish you! Slowly, over hours, I will have all clean clothes. Except, I’m only going to be gone for a few days. Three days and four nights. Pajamas-check, underwear-check, undershirts-check, socks-check, deodorant-check, glasses (sun and prescription)-check. I’ve made sandwiches and have Coke, pretzels, some seltzers and 45 hours-worth of podcasts for the 10-hour drive. The tank is filled with gasoline. What time do we need to leave? Three in the morning? You must be joking… you aren’t? Well, two hours of sleep is all you really need to function like a human. Day 1 - Drive This podcast is talking about how mushrooms know when you’re walking around on the forest floor because of this extensive network of miles and miles of tendrils and what’s that? You’re asleep? Well it is four in the morning. I’ll just count the lines on the highway. 3475, 3744, I mean 3476. This is a lot of math in the morning. Or is it night? I’m going to fast forward through these ads. Only large tractor-trailers and drug runners are on the road right now. I think four is when it switches over to morning. Possibly. I’m not a scientist. This scientist on the podcast even makes medicinal tea out of the mushrooms. Oh hey, we’re in New York. Day 1 - Drive Part 2 Why are there so many cars on the road, we’re now in rural Virginia. Where are you going? There’s nowhere you need to go. Oh, is there no more gas? As soon as we move one more mile, which will take about 40 minutes, we can get off that exit, exit 234. I’m glad we made it without getting pulled over because I saw, and this isn’t being hyperbolic, about 27 cars pulled over for various crimes and infractions, all legitimate I assume, all along the crumbling concrete monster which is the northeast corridor. Civilization officially ends in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and I know this because all the traffic from Washington D.C. disappears. Day 1 - Arrival Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi various relatives! The drive wasn’t bad. Yeah, there was traffic, no it wasn’t too bad. What’s that? We’re not that exhausted but I’ll take a coffee, yes. What do we want to do now? I don’t know, we’ve been continually moving in a metal vehicle for about 12 hours, so it feels jarring to completely stop the momentum. Yeah, it was supposed to be 10 hours but that’s just life. No, I’m not getting upset I just keep getting asked the same question about time and I am not the grand arbiter of the universe, which, I would assume, controls that sort of thing. No, I’m not, I never was given that title. Maybe I’ll take a nap. Day 2 - Morning I smell coffee. What time is it? It’s nine in the morning? I guess I slept all afternoon and all night. Oh well, yes I’ll have a big Ol’ cup of coffee. Yes, I’ll have cream but no sugar though. Nice, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade is on. The SpongeBob balloon tried to fly away. That sounds like SpongeBob. Do you think they’re lip-synching? That person is definitely not singing. You can tell because the singer coughed, and the vocals keep going. Everything is so sparkly, and the dancing is pretty cool. Santa! Hi Santa! Now it’s time for the Westminster Dog Show. I hope the Golden Retriever wins. Which dog won? Seriously, you’re blind judge, you’re blind! Day 2 - Thanksgiving Dinner What’s that Uncle Jim? You’re thankful the democrats haven’t completely ruined our country with illegal gay abortion doctors and their liberal agenda? Is there anymore stuffing? Cool, cool and what were you thankful for Uncle Bill? Oh, that the idiot in the White House is going to be impeached soon. Pass the cranberry sauce. No, I didn’t say collusion I said cranberry sauce. CRANBERRY SAUCE! I’ll get it myself, along with a locally crafted IPA. Back in my day you say. Which day was that? I just can’t right now with all of this. No, I’m not looking at my phone. What do they even teach me in this college of mine you ask? Should I reply sarcastically or be sincere? Decisions. I say that we’re taught to burn America down. Every homework assignment is about unscrewing a bolt off the machine of patriarchy and then we’re given lessons on how to whine effectively and disappoint our parents. Now I’m ungrateful you say? I’m too busy to take time out of my schedule to be yelled at about my life decisions 600 miles away from where I live. Next time could we just skype the whole thing? No, you’re a baby. Wait, what about Tom Brady? Day 3 - Afternoon It was so good to see you all! No, we have one more day. We’re going to visit Colonial Williamsburg and the shops around the village. We should all get together soon! Definitely! You too, bye, buh-bye… Oh thank god, they’re gone. Let’s go shopping! We’ve been looking for a parking spot for 45 minutes. How is this even possible? Let’s just go to the mall. What’s that! It’s a spot! Look at all of the pewter for sale! Maybe we should all get tri-cornered hats and we can stage a photo like we’re writing an important founding document? Let’s do it! Just hit the center button. The circle. The circle on the phone, just press that circle. Have you ever taken a photo before? My eyes are closed in these two photos. You only took two photos? Whatever, but yes, it’s a great photo. It shows how much we all love each other. Day 4 - Drive Home - Hour 16 We are never doing this again. Ever. All the cars are speeding up in the left lane to cut into the right lane to get a better position to merge because of the construction. No, it’s not fair to jump the line like that, but we need to do it, or we’ll be stuck here for another hour. There are no more rules! Every car for themselves! Don’t you honk your horn at me. No, I don’t think all the sugar and alcohol have affected my mood. I need to exercise. Ehhhhrkk! Where did that car come from? Here’s our exit, thank god! Never again, never ever, ever again. Until Christmas.

Godspeed Remnants of twisted pine Cling to sticky fingers like ash Stains on white t-shirts. Kiss the plant with flames and Swallow its smoky soul! Maybe your skin will singe And you’ll both simmer, But you can’t water cacti With cooking wine And expect flowers to flourish. I dreamt I was a street sweeper; I didn’t like it that much. A trashcan tumbled down A flight of concrete steps And told me, “I’m the bin, But you’re the waste.” I was late to work, Going top speed, Godspeed, Passing empty receptacles And barrels of guck. I’m a streetsweeper, No, a bartender, No, I don’t have a job, I’m a quarter spinning On a cloth tabletop, And somehow I never topple.

poem by nick pichierri

Growing Up Bright tinted giggles build up and crack into sunlight glows. Squinting forward, our delicate fingers tightly clutching metal chains. We bend and straighten our little legs, begging the recess bell not to ring and pushing ourselves into the bright sky. The distant treetops wave at us midair, shrieks of joy explode from our throats. The polished middle school kids curse between words, glaring at us up and down. We try our best smudge and blend, but crowded classrooms fill with sharp chatter and reverted eyes; suffocating us whole. Whispers travel and break into chains. Jeers multiply and tangle us in knots. Our changing reflections shatter emptily. In our khaki pants, we stock grocery store shelves, between beaming rushes and blushing laughs, ignoring the blur of fluorescent lit aisles. Exhausted from endless shifts we fall into each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s casual gestures. Our brains releasing golden magic with each perfectly formed sentence. His soul vanished in thin air. We tried to comprehend direction. There were too many pieces to put together. We grieved while piles of lecture notes stack up. The impact breaking us in crowded apartment parties where no one can see or walk, or feel. We try to recreate that magic found in our teenage job or squeaky swing sets. poem by julia lajoie illustration by julia gomes 15

Its Very Na

“Stars were falling across the sky myriad and random, speeding across brief vectors from their origins in night to their destinies in dust and nothingness” – Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, pg. 347 Life floats by in a heartbeat. Ninety-three million miles from the sun, the Earth has orbited and rotated and danced its dance for nearly 4.5 billion years. And for most of that time, it has hosted life. There have been countless lives, falling across the sky like stars myriad and random, speeding across brief vectors from their origins in the night to their destinies in dust and nothingness, as Cormac McCarthy would say. It’s said that everything – including humans – is made of star stuff: sashaying and shimmering pieces of recycled life repurposed to conceive countless more dancers on the stage of existence. And somewhere along the way, life stumbled upon a method to speed up the death-and-rebirth cycle: violence.

nimble and speaks every language. He is also responsible for the disappearance of many children, the orchestration of chaos and the killing of people for no other reason than a laugh. The Judge is an exceedingly captivating villain who speaks with an eloquent grandeur, always explaining the motivations behind each of his appalling acts. It’s in these soliloquies that McCarthy digs away at the meaning and meaninglessness of violence.

