RIP MTV

Music Version Television is dead. It's been dead. Long since forgotten.

Michael made you, Spring Break made you naughty, TRL was iconic (CARSONNNNN), and all your stupid, trashy Jersey Shores, Teen Moms, The Hills (even Real World is lame now) and whatever other shows DESTROYED YOU.

You told us never to turn our back on the music. Look what you've done.

I have no where to go to find new artists. I have no idea what a music video is anymore. WHY IS THERE EVEN A VMAs since there is NO OUTLET TO VIEW THEM ON? (sorry BET, CMT, VH1, you've never cut it).

MTV, you were the last remaining hope for a music generation. You weren't taken over by disgusting reality shows and you kept it real and true to musical roots.

John Norris and Sway kept music education alive. Carson kept videos alive. Artists could make it with MTV.

Now, there is no platform and no voice to good tunes.

Real music fans have no where to go.


If I wanted a trailer park, I'd go find one.

Why Does Love Need A Holiday?

I've always disliked Valentine's Day whether it be because of the chocolate coma leading up to and the let down after, the bitter and cynical nature of my ways since I've never had the conventional Valentine (single's awareness day!), or knowing it's not simple anymore like in elementary school where everyone made a box and everyone received a cute Disney-themed valentine.

Year after year I've watched the mania and over-hype. Husbands and boyfriends freak out about finding a dozen red roses (let alone the price of them) with a box of chocolates or some fancy dinner and weekend getaway. Not to mention, he better propose (how cliche!). Wives and girlfriends expect to be pampered and showered with all of these things and maybe a little extra.

Because....why?

Because that date on the calendar says so? Since when does love include expectations and pressure to outdo last year's surprise?

Honestly, Valentine's Day is a joke and a scam.

Love is not a holiday and there should never be so much emphasis on one day. If someone I'm in love with has to wait an entire year to do all these nice things for me then forget it, don't waste your time (more so mine).

If it's really, truly love then there is no price tag and it is no trouble to surprise me with flowers any old time just because. If it were real then I'd be swept off my feet just by seeing and spending time with him after a long day (of course, a few actual scenarios of "being swept off my feet" wouldn't hurt every now and again).

Real love does not feel obliged to show it on a "holiday." It doesn't demand or expect. And it surely does not take all this effort to show someone they're loved.

Sure, I am a hopeless romantic (who isn't, honestly), but I also know it can't be everyday. If anyone wants to surprise me then do it on a day other than February 14. It would mean so much more to me just as it would to the other person.

If I ever find love, there will be no Valentine's. I want to relax with him all night, have a home cooked meal, and remember why it is I love him.

Really, why do you have to show someone you love them? Isn't looking them in the eye and saying "I love you" enough?

How beautifully simple is that?

Love is the little things. It's simple, kind, and not meant for an over-commercialized holiday (get your stuffed heart bears, candies, and sickening red, white, and pink whatevers...such keepsakes).

The injustice of it all.

The Will of Isis

"I am nature, the universal Mother, mistress of all the elements, primordial child of time, sovereign of all things spiritual, queen of the dead, queen of the ocean, queen also of the immortals, the single manifestation of all gods and goddesses that are, my nod governs the shining heights of Heavens, the wholesome sea breezes. Though I am worshiped in many aspects, known by countless names ... some know me as Juno, some as Bellona ... the Egyptians who excel in ancient learning and worship call me by my true name...Queen Isis."


Pharaoh forever etched in jade and lapis.
_________________________________

The dawning of choice.
By sundown Egypt will worship her Queen.
Eternally.

The chamber of women tingles.
Our gold-plated sandals echo insecurities.
Silk curtains waltz to tension.
Platters of polished grapes wait, untouched.
Roman wine in ivory cups stand, stillness.

Pharaoh's voice calls,
We, women, stand in transparent garb,
Charcoal eyes fix nervously to the tiled floor.

Gold wristbands clink as women
are announced in Pharaoh's private rooms.
Pharaoh must choose his mate.

Reed fans announce my arrival.
The last.
My heart barely whispers,
My dress glimmers against my shape,
Tickling the desire of Pharaoh's council.

I am something to look forward to, My Pharaoh.

I feel Pharaoh look at my face, a pallet.
On a sudden urge, my head inclines to him.
A smile.
Queen Isis possesses me,
She wishes me to lay with Pharaoh.

Snakes doze in the sun.
One watches me and slithers its tongue.
It suddenly glides toward me,
Coiling itself around my feet.
A sign.
Isis entwines my fate to Egypt.

The Pharaoh is powerless against the will of Isis.
__________________________________

I am immortally etched in amethyst and turquoise.

