President Barack Obama wants to close Guantanamo, stop torture, and review the trials of the prisoners therein, all within one year (BBC)[1]. I applaud Mr. Obama’s decision since, as Jennifer Vanklausen says, the Constitution guarantees the right of due process of law (which most of the Guantanamo detainees have been denied). However, I think the suddenness of the decision is ill-advised. CNN points out that “About 250 prisoners, many of them suspected terrorists, remain in the prison.”[2] So, then, in one year, president Obama wants to review 250 trials and release 250 suspected terrorists upon the American public. A lot of the prisoners, about two-thirds, are already pleading for release and charging the government with wrongful imprisonment, according to CNN. I want justice for the prisoners, but I don’t trust them to be safely released into the U. S. A lot of people agree with me. In fact, 46% of voters polled oppose the closing, while only 36% approve. As for releasing the inmates into the United States, 75% are against that notion (Rasmussen Reports).[3] Other countries are also reluctant to accept terror suspects into their societies (Delahunt and Willett)[4]. So I think that President Obama’s decision to close Guantanamo prison was a good and just one, but a rash one. He didn’t understand how much would be involved.
[1] BBC. “Obama Orders Guantanamo Closure.” NEWS. 22 January 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7845585.stm>
[2] Bill Mears. “Chinese Muslim detainees take case to Supreme Court.” CNN.com/US. 6 April 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/04/06/scotus.gitmo/>
[3] Rasmussen Reports. “75% Oppose Release of Guantanamo Inmates in the United States.” Rasmussen Reports. 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://www.rasmussenreports.com/public_content/politics/general_politics2/75_oppose_release_of_guantanamo_inmates_in_the_united_states>
[4] Delahunt, Bill and Sabin Willett. “Innocent Detainees Need A Home.” Boston Globe, Lexis Nexis. 2 April 2009. 8 April 2009.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Bald Frog With A Wig
In the profile section of Blogger, there's a part where you can answer a random question. One question that really caught my attention was: "The children are waiting! Tell them the story about the bald frog with a wig..." I wrote a story that I really liked, but it was too long for the word limit on the random question. Here it is...
The bald frog, Titus, never came out of his mud house. All he knew of the outside world was what he saw on television. One television program in particular was about animated frogs with hair. Titus would watch that show, then look at himself in the mirror and sigh, "Not a single strand of hair! I'm different. I'm weird. I'd better stay inside, so no one will see me and laugh at me." Titus moped around his house all night, every night, longing to go outside and see the world, but terrified of the ridicule that would surely result. He often lay awake during the day (since his type of frog was nocturnal), worrying about what might happen to him if he stayed inside his whole life, eating pond plant roots that grew through his walls, and what might happen to him if he went outside. He shuddered at both outcomes: a life of boredom and an eventual unknown death, or shame, mocking, and humiliation for the rest of his life.
One day, Titus was considering his fate again when he heard a strange noise coming from outside. It was a very faint scratching sound. Titus got up and checked his walls and door. The scratching sound wasn't directly outside his house, but farther away. Titus trembled with curiosity. There seemed to be two parts of his mind: one that wanted to go out, and one that wanted to stay in. His frightened self whimpered, as it had so many times before, "I can't go out there! They'll see me! They'll laugh me out of the pond!" But the adventurous side of him replied, "They're all in bed sleeping. No one will see me. I can sneak out quietly, see what that noise is, and come back, without anyone knowing I'm even there." Titus nodded excitedly. With a pounding heart, he opened his front door.