In one conversation, a member of the cadre tells the Judge that he who lives by the sword shall perish by the sword, according to the Bible. The Judge agrees, before the man says that war is considered an evil despite many tales of bloody combat existing in the Bible. To this, the Judge says, “It makes no difference what men think of war. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way.”

Violence seems to have been around since the beginning of time, an outburst of adrenaline and survival instinct to ensure that next breath. Whether there’s an evil that drives violence is anybody’s guess, but what’s importance is our recognition of its existence. There’s a duality, and the cognizance of wickedness is important in the balance of life. This question of violence and evil is something author Cormac McCarthy examines in many of his books, but maybe the most closely in 1985’s Blood Meridian. Blood Meridian follows two central characters, the Kid and Judge Holden, who both join a bloodthirsty cadre commissioned along the Texas-Mexico border in the mid-1800s to retrieve the scalps of Native Americans by force. When all is said and done, the Judge and the Kid are the only two remaining survivors from the murderous group that sojourned town to town leaving behind a pile of carrion. In a sense, the pair seem to represent innocence and violence: the Kid, hardened like sun-dried clay from the dour and unforgiving necessities of survival, battling his conscious and better judgement through the blood-drenched malevolence he takes part in; and the Judge, austere, grandiloquent and God-like in his attempts to possess and control everything, taking a keen interest in the Kid as a counterweight to his pendulumic force.

Toward the end of the novel, after around 30 years have passed, the Kid and the Judge cross paths in a bar. The Kid is now an adult in his 40s, and the Judge seems to have not aged a day. While talking to the Kid, the Judge explains that within war, the honorable soldier is the one who becomes “excluded from the dance,” while it’s the

man who has “offered up himself entire to the blood of war, who has been to the floor of the pit and seen horror in the round and learned at last that it speaks to his inmost heart” that is the true dancer. Later on in the night, the Judge seems to (although it’s left intentionally ambiguous) kill and mutilate the Kid’s body in an outhouse stall before leading a naked cultish dance while incessantly chanting that he doesn’t sleep, he’ll never die and he’s a great favorite.

The Judge is 7 feet tall in stature, hairless and nearly albino. He is charming, extremely

McCarthy doesn’t give the Judge the last word, though. In a one-page epilogue, the author details an unnamed man making holes in the ground for the “verification of a principle” and simply moving on. It seems that McCarthy is saying that despite the Judge’s shocking display of evil, it doesn’t matter. Life trudges on with or without the evil that inhabits it, as this macabre is the choice of the Earth’s inhabitants, and that’s all. There is no significance or destiny or higher power; things simply occur, with those containing the power to carry out maleficence doing so. While McCarthy paints a stark and bloody mosaic of the meaninglessness behind power, New York rapper billy woods weaves astute yarns of the corruption those with power utilize to execute depravity. woods is known for his complex lyrics, intricate storytelling

words by caleb jagoda

ature is Stone

nothing for them; “Shorty can’t eat no book, what I told Ta-Nehisi Coates,” says billy woods. And I wonder if any of this matters. People live and die every single day. Some are good, some are bad, some people think their moral compass matters, that there’s a code to live by. Maybe there is, and maybe that helps balance things out and create a universal equilibrium where the good evens out the bad, possibly even edges it out.

and sense of dark humor. On his second album of 2019, Terror Management, woods recounts tales of rising floods that expose hidden truths, a “brown Grinch” that has a premonition to “skip town before the town lynch” and a Christmas morning gorged with the dregs of a failed relationship and quickly guzzled liquor paid for in cash. woods is our dark-humored raconteur, stringing together acute tales like that of burnt Christmas bulbs on the roof of an abandoned house.

But why draw a line in the sand when every grain is the same and the sand is ubiquitous? Why even break the stick off the tree to draw the line in the first place, when a seemingly meaningless squirrel could’ve danced across that branch like a ghost floating through realms? You broke the stick because you had the power to do so. The squirrel never crossed your mind. Nor did the tree, who lived a long life with that extension of itself protruding with green and subsequent decay each turn of the seasons, and after you tore its oak arm away, grew ten back to replace the one.

“World gettin’ warmer, we goin’ the other way,” he barks in a sonorous tone on album opener “Marlow.” “This ain’t the world you used to know / You ain’t notice cause it change slow / Gasoline rainbow,” he raps on “Dog Days,” before further expounding, “The metropolis hum and glow, the tent city grow / The punchline the whole joke / The whole thing a hoax.”

The meaning is indiscernible; there is a cycle that repeats itself, a machine that cares not for life, or for me, or for you. Time mercilessly moves forward, marching like a war parade and slaughtering and scalping all in its path under the bleeding meridian of the fading skyline. Meaning comes after and as a result of experience. Maybe as you float through to another realm of existence, just as the squirrel capered across tree branches made from sticks before they were used to draw lines in a ubiquitous beach, you’ll begin to crack into the iron-curtain safe of meaning.

To billy woods, our world is one imbued with indifference, oppression and violence to which he’s become a numb and nimble sideline reporter. “The king of lies take any disguise,” he admits on “Blood Thinner.” This is just the way the world works; he’s no longer giving it the satisfaction of his surprise.

Until then, this is where we are, poking and prodding along as wars rage on against the dying light and the big business behind it all laughs with a smarmy grin. Not to say there’s not happiness in between the bookends—there always is. But a laugh is less noticeable than a wail.

“This desert upon which so many have been broken is vast and calls for largeness of heart but it is also ultimately empty. It is hard, it is barren. Its very nature is stone.” – Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, pg. 344

There are some fall mornings that start at 30 degrees and reach 80 only a few hours later. This October morning started at 50 and stayed at 50 all day. A squirrel nimbly darted across branches above me, floating across them like a ghost through realms of existence. He never did fall, yet I was scared the whole time he’d drop 50 feet and land in my lap. I’m not sure if there’s a point to any of this, or to anything. There are children that die every day to terminal diseases and stray bullets and wars they never asked to be part of. There are people with the cruelest intentions and hate-filled hearts that brim with malice and live nearly a century on this Earth. There were hundreds of millions of dollars donated to Trump’s presidential inauguration, with each guest taking home $130,000 gift bags, a small cherry on top of a wildly extravagant party, while thousands of people drink indigestible brown water in Flint, Michigan, with no alternative. I type this comfortably in a university library from my place of economic and racial privilege and hope it can do some good while some starving soul with ribs poking from their chest like hands from between prison bars understands that my attempts at empathy do

photograph by chad ripley

Clandestine: An Interactive Experience words and photographs by Shane Jozitis

The clock struck 10:00 p.m. at The Stone Church, and patrons of the Newmarket music club sprung to the dance floor. The sounds of a blazing fast saxophone, bluesy guitar and a funky bassline filled the room, produced by none other than the Seacoast funk band, Clandestine. “We want to take people on a journey with us and provide them with the best night possible,” said the drummer of the band Chris Salemme. Salemme said the band is a product of the collective members having fun and expressing themselves. “We like to throw a good party,” Salemme added. Clandestine throws a party where multiple genres of music are played. It’s not just one DJ that only plays 2000’s throwbacks. Inspirations from jazz, funk and the blues are all found within Clandestines sound. “We all have a background in most genres, especially jazz, but we pooled our strengths together to make something genuine and unique,” Salemme said. During their performance, the band combined “Cissy Strut” by The Meters, an American funk band, and “Yardbird Suite” by Charlie Parker, who was an innovator in jazz music. The band’s mixed-genre concoction, “Yardbird Strut,” gave audience members a chance to join the band on stage. Audience member Rainor Vigneault was invited to fill in on guitar for the song. “I was caught off guard,” Vigneault said. “But there was no way I was turning down the opportunity to play with the band. It was a blast, and I’m so grateful to be friends with such talented musicians.” Inviting guests and audience members on stage is a common thing for Clandestine, Chris Salemme explained. “It’s such a spectacle to get the audience involved. Their energy feeds into our music, so in my mind, they are just as much a part of the band as we are.” Clandestine remains grateful to their fans and enjoys feeding off of their crowd’s energy. “It’s all about the fans really,” Salemme said. “Without them, we would be nothing, so we owe all of our success to our loving and supportive friends.” “Not Just a Cover Band” Andrew Emmanuel, the saxophonist for Clandestine, takes a different approach to performing the greatest hits. “We try to convey the spirit of popular music with a saxophone in place of a vocalist,” Emmanuel explained. “When we play a melody, people sing the words for us, and it fosters a different vibe than your run of the mill cover band.” Emmanuel describes the band as a compromise they made with their audience. The melting pot of genres that is Clandestine allows the band members to utilize the improvisational skills they’ve learned through studying jazz, while the audience gets to hear songs they recognize and enjoy. “Clandestine is different from a lot of other local bands,” said audience member Jahmilha Crook. “They don’t rely on singing and lyrics, yet they still have a relatively good following which is cool to see.” Crook says their solos are always impressive, specifically when Chris Salemme draws the audience in with his in-depth ideas on the drumset. “Chris took a five-minute drum solo when I saw them last spring, and the crowd loved it,” Crook said. The way the band members approach their solos is influenced by their backgrounds in jazz music. This idea keeps the music fresh to the band, while still giving the audience an enjoyable experience. “Using themes of jazz music allows us to make each performance different,” guitarist Andrew Emmanuel said. Clandestine creates this bond with their audience with the pop culture songs they grew up with. “We selected some songs from television and video games because they’re songs that speak to us,” Emmanuel explained. “Clandestine gives me a chance to pay homage to this music that I would otherwise have to appreciate passively.” The improvisational touch that Clandestine uses in their arrangements ensures audience members that each experience will be unique and catered to the present moment. 18