Review: Open By Andre Agassi

"Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

-Excerpt pp. 298-299

I grew up with Andre Agassi. He was and still is, my mother's favorite tennis player.
I remember going on summer vacation with my family. Our beach weeks always coincided with The Championships Wimbledon. The only time my mom would leave the beach during the day was when Andre was on TV.
This is how I remember him most. Me, a little kid, watching this bald guy move the other guy across the net back and forth. I had to ask what all this thirty-love-deuce stuff was all about, but this is how I learned about the game. I learned from Andre. I knew when my mom shouted, "Go, Andre, GO!" that he was winning, that he was punishing the opponent.

What I didn't know was his struggle with tennis. I only witnessed his rebirth in the sport, better yet his re-commitment to it. No one in the media or his fan base ever knew the real Andre Agassi, at least not until Open.

At first, the only storyline reported was his flirtation with crystal meth and his subsequent lie to the ATP. People who have admired Agassi all their lives and modeled their tennis after him, publicly berated him for it.

"It's tainted his career."
"It's terrible for tennis and it's fans."
"Every win in 1997 should be forfeited along with prize money."
"Why would he now admit this lie?"

The likes of Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, Marat Safin, and Martina Navratilova have all "lost respect" for the sportsman in Agassi.

What I want to know, truthfully, is how many of those naysayers read the entire book, read the words: the soul of Andre Agassi?

When I reached "the chapter," I knew Agassi had no idea what he was doing, only that he wanted an escape. His marriage is unhealthy, his tennis is struggling, and his family is suffering. He wants an end to the pain but he doesn't want to face it. He hits rock bottom because all the warring fractions inside of him have now caught up: the dragon and his father, perfection, winning and losing, hating tennis but having nothing else to do.

We've witnessed athletes falling from grace. Recently, Mark McGwire and Tiger Woods. In the past, MJ and O.J..

When athletes aren't happy with themselves, they fall. Athletes are human, they are just like us. They can turn toward drugs that offer relief from pain (or to buff up the body) among other recreational activities. They make unhealthy choices because they're so blinded by their suffering.

Everyone has points in their life where they withdraw from the world, even themselves, because it's easier to run and hide from the reflection in the mirror.

Andre did just that. His life, up until '97, was held together in a delicate balance. Always with a chip on his shoulder and hatred, he hit the wall. He needs control but is too afraid to take it.

He only makes it out of the bottom from wanting change, from facing demons, from finding new inspiration.

Mandela.

"No matter where you are in life, there is always more journeying ahead."

Andre finds inspiration in caring and educating others. His school becomes his motivation for playing tennis. It even helps him become quite fond of the sport he hates decisively.

The second storyline: Pete Sampras. He's hurt by the remarks reported in Andre's book and wants to have a sit-down chat, man-to-man, about them. It's also reported, Pete hasn't read the book. I'm sure if this sit-down chat ever comes to fruition, it's sure to be like one of their tennis matches: epic, thrilling, dangerous.

The problem dear, Petey, is you neglected to read the book before getting all emotional and making public statements.

Andre and Pete. Pete and Andre. Synonymous with one another. Andre (and Pete) know, if it weren't for Pete, Andre would've won more. But there is respect to the highest degree.
When Pete had food poisoning before a match, instead of playing on time, Andre agreed to postpone it. Andre lost.

Andre takes Pete to the musical Grease to watch Brooke. His description:

"I like Broadway. I find the ethos of the theater familiar. The work of a Broadway actor is physical, strenuous, demanding, and the nightly pressure is intense...If they don't give their best, they know it, and if they don't know it, the crowd lets them know it.
All this is lost on Pete, however. From the opening number he's yawning, fidgeting, checking his watch. He doesn't like the theater, and he doesn't get actors, since he's never pretended anything in his life."

Pete is Andre's antithesis. Sturdy, dependable, dull, robotic.

"There's so much I'd like to ask him- about how he stays so focused, about whether or not he regrets devoting so much of his life to tennis. Our different personalities, our ongoing rivalry, precludes such intimacy. I realize that despite the effect we've had on each other, despite our quasi-friendship, we're strangers, and may always be. I wish him the best, and I mean it."

Andre knows Pete is a man he could never be, and there were times he wished he could be. He knows without Pete, there would be no Andre or there would be an Andre but without a fueled, competitive nemesis.

Maybe what Pete really wants to ask him is why he wrote in the book about tipping the valet boy only a dollar when he has millions. Maybe he's embarrassed. Sure keeps a lock on his dirty laundry.

The third storyline: Andre's just trying to sell books. It's not him being honest. He doesn't hate tennis, he's only making a story.