The water was bright. It took a little time for Titus' eyes to adjust to the brilliant light of the sun. He peered around cautiously, showing only his head outside the door. No other frogs were in evidence. They must have all been asleep. Titus slipped out his front door and into the water. He heard the scratching noise again, but it was louder out here. It seemed to be coming from the bank. Titus silently swam, trembling inside, to the source of the noise. He cautiously poked his head out of the water so that only his eyes showed above the surface. His eyes widened at the sight of the scratcher. It was a fox. Titus knew what it was, since there had been foxes on the same television show as the frogs with hair. Those foxes, though, were not nearly as big as this fox! He was huge! He was beautiful, too; more beautiful than the animated ones. The golden light of the sun rippled through the orange fur of his back and gleamed on his white belly. Even the black fur of his paws shone like polished stones. The fox didn't notice Titus, hidden in the shadows of a clump of reeds. He was busily scratching himself with one hind leg. Tufts of hair flew from his energetic strokes and landed in the tall grass near the edge of the pond. Titus watched, and was suddenly inspired. The fox didn't need that hair anymore. Titus could take it! He could make a wig for himself. Then he wouldn't look weird anymore, and he could go out all the time without being afraid. The more Titus considered the idea, the more he liked it. He waited with bated breath until the fox finished scratching, drank from the pond, and slunk away into the forest.
Titus sprang out of the pond and looked frantically around for hair. The sun was sinking, and Titus needed to get that hair before the other frogs woke up. He saw several huge tufts of hair stuck to the top of the tall grass, too high for him to reach. Finally, Titus found a bundle of matted fox fur that had caught on the grass closer to the ground. He gathered it up and looked hurriedly for something to fix it to his head. An old, abandoned spiderweb caught his eye. He untwisted a few of the unsticky strands and used them to tie the hair together. Another strand looped around the hair and under his chin. Titus quivered with delight. He finally had hair! He couldn't wait to show the other frogs. With a splash, he dove back into the pond. His wig almost came off, and he quickly went back to the bank for more spider webbing. At last, he was ready. He swam down to the bottom and waited excitedly for the other frogs to come out of their mud houses for the evensong. They sang it every sunset, and it had often greeted Titus after a long and sleepless day.
As the sun slowly sank, the bottom of the pond began to open with hundreds of little doors. Frogs' heads began to pop out everywhere. Titus watched and was shocked. None of them had hair! He was mortified. After all the effort he had taken to fit in, he was different. He was weird. He tried to take off his wig before anyone saw him, but the spiderweb strands had stuck to his head when they were soaked in water. Titus groaned and turned to go back inside. It looked like he would be stuck there after all, unless he came out only when the other frogs were asleep again. Then suddenly he felt a tug at his elbow, and a small voice said, "Mister?" Titus looked down and saw a small frog, not much more than a tadpole. He still had a stubby tail left over. His wide eyes looked up trustingly at Titus, with no mocking or ridicule in them. Titus liked this little frog. He smiled down at him and said, "Yes, son?"
"I'm not your son," the small frog said matter-of-factly. "I'm Jimmy. My father is Sam Williams." He held out his hand for a handshake.
Titus smiled again and shook Jimmy's hand gladly. Then his smile faded as he realized that Jimmy's eyes were fixed on Titus' wig. Jimmy pointed at it and said in an awed voice, "What is that, sir?"
Titus gulped down rising terror. "It's hair," he managed to squeak.
Jimmy, though, didn't seem to find the hair funny. He stared at it in wonder. "Where'd you get it, sir?" he asked.
"My name's not 'sir,' it's Titus," Titus replied, getting rather annoyed with Jimmy's probing questions that threatened to expose him to the rest of the frogs. "And I got this hair from a fox."
Jimmy's eyes grew still wider, if that were possible. "Wow!" he exclaimed, too loudly for Titus' comfort. "A fox? How in the world did you get hair from a fox, Mr. Titus?" Before Titus could say anything, Jimmy rattled on, "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs! You must be an incredibly brave frog, Mr. Titus!" Jimmy grabbed Titus' hand and pulled him toward a crowd of frogs, chattering, "Come on, Mr. Titus, I wanna introduce you to my friends. They've gotta see you. A frog who has hair from a fox! You're amazing, Mr. Titus!" Titus was dizzy with wonderment. He wasn't strange? He wasn't weird? He was brave and amazing? Before they could get to the other frogs, though, the other frogs had risen to the surface and were beginning the evensong. Jimmy looked disappointed. "We're late," he said. "I guess I'll have to introduce you after the evensong, Mr. Titus. The director hates to have the song interrupted."