Mikey Lathwood - Bass; Keith Perry - Guitar; Andrew Emmanuel - Saxophone; Chris Salemme - Drums 19

WINTER FIT VI distringuisher of the vibe: anna parisi

IBE CHECK

Who Would we be Without Fear? Words by Sammi Dow

Art by Julia Gomes

Heart pounding, palms sweaty. You approach the podium, 50 people staring back at you, waiting to hear the speech you’ve been working on for months. Your mind goes blank, staring into empty faces, unable to find the words. Fear. The movie plays on the big screen in front of you, but your focus is on the door that continuously slams open and shut. You fight an impulse to examine those entering, wondering if they were here before, or if they are acting suspicious. Are they just movie-goers, or something else? Fear. Standing in the corner of a party, with people you’ve never met, in a place you’ve never been. The friends you arrived with are nowhere to be found. You wonder if they left without you, you wonder if they even like you enough to remember not to leave without you. Fear. Fear is as basic to human nature as our need for food and water. It’s a matter of survival, guiding our behavior to avoid danger; we work to avoid feeling the uncomfortableness associated with fear. We strive to avoid uneasiness and to avoid the horrors of what we hear about on the news every day. Our amygdalas, where fear is controlled in the brain, are bombarded day in and day out with perceived threats to our safety and well-being. But, are these threats and the responses they arouse key to our survival? In truth, they may be doing more harm than good. In the distant past, perceived threats created physical and chemical responses in the human body. Cortisol levels spike in the blood22

stream, creating an increased heart rate and alertness, sweaty palms and the shutting down of certain biological functions that are not necessary for immediate survival. Blood flows in larger amounts to our muscles, preparing us for quick movements. Today, perceived threats still cause the same physical reaction, but there is one key difference. The perceived threats that trigger our fear response today are much different than they were thousands of years ago. Think about a list of things that make you feel nervous and increase your heart rate during a normal day. These factors could include things like public speaking, meeting new people, taking an exam or starting a new job. Most people would agree that these are fear-inducing situations, but how do they compare to the threats ancient humans faced? Our fear response was designed to trigger action during times of attack, or when hunting in dangerous conditions. This fear response allowed for a quick impulse of fight, flight or freeze. This mechanism is our body’s auto-pilot mode: thought and decision no longer dictate actions—it is purely impulse. So, every time we experience fear – say because we have to do a presentation for class – we are experiencing a reaction meant to be in response to a life-threatening situation. But, in reality, there is no immediate danger. It’s pretty simple to quantify that this is not a good thing for our minds, or our bodies. Chronic fear and anxiety leads to a plethora of physical issues, including negative effects on the cardiovascular system as well as the digestive system. It can lead to a weakened immune system, as well as memory issues. It is incredibly negative for mental health, as it can impair a person’s memory and decrease their ability to regulate and process fear in the future. Equipped with the expansive knowledge we now know about the negative consequences of fear and worry, why do we have a mass population of people constantly trying to slow down their speeding heartbeat and wiping their palms on their jeans every five seconds? The problem is that on top of real fears – i.e., being scared of a truck that doesn’t appear to be slowing down while you’re crossing the street – we also have unreal fears. Unreal fears are simply ideas that we create in our heads, or fears that stem from overthinking about the future. They are not immediate dangers, and are often unrealistic. Our brains and bodies cannot differentiate between real and unreal fears, and they cause the same bodily reactions regardless. Additionally, top chronic fear inhibits your ability to regulate future fears, and increases your fear overall. Fear becomes our natural state. The central approach to decrease fear in your life is to never allow it to hold you back. Exposure therapy is one of the main treatments for phobia disorders, as well as other fear-based disorders. You have to teach yourself that these situations that scare you are not actually threatening in any tangible way. The threat is in your head, not in the real world. The more you put yourself into situations that make you nervous, the more you will be able to dissociate those situations from feelings of fear. People in the modern world are very much fear-driven and controlled by what-ifs. So many of us never move far away from our hometowns because the idea of moving to a new place without knowing anyone makes our cortisol levels spike so much that we lose our ability to reason logically. People stay in jobs that no longer make them happy because they are scared they won’t find anything better. People stay in relationships that are not good for them, because the fear of never finding someone else causes them to ignore their doubts. When you allow fear to control you, you live a very small life. Fear traps us into being only a fraction of what we could be, all because of a falsified lie created in our heads. As Will Smith once said, “God places the best things in life on the other side of terror.” 23

ime T is

a. c i r f or A

words and photographs by Olivia Potenziano DAY 1: I’m in a van with my friend I met only three months prior to this trip and five other girls I do not know. There is a tall and tanned man driving us, making small talk with us in broken English.

us causing a scene, as if we did not stick out enough. After being led through the ins and outs of the alleyways by Cody we reached our hostel.

“Where are you from?” “Where are you studying?” “Have you ever been to Morocco before?”

Once we were settled in, Cody led the group back out to the city center to get “dirham,” the official Moroccan currency. “How do you get so lucky, all these wives,” a Moroccan man shouted at Cody as the seven of us girls followed. We got pulled into various food huts as menus were shoved in our faces and the men tried to lure us to have dinner at their numbered food hut. We shuffled our feet and kept our heads down as we tried not to make eye contact with the men. We followed Cody back to the hostel, where we met the rest of the group.

“Waka Waka (This Time for Africa)” by Shakira is playing on the radio. We’re driving on a barely paved road as mopeds zoom past us. One moped driving next to our van had a man driving, and a woman behind him with a head scarf covering every inch of her face but her eyes. The only thing that separated the man and woman was an infant baby being held by the woman. No seatbelts, no helmets, no carrier for the infant baby; just the two seat moped and the open, warm African air.

A traditional dinner commenced later that evening. We danced with Moroccan musicians and feasted upon traditional dishes like couscous, various grilled meats and drank the national drink of mint tea.

I peered out the window taking in everything about this foreign landscape. Suddenly the van came to a halt in the middle of the city center. The door flung open and a young white male eagerly greeted us.“Yo what’s up guys! My name is Cody. Welcome to Africa! Are you excited to be here?”

DAY 2: The sun was out and the temperature had steadily increased, preparing to reach 100 degrees that day. Our activity in the 100 degree heat: ATVing.

Cody was our tour guide through Bus2Alps, a program led by trained and certified individuals who have a passion for travel. He led us through the tight alleyways of Marrakech, Morocco, where locals sold handmade crafts of jewelry, purses, notebooks, blankets, pants and scarves.