I've come to realize, Andre Agassi is one of the most misunderstood sportsmen of all time.

When he first started, Andre was "the punk," with jean shorts, Mohawk, and earring.

Image Is Everything. The slogan sportswriters likened to his inner being, his philosophy and religion. They called him an empty image for a line in a commercial. They treat him as a rebel, a kid who doesn't have what it takes.

When in reality, it's a premature balding kid who worries more about his hairpiece staying on during the French Open final and making his own choices about his life, than what image he projects. In fact, he can't really believe that people would want to put on wigs and bright shirts to be like him.

He says,

"Transformation is change from one thing to another, but I started as nothing. I didn't transform, I formed. When I broke into tennis, I was like most kids: I didn't know who I was, and I rebelled at being told by older people. I think older people make this mistake all the time with younger people, treating them as finished products when in fact they're in process...I didn't alter my image, I discovered it. I didn't change my mind. I opened it."

All throughout his career, Andre was doubted. Doubted he could win eight majors, the career slam and the gold medal (the only player to ever do so) and give millions of his own money to his academy for children.

For a man just selling novels, I'm sure he'll give most of what he makes to his academy, to helping others because that's what is most important to him, the real him.

He gives back more than you, so don't be brass enough to say he's a cocky bastard wanting more for himself.



Open is by far the best autobiography I have ever read.

Andre is pure.

It's honest. It's deep, powerful, and an inspiration.

He has been utterly selfless in sharing his story, his life. The confusion and pain in being a child forced to do what he hates. The young pro making all the mistakes on the court, off it, in love, in relationships, and in image. The pit of 1997. The turning point. Starting over. The re-commitment to the game and finding love in it. The elder statesman, the ambassador, that everyone looks up to and feels is the realest person in sports.

Andre Agassi is as charismatic, charming, and hilarious as I've ever witnessed in an athlete.

He is raw. Unfinished. Imperfect.

He has helped me love tennis.

"The scoreboard said I lost today, but what the scoreboard doesn't say is what it is I have found. Over the last twenty-one years I have found loyalty: You have pulled for me on the court, and also in life. I have found inspiration: You have willed me to success, sometimes even in my lowest moments. And I have found generosity: You have given me your shoulders to stand on, to reach for my dreams- dreams I could have never reached without you. Over the last twenty-one years I have found you, and I will take you and the memory of you with me for the rest of my life."

-Andre's farewell speech at the 2006 U.S. Open.

It's giving back to his fans. It's a note to all those who've helped him on his path and all those who didn't. It's a note to himself on his goals to keep moving, living.

He's determined, even in retirement, to make a difference.

I think what is most important about Open is how Andre has helped me put words to the pains of growing up and forming an identity.

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself.
I never knew this was an acceptable point of view. Now I steer by it. Now it's my North Star. And that's what I'll tell the students. Life is a tennis match between polar opposites. Winning and losing, love and hate, open and closed. It helps to recognize that painful fact early. Then recognize the polar opposites within yourself, and if you can't embrace them, or reconcile them, at least accept them and move on. The only thing you cannot do is ignore them.
What other message could I hope to deliver? What other message could they expect from a ninth-grade dropout whose proudest accomplishment is his school?"

For the sportswriters and athletes and fans who doubt the sincerity of Andre's book, I shall say this, and only this on the matter:

Andre Agassi is more Open than you or I will ever be.

Religious Conviction

Or distrust, as it were.

God. Gods. A God.

El. El Shaddai. Elohim. Adonai.
Hera. Hermes. Demeter.
Amun. Ra. Isis. Osiris. Bast.
Vishnu. Shiva. Lalita. Rama.
Allah. Tanri. Khoda.
Jehovah. Yeshua. Despotes.
Zeus. Apollo. Aphrodite. Ares. Athena.
Jesus. The Holy Trinity. Yahweh.

A Mist. A Shroud. A Veil.

Unknown.

Simply Being.



I mistrust religion. It is an institution that in many ways controls a lot of people. Which ever religion you come from, sit back and think about it.

Think about those people who live and die by what your religious doctrine says. Those who worship and feel punishment based on bad deeds. Those who think every horrible event in this world is God's wrath.

You, yourself, might be among those people.

I don't disrespect you but never will I agree with you.

Nowadays, religion is a strategic ploy to control people. Example: the Christian faith.

How many different fractions of Christianity are there? How many different translations are there of the Bible?

Simple answer: too many to count.

People like to create their own beliefs of religion and change the good book for their own purposes.

A God's purpose is not to be divided but to love and be fulfilled.

This independence from the true roots of religions into separate entities has created more divisions than ever should have come from a belief system.

