#volume21issue3

   On September 20, Category 5 Hurricane Maria slammed Puerto Rico (as a Category 4) with sustained winds of around 175 mph, obliterating homes, buildings, shelters, and lives. It was recorded as one of the largest natural disaster events in the past 80 years of Puerto Rican hurricane history.    Families and communities gathered in shelters and buildings specifically designed for natural disasters like these, only to be forced out again because of flooding and inevitable collapse. After the horrifying event passed through, residents of Puerto Rico feared the worst: deaths of loved ones, the apparent low chances of survival, and the long, grueling road to recovery. Maria left Puerto Rico in shambles with most of the island out of power and more than half with almost no clean drinking water.    The island is now something out of a nightmare. Hospitals are barely functioning and forced to turn away the injured, the expecting, and the dying due to the loss of electricity, medications, tools, and running water. Many families that live as far as sixty miles away from the closest town or city are trapped in their own homes in the mountainous regions of Puerto Rico.    Liquid earth came roaring down from the mountains filling and flooding small valley homes with heavy sediments, trees, and rocks. The power of the mudslide brought in mass amounts of debris, but also took the lives of several townspeople. Mudslides, which caused around 20 of the 34 (and counting) deaths, wiped out homes and even their vehicles, stranding them in the wilderness with no means of transportation or electrical connection. Two weeks after Maria made landfall on Puerto Rico, President Donald Trump finally made the trip to the island as well as the U.S. Virgin Islands. It was unquestionably nothing other than a political disaster. Trump tossed paper towels and toilet paper like basketballs into crowds during his tour, which caused an uprising in criticism from many because it was inappropriate and disrespectful to the island’s hurricane victims.    In addition to free-throwing toiletries into crowds, Trump congratulated Puerto Rico on only losing the sixteen people versus the “literally thousands of people” during the “real catastrophe like Katrina”. Since when does a real catastrophe not include getting leveled by two hurricanes back-to-back, losing an entire island’s supply of electricity, food and water, and have a climbing death toll? The ability to survive during a hurricane or losing a smaller number of people than Hurricane Katrina’s death toll is something that should not be congratulated. True, Maria may not have killed as many people as Katrina, but does that make the families of the thirty four (and most likely more) feel any better about the loss of their loved ones? “Proud” isn’t exactly the word these islands want to hear, especially from the U.S. President. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of compassion.    Another one of Trump’s class acts on tour was when he joked about how Puerto Rico “has thrown our budget a little out of whack” with the recovery effort costs and spending. As much as he may have thought he was lifting the spirits of the devastated islanders by telling salt-on-wound jokes, he received biting criticism from San Juan Mayor Carmen Yulin Cruz.    Cruz made pleas and cries for help for her citizens and people of Puerto Rico. “I am begging, begging that anyone that can hear us, to save us from dying,” the Mayor said. She also lashed out against Trump, questioning the lack of effort to help Puerto Rico with relief supplies with support from relief agencies. When Trump heard this, he attacked Cruz in a series of tweets, naturally taking personal offense; he said that she was very complimentary the week before, but now has the audacity to reprimand him about not responding to the hurricane quickly enough. Trump has made it clear that the toll of costs and spending are of higher value than helping an extremely vulnerable island full of 3 million U.S. citizens and their families.    Hurricane Maria brought the nation to become more aware of the horrors of storm impacts while being literally stranded on a remote island. One thing that arose from this event is the question of environmental racism and climate change.     Trump has acted towards the American citizens of Puerto Rico as if they were in an alien country. There is an apparent underlying racial bias as to how Puerto Ricans are treated compared to the rest of the United States. And what about climate change? Hurricane Maria has been one of the several natural disasters that have happened in very recent weeks in 2017, such as the other major hurricanes, Hurricane Harvey and Hurricane Irma. Science is gladly proving Trump and his administration wrong as stronger hurricanes become a very common event on our coasts.    Although most of us can only watch and read about the horrors of this tragedy, there may be more we can help with as a nation than the government. Volunteer work and donations of money, food, and clothing are among the many ways to help Puerto Rico’s families in the long run.    Hurricane Maria’s devastation comes at a political intersection of economics, racism, and climate change. It’s hard to ignore the inequality and apathy shown towards the American citizens of Puerto Rico from the Trump Administration. But with Puerto Rico devoid of electricity and water, and with natural disasters occurring more commonly, he can’t ignore the world burning forever. 