We jumped back into a van that transported us out of the city center and into the desert. We arrived to a large building in the middle of the desert with over 20 ATVs lined up, ready to go. With my helmet strapped on and our five-minute test-run over, we took off. One by one, our Moroccon instructor led us through the desert.

“This would look great on you,” men shouted, placing various hats, scarves and toys on your shoulder as you walked past their stands. “Stay close!” Cody would shout to

Children of families in huts that line the trails ran out to wave to us. One hand on the throttle and the other waving to the young children that ran out, trying to keep up

with us. We stopped for photos and a small group of children ran down a sand dune with a cooler full of water hoping to make some money to bring back to their family. No older than seven or eight years old, I shake my head and try to say “No thank you” through the massive helmet covering everything but my eyes. “If you want to go fast, keep up, and let’s go,” the instructor said before leaving us in his dust, literally. Nerves turned into excitement as I pushed my limits and fears and kept up with the instructor’s speed. Our group stopped at the hut for mint tea, fresh bread and honey before finishing the last leg of our ATV expedition. Going as fast as I possibly could, I made it back in one piece. I drove my ATV back in line and took off my helmet. Hair: insane. Sand: everywhere. ATVing in the desert of Africa: priceless. Back at the hostel, a group of girls and I decide to adventure into the city center on our own. With confidence we managed our way through the crowded and dark alleyways of Marrakech. Walking by pop-up huts where people were selling various goods, I was determined to master the skill of bargaining and buy intricate crafted items from Morocco. I wanted a real stone purse. I was determined. I did my research and went to various huts that were selling these purses asking how much the owners were selling them for. After much deliberation and heckling I landed upon a hut with two young boys selling the stone purses. “600 dirham,” the boy said. In U.S. currency that would be roughly $60. I went back and forth with the young boy. Asking him how old he was, if he owned this shop or if his family did. Creating a short term relationship with him. After bargaining with him, I got him to bring the price down to 200 dirham or $20. “200 but a picture too,” the boy said to us. I handed him 200 dirham and told him it was nice to meet him. Despite a language barrier this boy and I created a connection. DAY 3: The sun shone brightly down on us as we once again got transported in a van far out of the city center and into the desert. I rode a camel through the desert and alongside a beautiful creek with mountains as tall as the sky. The blue sky and open land was effortlessly beautiful in every way imaginable. The beauty continued as we got to the base of a mountain and met a man who went by “The Goat.” The Goat was our hiking tour guide up the five-mile mountain. He only allowed us short breaks before running and leaping up the side of the mountain, only to beat the rest of the group to pull us up the side of a mountain. One wrong step and the Goat would plummet hundreds of feet to the bottom of the mountain, easily breaking multiple – if not every – bone in his body. I was ahead of the Goat at one point when I heard the noise of rocks crashing against one another and a faint yell from a girl in my group. My head spun around in time to see the Goat slip off of one rock, push his foot onto the next, and leap to the next platform of rocks. A small smile emerged from his face as he said, “I am the Goat. I have been climbing for years. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he said repeatedly. “You could have fallen,” I said with panic in my voice. “It’s okay,” the Goat said. I soon realized the Goat only knows a few complete phrases in English and the only one he knew by heart was “It’s okay.” As we came up to a ledge on the side of the mountain only a couple inches wide enough for one foot to walk in front of the other, I started a conversation with him. “Why do they call you the Goat?” I asked him. The Goat told me in broken English the story of how he’s lived in a village near here with his family all his life and how he fell in love with hiking. The Goat told me more about his family and how they all live together, a common thread I noticed in Morocco. He told me all about he and his brother’s jobs, but when he described his sister, all he said was, “My sister is a wife.” That comment stuck with me through the rest of the hike—a cultural difference I was aware of, but not prepared to hear first hand. I was taken aback by his answer because I knew this cultural difference existed but was not prepared to hear it. After much fear coursing through my body, the Goat led us to the bottom of the mountain in one piece. We finished our day with lunch in the middle of the mountains alongside a stream that ran for miles on end. I was surrounded by pure beauty. DAY 4: It’s 5 a.m. the next day and it’s time to depart for the airport to leave Marrakech and head back to the city I am studying abroad in. I double check to make sure I have all of my belongings. Passport, check. Phone charger, check. Hand crafted stone purse, check. Feeling like a piece of me will be left in Morocco, check. I was not ready to leave Morocco. A newfound love for other cultures, food and history was instilled in me during my time in Africa. All of the prenotions I thought I had about Morocco were forgotten about. But what will never be forgotten is our guide telling us to package up any leftover food we had because we will be giving it to people that are less fortunate, or when our Moroccan tour guide told us how he met his wife through an arranged marriage. Cultural differences are not something to be afraid of; rather, to be embraced and cherished.

Coastal Shock:

A personal Account of Adjusting to New England Life words Mealnie Tymn Those of us who are not from New England have attempted to adjust to life on the East Coast; from the changing weather to the unusual language, it has taken some time to get used to life on this side of the country. Growing up in Northern California (not Los Angeles), there are many elements to the East Coast that came as a shock when I first stepped onto campus back in 2017. One of the biggest differences I noticed was, of course, the weather. I vividly remember taking a Snapchat of my friend and me in full-blown parkas when it was in the 40s. Little did I know that the 40s were a luxury in comparison to the negative temperatures on bone-chilling winter days. At the time, I was a complete rookie to the harsh New England winters. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area where winters consisted of occasional rainstorms and temperatures in the low 50s. Going to school across the country in New Hampshire, you can only imagine how I’ve adjusted to the winters here. The answer is: I haven’t. Each year it seems as if the weather gets worse during the cold months, something that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. After asking around, I realized I was not alone in my struggles. UNH junior Delaney Mckee is actually from my town in California. Over the past two years she’s had to adjust as well. “I woke up to the sound of snowplows freshman year and was startled.” Ah, yes, one of the many things I have yet to get used to is the peaceful sound of the snow plows right outside my window in the early morning, usually indicating copious amounts of snow outside making it even more of a pain to get from one destination to another. I know I am not the only non-native New Englander who is still not used to the bitter cold during the winter. Senior Kennedi Smith comes from Texas where it’s warm year-round. “I thought it was cool that I actually got to experience the four seasons because at home it’s pretty much warm all the time,” she said. “But the cold weather is something that was a huge change for me because I 26

definitely prefer the heat over the cold.” Another unexpected cultural difference was the language. What’s the deal with the excessive use of the word “wicked?” I couldn’t adopt that word into my vocabulary even if I tried. For me, “hella” has been

my go-to, usually when talking about something that’s really good or cool. It just flows so much better than “wicked” in my opinion. I guess it really depends on where you grew up and the language that corresponds with the area.

100s. I have always wanted to experience seasons, one of my deciding factors in choosing to go to school on the East Coast.

There are many positive changes that I’ve adjusted to here, Kennedi immediately noticed the use of the word “wicked” as including the life-long friends I have made. I lucked out in well. “People would always say ‘wicked’ and I thought it was my forced triple dorm in Williamson Hall freshman year. Even so weird because I had never heard anyone say something with the tight space and the fact that we were basically living was ‘wicked’ cool,” she said. “I’m from Texas and I say ‘y’all’ on top of each other, we came out of it best friends. I am a lot and people thought it was so funny that I would say forever grateful to UNH for bringing them to me. that.” I’ll also have to say there are a lot of friendly people in New So I guess it kind of makes sense: New Englanders think that Hampshire. One of the first things I noticed when I got here people outside the area use weird language and us “foreign- was people holding the door for me. It’s such a small gesers” think the same of their vocabulary. ture, but I noticed it immediately after coming from the West Coast where usually people would not even think twice about holding a door open for a stranger.