People have started wars over religion. Over forcing entire peoples to believe this "one right religion." Over seeking control over land, resources and human laborers.

Tell me this isn't true. Tell me religion hasn't been corrupted many times over.

The purity is long lost.
The belief has long been tainted.
The trust has forever diminished.

In this bleak outlook on religion, I must be an atheist, correct?

No.

On my good days, I am simply a Christian. A believer in God and his relationships. He died for me and therefore expects nothing of me but to love him and love all others. I don't need to attend church or read the Bible to hear my weekly gospels. I am a child of God. He expects me to sin and to ask for forgiveness and continue living. He is the light and gospel within.

(I've never put my convictions of my faith that loud in writing or in voice...what a step. I guess. Chances are those feelings will change).

On other days, I believe in "A God" or a being or a cosmic force that is more powerful than anything else. I find comfort in knowing something is around us but distrust in what it actually is.

And still there are times I'd like to be a follower of Judaism, of Islam, of Hindu, of Buddha. I am educated on many beliefs, but I'd like more. I'd like to drown myself in texts and soak up the information like a sponge.

I'd like to wallow in the confusion and all the unknowns. I'd like to compare the creation stories and the likenesses of "God(s)" in all religions.

I'd like to become a wanderer. A person believing in nothing and in everything.

I may be blasphemous or a heretic but I am a believer in simplicity, in relationships, in love.

And I believe that is what religious institutions have lost and squandered on money and power.

Stigma of Poop

*Note* If your one of those people, male or female, who can't stand it when people mention poop, then don't read ahead. Just know, though, this is about you.



This past weekend I had one of my famous getaways out of the stix and into the city to be with my best friends. We always go out, hang out, do whatever and somewhere along those lines, poop always comes up. Probably because my two best guy friends like to pick on my best girl friend.

She hears poop and goes "EWWWWWW." You know, the "OMG-you're-disgusting-how-could-you-say-that" type of EW.

What about me you say? Well, I literally don't give a crap.

More context: We were eating a late lunch (and I mean late as in my stomach was eating itself) at Bob Evans. One of the guys said poop and instantly the other was off and running. One of those superhero tag team pairs. My girl friend started her rant of stops and the guys kept running.

They asked her, "Why won't you say poop?"

"It's gross."

They look at me and I smile and say, "Poop."

The boys' response, "Wow, you said POOP."

They thought it was amazing. Girls don't say poop. They might not even poop.

It's amazing that there could possibly be either a phobia or a stigma with saying poop or pooping.

Girls think it's gross yet they poop. Guys love it (cause it makes them feel so good).

Case and point. My girl friend, like a lot of my girl friends, think talking about going number two is appalling and disgusting. They think not mentioning the subject ever will make it seem like, as females, we don't poop and are incapable of pooping. We will be more ladylike in the long run without the devilish word.

My guy friends love to say after a stomach gorging, "I have to poop," or after walking out of the bathroom, "Don't go in there," with a wink and a smile. Pooping for guys is in itself an accomplishment. I've heard discussions about "turd sizes" and wanting to take a picture of a "precious poop." They're more manly for it. It's expected to be a conversation topic.

Now of course both sides have there exceptions. Girls who discuss poop are oftentimes looked at negatively by fellow gals and guys think them more as a guy. This is mostly the same for guys with poop phobia.

It's natural. We all do it. It's for the purpose of our digestive systems (and possibly to teach us what not to eat). We have to poop.

If we acknowledge babies' pooping (wayyy more disgusting-like a bad smelling A-bomb), why is there such a qualm about talking about "grown-up" poop?

Can it be disgusting? Yes. I don't recommend discussing that.

But what's the problem in saying poop?

It keeps me healthy and able to eat more. I have no problems with poop.

So put an end to the word stigma and admit it...

EVERYBODY POOPS.

Toxic Fan Base

Baltimore Colts. Indianapolis Colts. Baltimore Ravens.

TOXIC.

I've lived in Maryland my entire life.

My team is the Indianapolis Colts. My second team is the Baltimore Ravens.

See how this gets tricky?

Up until age 14 or 15, I had never heard of the Baltimore Colts leaving its home in the middle of a winter night in 1984 and uprooting an entire fan base of Johnny U and the wonder years.
They were bitter, understandably so. Their sports legacy was taken away and replaced in Indy.

But after all these years and the founding of the Ravens and all their success (see Ray Lewis' defense and the Super Bowl XXXV title), the fans who were around when the Colts left still hold the grudge and wish nothing but ill-will to Indy.

I can understand not liking Indy but why is there hatred? I guess I'm apart of the new-generation fan and I don't quite get or care about old loyalties.