Titus smiled at his new friend. "That's all right, Jimmy," he said reassuringly. "I don't need to meet them right away. Why don't you go sing with your friends, and I'll wait over here until the evensong is over?" Jimmy nodded happily and swam over to his friends. Titus sat on the bank and watched. He had never seen the evensong, or the sunset, before. How much beauty he had missed while he was hiding in his house! The frogs were all so different, with different looks and different voices, but they all sang together in perfect harmony, praising the Creator of the world. The sunset was more colorful than anything Titus had ever seen, even on television. The sun itself was hidden by the trees of the forest, but above them were numerous clouds of pink, orange, and yellow. The sky itself turned from gold in the west to purple in the east by soft gradations of color, going through green to blue to indigo. Titus sighed with rapture.
After a little while, Titus noticed that the evensong was changing. Only the older frogs were singing now, and the little frogs, like Jimmy, were slipping out of the chorus to play. They went off a little distance from the others and splashed and laughed in the shallows. Jimmy seemed to have forgotten about Titus. At any rate, he wasn't introducing him to his friends. Titus sighed with loneliness. He'd found a friend, but it seemed that he'd lost him again. He cast his eyes around the pond and was surprised to see how dark it had become while he was watching the sunset. Then he caught a glimpse of a sudden movement in the grass. A flash of orange fur was revealed by the waving blades of grass. Titus jumped up and looked closer. He could vaguely see the dim outline of a fox. It was pressed low to the ground, and staring directly at Jimmy and his friends. With a stab of horror, Titus remembered Jimmy's words: "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs!" Titus was frozen in place for a split second. Then he knew what he had to do. He leaped into the air and yelled, "Swim away! Fox! There's a fox coming!" The evensong abruptly ended as the frogs scattered, rushing to the deeper reaches of the pond. Jimmy, though, seemed paralyzed by fear. He was standing in the shallows, staring with glazed eyes at the huge orange creature that appeared out of the tall grass. The fox raised a paw, and Titus saw one of the adult frogs cover her eyes and weep. Titus leapt forward toward his young friend. He landed between Jimmy and the fox, waving his arms and yelling, "Don't you dare eat my friend Jimmy! Eat me, if you dare! I'm Titus the fox-haired frog! I took the fur from a fox's own back to wear as a wig! You won't touch my friend!"
The fox sat back, surprised. He looked quizzically at Titus. He leaned forward and sniffed at the wig. Some of the hairs slipped out from under the spider webbing and went up the fox's nose. The fox sneezed three times and looked distastefully at Titus. He turned around with disdain and sashayed into the forest. That weird frog could be someone else's breakfast!
Titus went limp with relief. The water exploded behind him as the other frogs rushed forward to cheer and congratulate him. Jimmy and his family were first by his side, hugging him and thanking him with glad tears. The director of the choir declared that he had never been so glad for the evensong to be interrupted. Jimmy didn't need to introduce Titus to his friends. Everyone wanted to introduce themselves to the brave, fox-haired frog who had saved their friend's life. Titus felt his heart swelling with pride and joy. Jimmy's hand was firmly clasped in his, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were affirming that they couldn't do enough for him. The choir director was asking Titus what part he sang. "Tenor," Titus said confidently. He had overheard the rehearsals and performances for his whole life, and had often sung along with the tenors in the choir. The director promptly called the frogs into chorus formation, assigned Titus a place in the tenor section, and began the evensong again. Titus, the bald frog with a wig, joyfully lifted his voice in praise to the Creator, free from fear and surrounded by friends.