I could complain all day about the winters and weird lingo but on the other hand, it’s actually really nice to get to experience watching the seasons change. I would definitely say my favorite is fall due to the setting for impromptu photoshoots and bright colored leaves. Also, for me, there’s nothing better than snuggling up in your cozy bed with a hot drink and watching Halloween movies with your best friends. Back home, the weather pretty much stayed the same, except in the summers where temperatures would skyrocket into the 90s and, much to my dismay, sometimes even to the low 27

UNH junior Antonia Schmitz comes all the way from Germany. “When I first came to UNH, I loved how open, friendly and just sweet everyone was (compared to Germany because people there are just judgmental and rude—at least the majority),” she said. “Also, people are interested in getting to know you and don’t just care about how you look but who you are as a person. I was so scared I wasn’t going to fit in and that people wouldn’t like me but the friends I made my freshman year are still my best friends to this day and they are so loving and amazing and really helped me make UNH my home and showed me how things were done here.” For me, life in New Hampshire is vastly different from life at home in California, but I think that the East and West Coasts each have their own special qualities. I will always be a West Coast girl at heart, but I still love being here in the East and meeting new people of different backgrounds. left photograph by Melanie Tymn right photograph by Jack Bouchard

Why Being a Senior Sucks Words by Nicole Cotton Being a senior sucks, but not for all of the reasons you would think. Everything about my life since freshman year has changed, and mostly for the better, but it was really tough getting to this point. Everyone says “college is the best four years of your life,” and yeah that may be true, but how would we know? Anyway, let’s talk about why being a senior sucks. What first comes to mind is this weird limbo of being stuck in between college and “adulthood.” As for any college student, no matter what year you are, this distinction can be difficult to make for yourself (and your parents) but I think these feelings are exemplified x10 as a senior. If you’re a senior, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about; if not, let me paint a picture. Imagine this: You’re 21 or 22 years old, old enough to buy your own alcohol, own an apartment, rent a hotel or car and be classified as an adult… but you’re still expected to “be a good student.” I’ve realized that what I want isn’t to be a student anymore; I want so much more than that. What I really want is to get out there and start living. For most of us in college, the majority of our lives have been spent in a classroom. But, I hope – at least for the near future – my last time in a classroom will be in May. I want to go travel and burst out of the small UNH bubble. My mind is far beyond writing a research paper for a history class, it’s being pulled in a thousand different directions—it’s in a quaint Italian piazza or the Swiss Alps, or back in London where I spent the past semester. It’s not at UNH anymore. Here’s another scenario for you. Obviously as a senior, at this point you’ve met lots of people through classes, clubs, living in a dorm, or whatever else. I hope you’ve made some friends, too. In May, I will be separated from all the people I met four years ago. We’ve all experienced this to an extent, in high school or maybe in other situations. But I think college is different. For the most part, these people I’ve lived with and were my family, peers, coworkers and some that I’m not even friends anymore. Nonetheless, it’s difficult to face all of those goodbyes because you don’t know which ones will be permanent; having the realization that all of us will never be in the same place again SUCKS! Not only is my mind somewhere abroad and thinking about all the people I’ll miss, it’s also scrambling to find an answer to the daunting question of “what do you want to do after graduation?” My mind is thinking about jobs I could get post-graduation; if I need to move home or get an apartment, whether I should go to grad school eventually. I just don’t know where I’ll end up, so please stop asking me. No matter if you have a plan after graduation or not, the future is still daunting because it’s different territory and there are so many pathways. For me, there are so many things I want to do. Truthfully almost none of those things involve getting a job related to my degree. Yep, I said it. I want to travel, go see the world. Literally, I have so many options and I’m not tied down to anything (besides my student loans), why wouldn’t I utilize this time? For one, it’s intimidating not knowing what the future is going to hold. I’m more or less a planner, I need at least an idea of what I want to do, a goal I can work toward. This is the first time in my life I don’t have a set path and its insanely freeing yet so scary. We’re twenty something, I don’t know how my decisions will affect my future, but I can only do what will make me happy right now. And lastly, the obvious reason—I’m going to miss college. I am. Despite everything that I’ve said in this article. It doesn’t matter that I’m sick of the same events the university has every year, the routine, that it’s all the same… those things are comforting. It’s a place where yes, I’ve had difficult times, but some amazing ones too. It will be very painful to step out of my last class knowing that’s it. Now what? I’ve spent the majority of my life in school and now what? My experiences at UNH have changed me, so so much. More than I can even express on my keyboard. I’ve lost friends, met some amazing people in unlikely places, have broadened my knowledge about myself and the world, laughed harder than I ever have as well as cried more times than I can count. I wouldn’t be who I am today without the experiences of the past four years. But you know what they say, when one door closes, another one opens. Being a senior sucks… But, I will still miss you UNH. 29

t r o f iscom

D g n i k e Se

Words by Abby Fisher Disclaimer: this will not apply to everyone and I encourage just about everyone I meet to see a therapist, counselor, or psychologist. You have free access to these services as a student, take advantage of it.

It’s interesting how so many of us, myself included, find our comfort zone to be the place we most want to reside. It feels natural. It’s safe; risk-free. At least it disguises itself as such. But I think the comfort zone is the least safe place we can be in and here’s why. Leaving my comfort zone has been the one thing that has consistently saved me from myself. “Myself” meaning my mind. I think this sinking back into the abyss of our comfort zones is most habitual in times that our minds are suffering. Or maybe sinking into comfort has been the cause of my suffering. Seems like a chicken or the egg dilemma. Either way, being halfway through my senior year, I would say I’ve struggled with mental health in college far more than I ever thought I would. One observation I’ve made this time around is that with every stretch of misery, I have so much more knowledge in my reserve about how I personally need to approach these struggles. In addition to journaling, utilizing the counseling center on campus and trying to rationalize with my lying bitch of a mind, I try to grasp at any bit of inspiration to leave my comfort zone that I can. I have found that in the momentary darkness, any spark of inspiration can seem blinding, to a point that you don’t know what to do with it. See also: you’ve been dozing off watching a movie in class and your 9th grade history teacher turns the light on at the end, everyone squeals but adjusts to the sunlight mere moments later. Here’s my suggestion: When suddenly the light seems to be turned on, muster every ounce of energy you can and put it toward maintaining that light. Sit long enough that your eyes are forced to adjust. You’re only able to see the things you’re ready to see, so even if it’s just a flash, a glimmer, or a spark, you saw the light and you know it’s there. So, whatever you do, don’t let 30

yourself burrow your head into the sleeve of your sweatshirt and block the sunlight out.

to a friend, going to therapy. All these things terrified me but each time I felt an inkling of inspiration, I acted immediately. When consumed by heavier thoughts, those I had been unconsciously realizing that this was a solution, inklings only come every so often. For me, it has always but naturally avoiding it because it requires that inkling come down to one deep breath and in most cases clickof light and more effort than I usually care to put in. It ing a button. Submitting the application, reaching out to requires a commitment to yourself, which under the veil someone that would be interested in working on a project of mental health seems impossible to uphold. Pushing my with you, showing up to one meeting, buying the plane boundaries of comfort seemed to be a possible solution. ticket, dialing the number. A moment of action can change Then I stumbled upon a videverything, especially if that eo that only confirmed these moment results in a com“Follow whatever glimmer mitment to depart from your thoughts for myself. comfort zone. of light you have and Yes Theory is a group of four guys who have adopted the eventually your eyes will Make the commitment to motto “Seeking Discomfort” and yourself, drag others into it, adjust. With time and their approach to life publicly do whatever it takes. displays what I’ve been theintentional action, the orizing internally. Their story If you see a spark, a flash bright light will become starts post-college, where at the of light, a single ray of sun time four strangers, who for streaming through the winyour new normal” the most part spent their time dow, don’t pull the covers working temp jobs, felt stagnant. over your head. Bask in it, Fast forward a couple of years feel its warmth. Figure out and they have a couple million how you can prolong its subscribers on YouTube and they just say yes to what pulls presence. Maybe that will lead you outside or maybe it will them out of their comfort zone. They started doing this have you turning on some music that boosts your mood. to switch things up and to inspire others to do the same. Maybe it awakens you just enough to leave your comfort But what they found is that with this intentional action zone and call a friend, go to the counseling center or into of getting as far away from their “comfort zone” as they to the common space in your apartment. Follow whatever could, they became more comfortable with others and glimmer of light you have and eventually your eyes will more comfortable with themselves. adjust. With time and intentional action, the bright light will become your new normal. I’ve found the same. Besides, what do you have to lose? Coming out, facilitating Safe Zones panels; leading outing club trips, writing for Main Street Magazine; going to India, running again after a few years off; reaching out 31