I am an Indy fan because of Peyton Manning. Peyton went to UofTennessee which is my favorite college team because my step-father went to law school there and it has stuck to me. I followed Peyton to the NFL and found the Indy Colts to be an organization that runs itself the right way and conducts itself as a professional business. I respect that and I respect what their athletes do on and off the field (minus the Marvin Harrison fallout). I am not a fair-weather fan and I am not a "Raven-hater."

Actually, I feel horrible living in Maryland and loving the Ravens when I love the Colts more. I give the Ravens as much respect as I do the Colts because they also run their organization professionally and demand their athletes to be not only the best but also competitors. They have the defense of the decade, in my opinion, and that doesn't come without hard work and dedication.

That's why this weekend with the AFC Divisional game, I'm torn. I love the Colts and I love the Ravens. It's utter blasphemy living in Maryland. I want them both to win and to go to the Superbowl, but I can't have it that way.

Ultimately, I want the Colts to win but I won't be shocked if the Ravens hand it to them.

I think both teams are past the Colts leaving Baltimore. They are new-age athletes, where let's face it, these indiscretions aren't as important as they used to be. They are hungry for competition and winning the game, no matter who it's against. Having extra motivation because of the opponent and their combined pasts has nothing to do with it.

All I know is older fans hate the colts and hate me when I wear my Colts jersey in their presence.

Even my grandma says the Indy Colts aren't in the right place. She is a Baltimore Colts fan and it still sits uneasy in her stomach how the fallout went. She will go Ravens every time against the Colts. Every time.

I, on the other hand, want success for both. It is possible to be fans of both organizations and athletes.

I just wish it could be without all the toxicity. Without the hatred. The anger.

Baltimore fans, just remember this: Johnny U and the best NFL game ever will always, ALWAYS, belong to you, to us. Indy can never claim it as its own.

Besides, Indy has a one Peyton Manning for its own right.

So let's at least let bygones be bygones and let's relish in the competition this weekend.

Student Finds Reward in Mentoring Youth

The Minaret Published February 20, 2009

Last Friday, I had the opportunity, being a member of the Diversity Fellowship, to go Blake High School to talk to students in the AVID program about diversity.

AVID is a way to prepare high school students for college.
Typically these kids will be the first ones in their families to attend a college or university and this program is designed to teach students how to apply for financial aid and how to make a resume.
It’s the ultimate program to give kids the chance to make their dreams come true.

So going to Blake reminded me of what high school was like. Everyone had their comfort zones and who cared about diversity or even what it was.

In one class that is how one of the girls acted. She had the look on her face like none of it mattered and what was the point. All of us noticed but kept on going through our presentation.

Afterwards, we had forgotten about her, until about fifteen minutes later she came to talk to us on our break.

She came to apologize to us about her behavior.

It’s not that she didn’t think diversity was important; it’s that she didn’t really know what she identified with.

Her parents are divorced and her father has never been around.
She knows her mom is Puerto Rican. All of her friends are mostly African American.

This has led her to an unsettled identity and a life vastly different than her peers.

She continued to open up to us about how at sixteen she has already faced pressure to join a gang, to be a drug dealer, and to have had boys treat her like a piece of meat.

Also she takes care of her five younger brothers and sisters at night because her mom works the night shift. She cooks dinner, cleans, and puts them to bed so they don’t have bad dreams at night.

She asked us how to deal with people making judgments about her and if it would get better. She also said that we were the first people she’d ever really opened up too, including her mom.

And sitting there, I really took it all to heart.

I was able, along with my peers, to help this girl who was on the verge of tears to see how much she mattered.

I got to express to her that it’s okay to be confused and to not always be happy.
Most importantly, I got to encourage her to make a difference with other people through her story.

I sat there and almost cried along with her. Life up to this point has been hard but it has been nothing like what this girl has had to face.

Even through all the emotions, that experience made the trip to Blake High worth it. It made me feel like something good came out of that day.

It’s been the most rewarding conversation of my life and it put everything into perspective.

Popular Media Blinds Society To Other Shades Of Beauty

The Minaret Published February 11 2009

Ladies: Taye Diggs or Shemar Moore?

Gentlemen: Tyra Banks or Naomi Cambell?

All four of these celebrities are gorgeous’mdash;no doubt about it.

The women are two of the most legendary models in fashion history, and the men are actors that would make any woman swoon.

However, do you prefer one over the other?

Could it be because one has lighter skin than the other?

Or, perhaps, darker than the other?

It’s not something that’s easy to talk about considering the history of this country.

What has emerged from the legacy of racial discrimination is the culturally-grown ideal that lighter skin is better and more acceptable.