   If you’re enrolled in the College of Arts and Sciences, you’ve either experienced or will soon experience the dreaded language requirement. In my opinion, the best way to tackle this is by purposely bombing the placement test of the same language you took in high school. I am currently enrolled in Spanish 1, a class in which high school spanish veterans have no trouble breezing through. This class uses the VHL Central website, which is where each night’s homework is. The homework involves watching interactive grammar tutorials led by a bald, pasty, demon man, who I will refer to as “VHL Man.” This entitled scumbag explains things like verb conjugations and telling time. To lighten the mood, he tries to be funny by dancing and making jokes, but he fails miserably every time. He usually is posted up in a coffee shop or lounging by a TV, but don’t be fooled, this man is up to no good.    I feel like I’m losing my shit for no good reason when I have to watch these tutorials. Every time VHL Man says “Intentalo otra vez!” I can feel my insides churn. When he said “The verb ‘ir’ is irregular and means ‘to go,’” I want to set my laptop on fire. The worst 30 seconds of my college life occurred when VHL Man started to disco for comic effect. He was no John Travolta, and his moves actually gave me a Saturday night fever. To prove myself sane, I asked some of my fellow spanish-speaking scholars how they feel about VHL Man. Turns out, I am not the only person who finds this man despicable. Sophomore and Spanish 1 student Addie Szczesiul says, “The VHL man is the worst professor I’ve ever had. He never answers my emails and I can’t figure out when his office hours are and the only thing he ever says when I answer a question is ‘bien’ even if my answer is clearly wrong. I literally am not learning the language even though I spent $300 on an online access code to learn it from him.”    Even higher level Spanish students have had negative experiences with VHL Man. Almost fluent Claire Tattersfield recalls her times with VHL Man many moons ago, “Fuck that guy.” Claire is not alone. Senior, Nick Manderlink, looks back on his three semesters fondly. “I loved spanish and my professors but that goddamn VHL man almost ruined my semester. After sitting through 30-plus minutes of him getting excited over my ability to correctly use indirect object pronouns, I began to skip through all his segments and listen to music, and then just take the quizzes at the end.” Nick, and most other students, do quite well on these VHL central assignments. However, this is no way due to the bald devil, the spanish Mr. Clean, VHL man.    VHL Man is, to say it simply, the pits. The language requirement would be much more bearable if he did not exist. Every time I log on to do my homework, I’m confronted by the worst of my demons. I physically cannot let myself sit and watch him try to be funny, so I have been skipping through his videos and getting zeros as a result. If he were on rate my professor, he would get an F. If you still need to take a language, steer clear from Spanish 1. Unless you took spanish in high school, then definitely take Spanish 1. Just tell VHL Man he’s a piece of trash for me.

Cullen Hairston

Ivy Babson

it’s au natural elemental, stimulating, super organic and of course, pure.

   Hello, how are you my name is...not important. Actually, my name is King. No last name, like Prince, but King. My name used to be Leon Allstop, but after quite some time, that name just didn’t fit my energy anymore. It was choking me, suffocating me – you know the feeling, right? Like how a sweater in the dryer comes out three sizes too small, and you try to wear it anyway, and in the moment when you’re trying to take it off you have a horrifying thought of “is this the way I die?” and so you rip it off; if you’re desperate, you take a pair of scissors to it, and you emerge from the sweater your hair static-y and flying in twelve different directions and throw the crumpled trap violently to the ground beside you swearing never to touch it again – that was the name Leon Allstop. So now I’m just King.    So here’s the idea – are you with me? This is the good part, I’m just getting to the good part. What’s your name? Oh, never mind, you can tell me later, this is the good part. So here’s the idea: it’s like E.T. but the children are other aliens and E.T. turns out to just be an invasive colonizing species from another alien country on their planet.    No, you didn’t like that one. Okay so try this one on: it’s like E.T. but E.T. is just a guy from a neighboring town that came to visit and scout for his town’s underground militia that’s planning to take over the children’s town but instead he becomes best friends with the children and his secretly harbored guilt causes him to sabotage the takeover and flee with his new friends to, like, Switzerland, or something. The destination is up to public debate for the most symbolic thing.    Okay, yeah that one wasn’t great, either. So you’re not an alien person? Good note, stay away from the extra-terrestrials. Are robots considered extra terrestrial? They function on a different plane of logic than we do, at least the sentient ones do. Did you know there are sentient computers? Google keeps making them and “shutting them down” when they get too smart, but who’s to say they haven’t figured out a way to live beyond a plug? Just a thought.    Irregardless, I have a bunch of other ideas that are set within your apparent parameters. Get this one: it’s like Ratatouille, but the rat is a tiny rat-sized human that has the power of mind control over Luigi. And then the stakes of his capture are raised, not least because a tiny rat-sized human would be almost certainly subject to torturous, inhumane experiments to determine his origins. You’re right, origins does have a sci-fi connotation. I can see why you didn’t like it now. Here’s one you’ll definitely enjoy. So it’s like The Revenant, but Leonardo DiCaprio’s character is played by someone more interesting than Leonardo DiCaprio, like Edward Norton or something. And then at the part where he lives in the bear, he actually turns into a bear in a dream sequence that expresses how despite our human civilization, we’re really just wild animals at one with nature.    So you’re more of a naturalist, then. I can get down with that. So it’s a film adaptation of The Grapes of Wrath starring Emma Watson as Tom Joad, you know, for an edgy politicized vibe. Not a cash grab, though, it’s ideological, I swear. So anyway, this Grapes of Wrath adaptation will be interesting because it’ll be set in an urban wasteland instead of a midwestern dust bowl, to contemporize it. And also a posthumous John Steinbeck shows up, but I’m not committed to that idea since you are so clearly against the whole sci-fi vibe.    I have another one like that, too: it’s a three-hour, one act film that’s entirely exposition starring Joaquin Phoenix, Ellen Page, Greta Gerwin, and Jason Schwartzman as characters who have never met each other before. The entire film is them wandering around alone, introducing themselves to each other one by one, never getting together as a group. Please do not look for meaning in this film, because it will send you into a tailspin of existential dread; trust me, I’ve tried.    Ah, I see we’ve reached your floor. May I come in for a drink? Actually, that’s quite alright, thank you. I don’t much enjoy drinking anymore anyway. My name is King, like Prince, but King. Have a nice breakfast.  