What’s up with sexism? Words by Jasmine Taudvin

*Tante means ‘aunt ’ in Norwegian *Names have been changed In the trunk of her car, my Tante* always has a few key essentials: a spare tire, a jumper cable and a car jack. She usually keeps some winter clothes in the back seat, and nestled behind a pile of biology books lies a pair of hiking boots and a huge pair of overalls. Deeply embedded with car grease and dirt, this blue denim has saved the elegance of silk gowns, cotton dresses and billowing skirts alike. Beneath her overalls, her outfit remains soft and clean until she diagnoses and fixes her car, returning to the road with makeup un-smudged. This is my history. At three, as I danced in my mismatched socks, my grandmother fixed the bathroom plumbing. At five, while doing a family history project, I learned that my great-grandmother had her master’s degree and was the first certified speech pathologist in Vermont. At seven, as I wrote my first play, my mom shooed my dad away from the bills. At twelve, when I received a 100 on an exam, a male peer exclaimed, “Of course she did well, she’s a girl!” My whole world was run by women; I knew of nothing else. At eighteen, I was preparing to attend UNH as the fourth female generation in my family, a fact that annoyed me. I yearned to create something new, explore someplace different, and here I was at the same college my family had attended for the last 75 years. My female identity was the last thing on my mind. My ignorance of persisting sexist attitudes in our society was primarily on a personal level. The #MeToo movement was relatively fresh in the news and as I began classes in the fall, I streamed Brett Kavanaugh’s hearing when I wasn’t studying. Abortion bans were on the rise and I joined the long list of people who felt disrespected by their country. However, my personal experience with sexism was negligible prior to my arrival at UNH. My first memorable incident occurred just before an a cappella performance. Soundcheck had gone poorly and the group morale was low. With an hour to spare, my friend Emily* and I took charge, aiming to fix the simple tuning issue. Joe*, a male member of the group, sighed loudly and with drama. “Calm down,” he said, patting Emily’s shoulder. “You need to breathe.” Joe took a deep breath and indicated that we should follow his lead. My mouth hung open in disbelief. As Emily began to defend her position, Joe cut her off in a high-pitched voice usually reserved for toddlers. “Oh! Oh no, you’re not breathing!” I was apoplectic. Afterward, I turned toward Emily. “That was super patronizing, right?” I asked, looking for confirmation. Despite my family history and my stubborn outspokenness, I still second guess myself each time someone speaks down to me or doubts my ability. Was that really sexist? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? I feel compelled to ask for reassurance from other women. Was that actually what I saw? When I turned to Emily last fall my feelings were confirmed, but often I’m left feeling increasingly uncomfortable and confused when my female friends don’t notice anything wrong. Why don’t I trust myself? I have grown up surrounded by powerful women 32

and I know when I am being dismissed unfairly. After speaking up my entire life, why do I still hesitate? Therein lies the problem. As much as any other gender, women are socialized to view these small sexist behaviors as normal. This normalization was evident when I spoke to my mother and grandmother about their experiences with sexism at UNH. Initially, they had little to say. “I can’t think of anything,” my mom said. Slowly, stories began to emerge. My mother had always used a fake name when she went out dancing just to be safe, and my grandmother had been denied from the married housing on campus because it was only for married UNH men, and her husband was not attending UNH. One story in particular stuck with me. My grandmother, who graduated from UNH in 1963 (six years before Princeton or Yale accepted women), spoke about the curfews only female students were expected to follow. “We had curfew 10 p.m. most nights,” she told me. “Maybe one at 11 p.m. [On] weekends [we could stay out until] midnight, [and we were allowed] one 1 a.m. per semester.” According to the October 1966 Issue of The New Hampshire, a vote was held early in the school year among students on the subject of the curfew. The results of the vote were later voted on by the Faculty Senate. In the April 1967 issue of the newspaper, an article announced that the Senate voted to eradicate all women’s curfews at UNH, and the change officially went into effect in September of 1968. My gratitude for the changes UNH has made is immense; still, I am exhausted. I’m tired of having to prove myself again and again, and tired of smiling and being agreeable. Curfews and other tangible restrictions may be long gone, but the social ones persist. We must not allow ourselves to be content with “better.” There is still much to fight for.

fter ten years of negligence from the federal government while the e-cigarette and vape trend took off, a local community decided to act. With a 6-1-2 vote, the Dover City Council voted in favor of the Tobacco 21 (T21) ordinance to raise the legal tobacco product purchasing age to 21 on June 27, 2018. The FDA and legislators were “asleep at the switch on this one,” said Dana Mitchell, Prevention Coordinator at Dover Youth to Youth, a youth advocacy group with a focus on alcohol and drug abuse. As the coordinator of Youth to Youth, Mitchell worked alongside members of the program to push T21 forward and get it passed in Dover.

words by Evan Edmonds art by Bailey Schott

Dover is one of the many communities nationwide that has been impacted by the rapid growth of a vaping outbreak that has been growing for a decade. Since Dover’s T21 ordinance was passed, there have been 2,290 cases of vaping product use lung injury and 47 deaths in the United States, according to the latest outbreak information from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). 53 percent of these cases of sickness or death are of individuals of the ages 24 and under. teenagers.

In October, 2019, the New York Times released an article citing “ten years of federal inaction,” in the vape epidemic and details how the federal government has “repeatedly delayed or weakened efforts that could have protected.

According to Mitchell, the bill is still alive in New Hampshire Senate, and recently passed through the Commerce Committee. For now, the statewide age has been raised to 19, effective in 2020.

The focus of Dover Youth to Youth has always been exactly that - youth, which remained the focus of the T21 ordinance, Mitchell said. It wasn’t all about vaping, but the overarching issue of nicotine and tobacco products abuse, and getting those products out of the hands of the local teens.

Governor Chris Sununu was in support of that change and told the Concord Monitor in October “right now, we are focused on curtailing the surge in youth vaping.” Mitchell said taking T21 statewide and nationwide is critical and predicts that it will happen nationwide eventually. The New Hampshire Senate hearing is in January.

Keene, Newmarket, Franklin and Durham have all increased the legal tobacco age to 21. Dover Youth to Youth is continuing this effort by working to bring the ordinance to the state level in New Hampshire and providing advice and support to communities who want to move on the issue.

The federal tobacco purchasing age is 18. The Family Smoking Prevention and Control Act, signed by President Barack Obama in 2009, prevents the FDA from using its authority to raise the federal minimum age. 34

This makes it important that T21 passes in every state so that residents can’t just cross a neighboring border and buy the products there, which would undercut the T21 effort to restrict access, Mitchell said. According to the New Hampshire Youth Risk Behavior Survey, a study conducted by the Department of Health and Human Services (DHHS) that quantify youth use of tobacco and alcohol, the state average of high school students who had used an electronic vapor product in the last 30 days was 24 percent - close to double the national average, which was around 13 percent. The survey is taken every two years, and this data was from the most recent 2017 edition. Vicky Harris, head of the Dover Coalition for Youth, has analyzed the survey and although the 2019 data is in, it is not yet ready to be disclosed to schools or the public. However, she was able to share what she has seen in the 2019 middle school survey, which shows that 20 percent of seventh and eighth grade students have tried some form of vape product, while nine percent have used one in the last 30 days. Alcohol has always been the most popular substance used among middle schoolers, but vaping is now the most popular for the first time ever, according to Harris.