European features have been the ‘it’ features when discussing the perfect body type, which have been used for everything from selling beauty magazines to segregation.

Even with the abolishment of slavery and civil rights’ movements for all peoples (not that they are completely successful), there is still a constant pressure to be something other than what we were born as.

The images plastered all over the media give us a poor picture of what is attractive.

To businesses, beauty is a commodity, which is partially why they peddle one narrow image of beauty.

Their first job is to sell you ‘beauty’ and the harder it is to attain the more money they make.

It is our duty to end the circus that has become the skin discussion and to redefine what is beautiful.

Skin color is not only tied to race but has historically been tied to social class.
Have you ever heard of the paper bag test?

If I were darker than the color of the paper bag, I would be considered working class.

If I were lighter-skinned, then I would be upper class and able to work inside away from the sun.

The proliferation of skin color ideals are worsened by images of ‘beautiful’ men and women in the media.

Many popular African American, Latino and Asian stars are of mixed heritages.

Beyonce, Selma Hayek and Lucy Liu are all lighter-skinned than the average person of those races.

Yet, this is the image that is fed to society.

This exposure to what is popular and beautiful has forced people to change their appearance.

Some darker-skinned individuals have tried bleaching their skin to conform to what society has deemed worthy.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the infatuation people of European-descent have with being darker or tanned.

Both bleaching and tanning procedures are harmful to peoples’ bodies and to their ability to love who they are.

It’s ironic to think one side wants what the other has and vice versa.

If we, the younger generation, took control of the discussion of what is sociably acceptable, then maybe we could put an end to the body fascism against others and, ultimately, ourselves.

We nit-pick against one another because we aren’t happy with who we are.

I say end the social and cultural construct of color.

We have to discuss and be open to learn how someone else feels.

Who we are has nothing to do with whatever color skin we were born with.

We have the power to make everyone feel comfortable in their own skin.

From the darkest black to the lightest white and all the browns and tans in between, we have to change the perception of what’s beautiful.

So let’s talk about it. Let’s transform beauty.

Over-Caffeinated College Students Survive Work And School Buzz To Buzz

The Minaret Published January 20, 2009

Walk past Einstein’s or Jazzman’s and the distinct aroma of coffee wafts to your nose. Whether black or loaded, coffee and other caffeinated products have become a necessity for students in college.

Our campus is no different, helping to support the findings of a recent poll claiming Tampa to be the most caffeinated city in the United States.

For those of us who let the alarm go off three or four times before sliding out of bed in the morning know how our bodies ache for an eight-hour slumber.

Without a cup of tea or coffee there would be no hope for the rest of the day.

Caffeine has become a staple in many of our diets because of the stimulating affects it has on our nervous systems.

Coffee, tea, energy drinks, sodas, chocolate and caffeine pills serve to boost our energy throughout the day.

Students develop a caffeine dependency on the belief that it will give energy boosts without requiring a lifestyle change.

In fact, it’s easy to see why many students have a hard time not taking a cup of coffee to class just to stay awake, even when the affect is temporary and more caffeine will have to be taken in a few hours.

College students’ cravings for caffeine are encouraged by its availability. Every dining area serves caffeinated drinks and there are vending machines in most classrooms and dorm buildings.

There are also close to 30 locations where students can satisfy a caffeine fix within walking distance of campus.
Starbucks and other coffee houses are open late to accommodate study habits. Walgreens and other stores sell liters of soda at cheap prices. The availability of caffeine makes it hard to turn away from.
At one point and time throughout every student’s college’ career they use caffeine to get through all-nighters and exams.

In this way, I’m not sure if caffeine use on our campus has anything to do with Tampa being named the most caffeinated city.

Caffeine and college seem to be synonymous wherever you go. Students depend on chocolate for comfort, coffee and tea to wake up in the morning, energy drinks and soda for quick doses of sugar to make it through multiple classes, work, papers and exams in one day.

Without it, what would happen to us? Even more students would sleep in class (minus the ones that already do) and the rest would be a grumpy mess.
Two-hour classes would become unbearable and exams would be impossible.

Caffeine has turned out to be the savior for attention spans and finding the edge when maximum production is necessary. All of us have turned to it for guidance and wisdom before our brains malfunction.

Caffeine has become an integral part of our lives, telling us our bodies aren’t as young as they used to be and sadly, getting up for cartoons is no longer possible.
Caffeine, then, is the only way to cope.