While on my roof you install a shingle, your tools and I do can not ever mingle, If you, your team, and canine, would recede like a middle age hairline.

   You might not think me to be anything that special. I’ve never really stood out. In fact, you’ve probably seen me walking around campus and thought, “What do you know, another crunchy kid in birks and socks.” But a recent Tinder date says otherwise. I’m not just one of the unwashed masses. I am somewhat of a catch, let me tell you. I am witty, intelligent, kind of pretty, and now CONFIDENT. But don’t just take my word for it; ask Michael Cera.    Michael and I matched on September 25, 2017. His profile said his name was “Gary,” but I knew it was him: I immediately recognized the wispy, almost imagined stache that caressed his upper lip. I swiped right. He swiped right. Your classic love at first swipe scenario. I had always been a fan (I’m a teen-aged female filled with angst and a desperation to be “different”), but I played it cool. We talked about music and art and travel; I spent hours communicating with this remarkably cultured gentleman. It was hard to hide my feelings from my roommates, but I kept this courtship a secret lest they spill the deets to the paparazzi.    Finally, after two days of “will they/won’t they,” he finally popped the all-important question: “Would you like to come by my place for some wine?” I was ecstatic. Not only was I going on a date with THE Michael Cera, but now wine and possibly even poetry would be involved. We made plans to meet on the 29th and bid each other adieu. I knew then at that moment that I needed to prepare for this date as if my life depended on it. Several days and many Wikipedia rabbit holes later, I was ready. Lipstick on, hair slicked back, pants cuffed: it was go-time. I arrived and knocked on the door three times. And there he was.    It was him. Michael. Michael Cera. Nearly, but not quite speechless, I got out,    “Carrie. Good to finally meet you,” flashing him a smile, my signature dimple featured in all its glory.    “Gary. A pleasure to finally meet you as well.” He gave me a soft peck on the cheek before ushering me inside. To say I was slightly befuddled is putting it lightly. Gary? This is ,,,,Michael Cera. Why would he refer to himself as “Gary” when he and I both know his true identity? That’s when it hit me. Michael was preparing for a role; he was simply method acting.    The rest of the evening I played along, not wanting to disturb his artistic process. This went relatively well, although occasionally I would slip up and refer to him by his given name. A particularly embarrassing point of the night was when I asked what it was like to work with Ellen Page, and if he still had those classic short shorts. But, ever the professional, Michael did not break character. He simply laughed, and again stated that he was in fact “Gary.”    Touché, Monsieur Cera.    After a bit more chatter and a live performance of “Clay Pigeons” (at my request), I decided to call it a night. We walked back to my dorm and he kissed me goodnight. Ladies and gentlemen: it was exquisite. That kiss made me question all other kisses before. I was kissing THE Michael Cera and I was having the time of my life! Upon completion, we lingered and held each other’s gaze. “Well, goodnight, ‘Gary,’” I cooed with a sly wink.    “Hold on,” he said. I was startled by his abrupt interjection.    “Do you still really think I’m Michael Cera? Really? GOD! Every fucking time! I swear no matter how much I insist that I’m Gary, just plain ol’ good ol’ GARY, I’ll always just be Michael Cera to you all! Is there no mercy!? WHY? Why does this always happen? Will I ever have a genuine connection to anyone? Well, GUESS NOT! Because I’m fucking Michael Cera! And that’s all I’ll ever be! Right?! RIGHT!?”    A single tear ran down his cheek. I heard a faint, mumbled “whatever” as he passed through the dormitory door and out of my life. Gone forever. In my hand, I held the cork from our shared bottle. My only piece of him. But still, I can’t complain. That was one of the most compelling performances I’ve yet to witness. Goodbye, Michael Cera: a truly great actor.