Vaping statistics were introduced to the survey in 2015, a year in which 25 percent of students reported using a vape product. In an issue brief on youth tobacco use from the DHHS, the data shows a decline in youth cigarette use from 21 percent in 2009 to eight percent in 2017. Dover’s 2017 high school data of 14 percent aligns closer to the 2017 national vaping average. Harris said she predicts the numbers in the latest high school survey will be similar to those in the middle school survey. Although it most likely hasn’t taken over alcohol in high schools, she said she “wouldn’t be surprised if it’s close.” Principal Peter Driscoll of Dover High School said discipline interventions regarding use of vape products have gone down since last year. He said vaping came onto the scene in 2017-18 when there were 37 suspensions - more than the previous three school years combined (12, nine, and five) - but did drop off in 2018-19 with 22. While Driscoll said the decrease in enforcement could mean students are just being more subtle rather than vaping less, he also said he believes there is more general awareness surrounding the danger and presence of the products from both students and faculty. Driscoll said that the emphasis should be on educating students from a young age and informing parents on the dangers of these products. He said Dover High School has been focused on making people aware of the health concerns by sharing CDC information with parents and raising awareness within the school, specifically addiction, and working with Dover Youth to Youth to promote that awareness. The Family Smoking Prevention and Tobacco Control Act gave the FDA the power to regulate tobacco products. Due to an “intense lobbying effort” from the tobacco and e-cigarette industries, little action has been taken since 2009, according to the Times. Now ten years later, acting FDA commissioner Dr. Ned Sharpless said they should’ve 35

acted sooner in a congressional hearing. President Donald Trump said he was moving to ban e-cigarette flavors in September. Since then, Trump has retreated from moving forward with the ban and even stalled on a less strict one, according to the Times. Youth access to vaping products is “creating a generation of nicotine addiction at an early age,” according to Harris, and the implementation of flavors in those products has given e-cigarettes a “crazy outrageous market” towards youth, she said. Despite the risks towards teens, the failure to take action has now extended between two different presidential campaigns, during which both campaigns failed to act due to the pressure from the tobacco and e-cigarette industries. The issue has not stopped growing either: On November 8, the CDC announced that they found vitamin E acetate in fluid samples tested from vape-sickened patients. The CDC said, “this is the first time that we have detected a potential chemical of concern in biologic samples from patients with these lung injuries.” While the CDC and the FDA continue on the national front, Dover continues its own endeavor against youth nicotine use. While it’s hard to see the direct impact of the T21 ordinance on the city of Dover, Harris said it accomplished getting the message across “that this behavior is not acceptable to youth in this community.” She said the efforts are still being made to educate the community on the dangers of these products. For Dover Youth to Youth, January’s statewide hearing is the next step, and their effort to combat the vape outbreak continues - on their own accord.

: s d o o W e g e l l o C f o e r u t a The Cre r a c s O y e k s i Tango W

from you, ve received ’ I k c a b d e metae f through the sed by the i e r m p r o u t s n t u u o d d an ure of have reache h the Creat oth touched , t b e i l w m p ’ o s I e e p c n e e h i t me er eeker. You, ersonal exp fully trust s p t h h n g t w i u o r r t r d u l w o u o y o fell share nverifithat you w apevine, to uspect or u m flattered s ’ I f o t a r h e t b phorical gr m y u a s that the n ds. I must I must say , College Woo r e v e w o H tories. me. with your s orthless to w d e ability v o r p s ha dent in my fi n o c y l able tales e m e Here is upr d stories. eur, I am s e t h a c m t a e f e r t e s m e I am a the farth Even though h from even t u r t pondences: f o s t nugge f my corres o t u l o l a t e m r o r r e f to f glean ll ght een able to d 7 feet ta n a 6 n e e ctive at ni what I’ve b w a t e t b s rant a o s m i s e i r reatu r and sses to war c u e f n e t h n i T w w o r m b o r . k f 1 e has dar criptions The creatur atching des m h g 2. u o n e d ive I have rece 3. the ch despite i h full study w , s g n i d h these fin ibrary of quipped wit der in my l e l o h f t r a o l f i n d a e m e to whom I salli ls an entir ue with me l g fi o l , a n t o a i c t a e v r t the atu deri f zoology a ok this cre o simplistic o t t c I e j n b e u h s T re e ined. academics a perts on th x e e s e t h the unexpla s t o m – e r k o c ere the f to my sho ve my I assumed w n – but not i r g a h c tions to gi y a m g i o t T s e . v y n t i i al y of univers eir own ban hard realit h t e h n t i h d t e i t w s rejected omfortable more intere noses, they d look. Unc n y o r c e e v s r a i e t h c t called proje right under rtfolio was o y p r e g v n o i c t s a i n d i a major icular. My illum by one part whole cloth d s n ’ a g n ” i , d e n s fi l a f dumbest, my by far the “completely d ” n , a s u , o t l s u e c d i r “rid the wei ffice.” dividual, “ oor of my o d e h t d e ly crass in n e rk has ever da thing that people e that when m d l o t s y a lw alous. My mother a e merely je r a y e h t , n is his fashio it usually d n a – t c behave in t e r or arting his eeling is c ng to be st i o If my gut f g s i r o s is sticky Profes e he gets h c n o – the Crass e r u t a e rento my cr se kinds of o h t h t i own query i W . t ed to nother gran w that I ne o n k I , e fingers on a m st grit and ng up again hat I have: t s sources goi e g a t n a v y two ad use the onl art. experinth head st experts, I my three-mo d e l l a c o s wite ngs with th h other eye i t t i e w e m s p e u s e w h o After t n my foll d it all. dead ends i that starte f s o s e s n e t i i r w e s e h enced a ntacted t erate, I co p s e D . s e s s ne

CLAS

She ans wer ed to I e the acc xpl pho omp ain ne any ed wit my me h a p on red she “I’ sim thi ica m e ple s i men spr xpla not mpo t, yet ing ine s u r a r ?” tan d. nd e i con t “ h fus Why f I’ ow m i ed s m u sio I ne do “He p n com you e I h . d f llo ed or pet a n d ?” e a goi wil i ed t r n l m tion to sti t u g o s ted ba be ake fro go fle g now ck ou fel win oing. it ea m the a lau low and t in ter I f sy t Cras gh a tru t n o ot mon t u the whe the w ths rther o tell s Pro this r f n o e to s o e it ds ano xplai where ssor, illy war a the q n ms t nig r l ed th our cr but t uesti u p i ht,” h oca o a er F n t le. t our eature e defi n. No poi or th he nit t o hea nts o I q i s t u s e ive nly d tur arry l i pri out of Sa folk v t ns a s m out may h ing an racks m I f one ate, with t squat out ac a d i tha v c t t I e mov where n the ing off off. and wi wo pe h hun here o t s ove ed o h I t my in So in th on ple. ing, who a res n f e mig now r l rus A v i a e tim o uni ven t w estig dditi y two fter t is ate r the ht nit ts i a a n o p d t l t e n e h l Ben iat me opl her , a ver to my ion . me and B from r life in ea mysel e, it Sasq a goo ed in . u wit r d o f t e w a n b h v o W t e ide e fi uld we ch h m . Fr eali hil st, and a n h e mun ad ba y past iends ng th the I br the e be di is a p to o o n y i e led ty. W ck in sojo of mi ir tr sensi ught e wit fficult owerf ly t u a n h ‘ r t i to ul 1 le 7 c ns o e for ue id ive n long ness sta hem sc t m e e a l f has king to bel y com mente curi a lo ntiti ture two pe hat k are ic of o not us t ieve pani d ou osit ng t es, ime ons I w my w ple wh ked r p y. all hat t h , ’ i la or An o a l ude O d m ctobe t the lack ces i d the they l cal k pre h o l e n r . aft beast f ded the Swam ave a the m ern p s our Arm oon of th uction crypt Beas siste e o , t d to guile d wit res e Hoc skil zool r ogy un-in pas t a k h l a o s n m o den s t ssu d s o nly c red ck Sw have n comsio e, de he nig ome h the ot tha amp e n b t t was ano , I w ar edi ht in arty urnin he t s fac I t her i ill re tor, Colle nacks g des t i h riu g n , l r a e s a e s t w t wha m W t l phant allmen e to been oods. e rea for t d y h ive s l s b y exi t. I w ou th ent o As th ied o e tru u e t etw u t t i i r een he ll be event t bef s cor selve h, ore res s s the wood s tre s wi ure to of ou our ponr es. m th und conta searc iseni ct h i abl y e t ou on n rut c h o e f