Reading Books Remains A Novel Idea Among College Students

The Minaret Published January 27 2009


‘It takes too long!’
‘I read slower!’
‘I don’t understand what I’m reading!’
‘This doesn’t have anything to do with my life!’
The idea of reading a book or a newspaper has become almost unthinkable to many young Americans. ‘
Increased media consumption from computers, movies, video games and other gizmos has made the prospect of reading a novel unappealing, even a waste of time.
‘
And most of those excuses come after only from reading the first page.’
When a professor assigns a 300-page text, many students grumble about having to read all those pages, which is followed by mentioning of ‘Spark Notes’ after class.
The student-reader mentality is negative from the beginning.’
It may be from being forced to read for a class or from never being open to the prospect of enjoying words on a page.
It’s not a big screen with actors and intense drama or a music track with a high-octane beat.
It’s exploring characters and plot with every turn of the page.’
It’s reading in your head quietly.
This quiet may be in fact why reading unnerves some students to the point where they depend on audio books to get them through classes.’
Audio book popularity has taken off because they’re easy to get a hold of and even easier to play on an iPod or on a computer.’
Even more appealing is the ability to do many other things while listening to a book.’ It’s like baby sitting sleeping kids: no work.’
The problem with audio book multi-tasking is how more attention is being paid to other activities than the book being read aloud.’
For an audio book to be of good use, students should be actively reading along in the text to retain key information.
Different media outlets have led our generation and younger ones to depend upon the ‘WOW’ tactics that are produced causing novels to be classified as boring and old.’
To most students, reading is dreaded instead of appreciated.’
This has led to the creation of an entirely unimaginative group of individuals that will someday rule the country and the world.
Is imagination important?
Most certainly.’ On the scale of one to ten, it’s an eleven.’
Where is imagination acquired? Novels.
Novels that can take us into different worlds and out of comfort zones, to the past and to the future.’
Reading is one of the most important skills necessary for any job or any daily activity.’
The more one reads the faster you’ll be able to read and the easier it become to discover meaning in the text.
It builds vocabulary and improves grammar skills.’ Do yourself a favor and take a chance.’
Find a book you are interested in.’
Pick a day when you have nothing to do and read for fun.’
It doesn’t have to be all day, try an hour at first and you might be surprised at how enjoyable reading becomes.’
Soon the pages will be turning and you’ll learn more at the end of it than you would from a video game or from Spark Notes.’
I’m sure of it.

Stem-Cell Research Support

Grandfather’s Alzheimer’s Diagnosis Prompts Stem Cell Research Support

The Minaret Published October 12, 2008

Everything’s gone.

You can quickly have everything and just as quickly lose your memory. I know first-hand what it is like to feel you’re losing it all. My grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at 77 in 2003.

When he was first diagnosed, it didn’t register with me what was going to happen to him. I thought Alzheimer’s was like the flu: that it would go away. I quickly learned, however, that the disease wasn’t going anywhere but the grandfather I knew was.

Five years after his diagnosis, the disease, sometimes described as “creeping brain degeneration,” has taken its toll on my grandfather and my family.

At first, he could still remember day-to-day and minute-to-minute conversations. Then he couldn’t remember that he had asked how I was doing five times in a three-minute span.

Now, he is in a nursing home because my family can’t take care of him properly.

He has become a child again. When he speaks, it’s broken up and tangled. He calls me a boy because that’s all he can get out. He has no idea where he is or what’s happening to him. He has become aggressive at times and utterly helpless at others.

He’s constantly medicated with Alzheimer’s drugs that do nothing to prevent the disease from eating his memory. He knows who my mother is but he can’t remember that she is his daughter.

It’s one of the worst feelings in the world to watch someone that you love unconditionally be reduced to a medicated vegetable.

My first hand experience with this disease has made me a supporter of stem-cell research. What my family and many other families have had to go through is horrible, and I can’t grasp why people oppose research so much.

I understand religious and pro-life arguments but what I can’t agree with are those who oppose it without knowing what it is. Or even those who oppose it and what if, down the road, they too are diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and they have to go through everything first hand that I and many others have witnessed.

I feel the opposition is in some ways selfish to their own causes.

The major argument with research is over embryonic stem cells. These cells are four to five day old embryos that are donated or scientifically made specifically for the purpose of study. They can be cloned so scientists can make multiple studies of a certain type of stem cell.

Opposing views believe the creation of an embryo automatically makes it is a life and its destruction is killing a life.

Also, when scientists clone embryonic stem cell lines for studies, controversy sprouts from the possibility of devaluing human life with reproductive cloning.

As a supporter of the research, I believe it is necessary to view embryos for scientific purposes only. They are in no way used to create life but are cloned and tested to find possible cures for diseases like Alzheimer’s, diabetes, and cancer. These tests could result in saving many lives.

These problems however are making it harder. Lack of funding and support is holding stem cell research, in its scientific infancy, back from major breakthroughs. It is imperative to this kind of research to help cure and possibly prevent anyone from having to go through what many families have to with Alzheimer’s.

I have to sit here and know there is nothing I can do to save my grandfather from forgetting who I am. But there are thousands of scientists working on stem cell research, which can make a difference and can potentially save millions of lives, if only we all supported the cause.

Every time I visit my grandfather in a nursing home, leaving is the hardest part.

He still remembers me. He says he loves me and holds me tight in his embrace. Leaving means I can’t look back and leaving means the possibility of a next time where my grandfather won’t remember I’m his granddaughter.

My grandfather has lost everything of who he was. He can’t be cured.

But stem cell research can be the cure to our parents’ generation and our generation from having to lose what means the most. And that’s everything.

Why Haiti?

Why Haiti? Ask yourself this question. Ponder it.

Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere with one of the highest population densities in the world and a land area about the size of the state of Maryland. The literacy rate among adults is around 50% and life expectancy is around 55 years.

70% of Haitian people live in poverty with an annual income of less than $400 USD per year.

Re-read that statistic. Let it sink in.

I've made over $400 for one paycheck. I can't even begin to imagine that much in a year. An entire year struggling to have food, water, and a proper shelter. Then add a family.

These are worse than dire conditions.

So after the 7.0 magnitude earthquake struck Haiti and over 30 after shakes continuing to measure a 5.0 magnitude, why has Haiti finally caught the attention of the world? With widespread destruction and loss of life, why has it taken a natural disaster to receive aid in the form of money, food, water, clothing, medicinal supplies as well as aid workers and doctors?

Why?

My next question I've heard from friends and Facebook posts: "Is God punishing Haiti? Is God punishing us with poverty, hurricanes and now earthquakes? Why, God, why?"

Honestly, God has nothing to do with it.

This is simply a horrific natural occurrence.
Haiti's geographic lie is unlucky enough to be along a fault line and the earth's tectonic plates are constantly moving. Is it a cruel irony? Yes, it is.

But in no way can a God be put into this equation. Not that I'm defending God. I simply believe mother nature is not under a God's power. A God does not control human actions or human independence.

Haiti has used its natural resources for food and firewood. Mountains have been stripped bare without replanting forests. Houses have been built without sturdy foundations or proper preparations for natural disasters like hurricanes and earthquakes (full knowing their geographical lie along fault lines and in the middle of the Atlantic's hurricane ally). Many people are unable to provide for themselves, let alone their families.

Not that any of these are to be blamed on the majority of Haitian people. Leadership has led the country to destructive ends. It will take more than just the country and its people to come out of poverty and now out of devastation.

Haiti is the black hole of the West much like most of Africa is in the East. It's forgotten and left to fend for itself when that is impossible without aid from the world.

I would like to believe after this catastrophe the world will take more notice of the needs of Haiti. I would hope they will stick around to rebuild the cities and towns, homes and lives, of all the people as well as help to find a way for Haiti to have jobs and income going to its people.

I hope but I don't believe any of that will happen. Countries jump to give aid and leave when things look better but aren't entirely fixed.

Countries give aid until their people complain about giving too much. (HEY PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES I'M TALKING TO YOU: "Obama's giving $100 million to Haiti.Where was that f'n money when we were in a f'n recession!?Why the hell r we helping Haiti when we have freezing starving people n our own country?Where was Haiti when we had Hurricane Katrina & 9/11?!F the USA and F Obama-Were not babysitters and we need to worry about our own.I am ...praying for Haiti & their families,but we need 2 get our shit together 1st.")

I guess my point is this: even our own starving, poverty-stricken people in the U.S. live better than those in Haiti and they need help now more than ever.

Other countries are selfish. People are selfish. You're going to whine and complain about a country sending aid when "we need it more" and you're going to complain the second we need aid and no one helps.

It's a double-edged sword of hypocrisy and it's lonely out on the top. You give and you receive. You're selfish and no one cares and no one responds when you need it the most.

If anything, this is a God's message to the rest of the world. It's about relationships, not about institutions or independence. It's about caring and respecting and coming to aid when aid is needed. It's about doing what's right for humanity, not about sitting back and taking everything for yourself.

Haiti may be poor but they are a proud people. They've asked for help because they sincerely need it. They will live on without or without help because that's how it has always been. They have more respect for one another than probably I have for my neighbor. They work together and give together. They live, love and die together.

Haitians are one and that's more than I can say for any other country.

They deserve our help and we should all be selfless enough to give it.

Ten dollars is a million to them.

Ten dollars is an opportunity to rebuild and to live.

Help. Give. Share. Love.