SIFIE

WRIT TEN ANO NYM FUR THER OUSL RESE Y TO P ROTE ARC H CT 37

2020: words by Ian Lenahan

In the field of at or around 8,000 Democratic presidential nominees still in contention (give or take roughly 7,982), I side with the generally frustrating consensus: It’s tough to narrow down a few candidates out of the 18 in the running, let alone choose one to cast our precious vote for. We really aren’t getting enough credit on being able to juggle the separate ideas – policies and jabs at the current President that each candidate has wielded in their campaigns thus far. At this point, it’s just all too clear: There’s a lot of people that have ideas and the fully ignited passion – on how to change the current state of our United States of America. There are so many blue-minded, donkey-loving folks to choose from right now, and they keep entering the race! Former Governor of Massachusetts Deval Patrick didn’t even declare candidacy for the race until Thursday, November 14, less than three months away from the pivotal, game-changing Iowa primaries. Depending on how Thanksgiving dinners go, I wouldn’t be surprised to see more people join the running just to spite their armchair-reclining, opinion-loving uncles. Medicare for all who want it? Pistol Pete Buttigieg (for the hoopers: not Maravich) has quite literally got you covered. Major gun control reform and help navigating a pesky high school breakup? Elizabeth Warren is eager to share her plans for both. Exposing Donald Trump for what he really is: a fraud and a failure? You bet your bottom dollar that the ultimate fun, rich, restaurant-owner-type-of-guy Tom Steyer has got you covered in that department (re: every YouTube advertisement ever.) Choosing a country-altering solution is hard when you’re hearing many of the same things in regard to presidential policy and procedure. After a while, all of these things start to get blended into the chock-full Fruit Ninja that is our abundant Democratic candidate pool. If only there was a way to help… Thanks to a highly informative dog breed book I got when I was a chubby fifth grader with the burning need for my more creative opinions to be public, I might be of service to you. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, (some of) the 2020 Democratic presidential candidates as canines. Grab your primary ballots and your Purina—it’s going to be a ruff ride. 1) Joe Biden: Golden Retriever This one goes without saying. It’s a tale as old as time; much like Joe Biden, Golden Retrievers have been adored by the public for quite some time. They’re loveable, care a lot about the people around them and aim to please a lot of people. Potential cons? A little slower than other candidates/breeds, a little goofier and potentially too affectionate in some social situations. 2) Cory Booker: Dalmatian Dalmatians are an underappreciated source of strength in their community, serving as the official canine of the firehouse—not any ordinary feat. Sen. Cory Booker reigns supreme in his home state of New Jersey as a man of the people; in his early political years, he often advocated for the poor and marginalized groups in Newark. However, despite continuously serving his people, like a Dalmatian, Sen. Booker often goes unappreciated against the others running the political landscape. Though they’re a strong, uniquely beautiful, black-spotted breed, you don’t see many Dalmatians in the popularity contest. It’s the same for Sen. Booker—vital yet underutilized. 3) Pete Buttigieg: Beagle Meager, mild and innocent yet affirmed in their views, Buttigieg gives off strong Beagle vibes. Perhaps it’s his seemingly smaller head with prominent ears combo, but that’s the canine comparison that seems the most obvious to this writer. As a smaller dog with strong, instilled hound tendencies, a Beagle knows how to assert themselves for what they desire through their skills. Like a Beagle, Buttigieg has moved into the top of the polls by being himself when the world thought otherwise of him. Though small in popularity to begin with, Mayor Buttigieg of South Bend, Indiana, has focused himself into strong contention through his own individualistic ways—small yet mighty in confidence. 4) Tulsi Gabbard: German Shepherd Rep. Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii is the ultimate warrior. In her numerous roles within the Hawaii Army National Guard since 2003, Gabbard has been deployed to Iraq and Kuwait and served as the former Vice Chair of the Democratic National Committee. Her experiences and hard-pressed personality have given her the fighter persona in this presidential race. Similar to a Gabbard, a German Shepherd gives off the idea of being forceful in their ways. They’re a symbol of dominance and persistence through their own determination. Active in intelligence and strength like her canine counterpart, Gabbard is looked over as a potentially threatening candidate due to her powerful prowess when in reality, it’s all because she deeply cares about the issues at hand in America. Additionally, just like German Shepherds and other members of the herding group, Gabbard is top notch in blue-collar areas.

The Doggone Dilemma 5) Bernie Sanders: Bloodhound This one couldn’t be more straightforward. Bloodhounds are unconventional in their qualities, knowing exactly how to sniff out a problem and fix it. Bloodhounds aren’t popular due to drool and coming off as a less than exciting dog breed. Much like Bernie Sanders, bloodhounds aren’t popular amongst the older crowd because the older people want a dog that at the very least acts younger than they do. In addition, I would add that the drool is just as unappealing to old people as the idea of socialism is. Yes, do the math: The drool is equivalent to socialism—try to keep up. Plus, at the very least, both Bernie and Bloodhounds have seen less wrinkly days. 6) Tom Steyer: Chihuahua Yippy is the word that comes to mind when I think of a Chihuahua. A lot of them just act unequivocally frantic; in a sense, I see Tom Steyer as acting the same way. Chihuahuas aren’t a bad option by any means, they’re just generally thought over because people usually want more out of a dog than a spastic, six-pound ball of fluff. Billionaire Tom Steyer, similarly, isn’t a bad candidate but just isn’t the best option at all. His platform focuses on things that aren’t major issues in the 2020 presidential race, and he essentially is trying to prove himself as a better, more holistic businessman than Donald Trump. His ideas aren’t bad, but you know that he sits in the backseat of this race kind of like Bruiser the Chihuahua sat in Elle Woods’ flashy pink purse in “Legally Blonde.” I’ll leave you with this: Who are the usual suspects when you think of Chihuahua owners? Old, stupidly rich elitists from metropolitan spots like New York City—an exact description of Tom Steyer. 7) Elizabeth Warren: Boxer Passionate and personable is an understatement. Much like Vermont Sen. Sanders, Sen. Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts is one who cares deeply about the issues at hand. However, the main difference between her and Sanders is her ability to express her love for politics. Much like a Boxer, Elizabeth Warren is firm in her views, confident in herself and will jump in your lap and be in your face letting you know about every plan she’s got for the country. A Boxer could be standing firm at the door of your house one minute, chest puffed out because they heard an unsettling noise; then, within seconds, they’re speeding around the house looking for their favorite chew toy and coming to sit on your lap. Like a Boxer, Elizabeth Warren knows what she wants, but she’s going to make sure she’s in tune with the people around her first before anything. 8) Andrew Yang: Standard Poodle Money talks with this breed. They just look rich, with some of them shaved on parts of their legs and having fur near their paws that are thick and look like Ugg Boots. Yang is the creator of Venture for America, a program which disperses two-year fellowships to those who are breaking into their startup businesses. He’s rich, and Standard Poodles look wealthier than other dog breeds, plain and simple. There’s more to Yang, as well as Standard Poodles, than the first glance, dating profile sort of knowledge we have of them. However, there’s such a big hump to get over that first immediate thought of wealth that are assimilated into both their personas; in essence, with both Yang and Standard Poodles, it’s tough to see more than dollar signs. 9) Marianne Williamson: Lhasa Apso Williamson, besides being a New York Times bestselling author, non-profit organizer and activist, is a 2020 Democratic candidate running on a platform of spiritual leadership. There’s less focus on the issues at hand than there is on peace and prosperity being achieved in the end. Yes, there’s tangible ways to get there that she’s outlined, but her main goal, one that Saturday Night Live has mockingly highlighted, is love and happiness. Now, in a terrible transition, have you seen a Lhasa Apso? It’s one of those dogs with so much fur that it can’t see and kind of looks like the mop grandmother keeps in the corner of her basement. Williamson and Lhasa Apsos: Both absolutely wonderful and well-intentioned yet completely blinded from reality. 2020 is just a woof, bark and a growl away from coming into the foreground and, with a plethora of worthy, passionate Democratic presidential candidates, homework needs to be done on who we believe is best to take the ticket. To the people, in order to form a more perfect union: I know it can be ruff, but this country needs all of us. In these dog days of our arguably most pivotal election cycle, individual action and support for change is paramount to the welfare of our United States of America.

Main Street

Winter 2019