The bald frog, Titus, never came out of his mud house. All he knew of the outside world was what he saw on television. One television program in particular was about animated frogs with hair. Titus would watch that show, then look at himself in the mirror and sigh, "Not a single strand of hair! I'm different. I'm weird. I'd better stay inside, so no one will see me and laugh at me." Titus moped around his house all night, every night, longing to go outside and see the world, but terrified of the ridicule that would surely result. He often lay awake during the day (since his type of frog was nocturnal), worrying about what might happen to him if he stayed inside his whole life, eating pond plant roots that grew through his walls, and what might happen to him if he went outside. He shuddered at both outcomes: a life of boredom and an eventual unknown death, or shame, mocking, and humiliation for the rest of his life.
One day, Titus was considering his fate again when he heard a strange noise coming from outside. It was a very faint scratching sound. Titus got up and checked his walls and door. The scratching sound wasn't directly outside his house, but farther away. Titus trembled with curiosity. There seemed to be two parts of his mind: one that wanted to go out, and one that wanted to stay in. His frightened self whimpered, as it had so many times before, "I can't go out there! They'll see me! They'll laugh me out of the pond!" But the adventurous side of him replied, "They're all in bed sleeping. No one will see me. I can sneak out quietly, see what that noise is, and come back, without anyone knowing I'm even there." Titus nodded excitedly. With a pounding heart, he opened his front door.
The water was bright. It took a little time for Titus' eyes to adjust to the brilliant light of the sun. He peered around cautiously, showing only his head outside the door. No other frogs were in evidence. They must have all been asleep. Titus slipped out his front door and into the water. He heard the scratching noise again, but it was louder out here. It seemed to be coming from the bank. Titus silently swam, trembling inside, to the source of the noise. He cautiously poked his head out of the water so that only his eyes showed above the surface. His eyes widened at the sight of the scratcher. It was a fox. Titus knew what it was, since there had been foxes on the same television show as the frogs with hair. Those foxes, though, were not nearly as big as this fox! He was huge! He was beautiful, too; more beautiful than the animated ones. The golden light of the sun rippled through the orange fur of his back and gleamed on his white belly. Even the black fur of his paws shone like polished stones. The fox didn't notice Titus, hidden in the shadows of a clump of reeds. He was busily scratching himself with one hind leg. Tufts of hair flew from his energetic strokes and landed in the tall grass near the edge of the pond. Titus watched, and was suddenly inspired. The fox didn't need that hair anymore. Titus could take it! He could make a wig for himself. Then he wouldn't look weird anymore, and he could go out all the time without being afraid. The more Titus considered the idea, the more he liked it. He waited with bated breath until the fox finished scratching, drank from the pond, and slunk away into the forest.
Titus sprang out of the pond and looked frantically around for hair. The sun was sinking, and Titus needed to get that hair before the other frogs woke up. He saw several huge tufts of hair stuck to the top of the tall grass, too high for him to reach. Finally, Titus found a bundle of matted fox fur that had caught on the grass closer to the ground. He gathered it up and looked hurriedly for something to fix it to his head. An old, abandoned spiderweb caught his eye. He untwisted a few of the unsticky strands and used them to tie the hair together. Another strand looped around the hair and under his chin. Titus quivered with delight. He finally had hair! He couldn't wait to show the other frogs. With a splash, he dove back into the pond. His wig almost came off, and he quickly went back to the bank for more spider webbing. At last, he was ready. He swam down to the bottom and waited excitedly for the other frogs to come out of their mud houses for the evensong. They sang it every sunset, and it had often greeted Titus after a long and sleepless day.
As the sun slowly sank, the bottom of the pond began to open with hundreds of little doors. Frogs' heads began to pop out everywhere. Titus watched and was shocked. None of them had hair! He was mortified. After all the effort he had taken to fit in, he was different. He was weird. He tried to take off his wig before anyone saw him, but the spiderweb strands had stuck to his head when they were soaked in water. Titus groaned and turned to go back inside. It looked like he would be stuck there after all, unless he came out only when the other frogs were asleep again. Then suddenly he felt a tug at his elbow, and a small voice said, "Mister?" Titus looked down and saw a small frog, not much more than a tadpole. He still had a stubby tail left over. His wide eyes looked up trustingly at Titus, with no mocking or ridicule in them. Titus liked this little frog. He smiled down at him and said, "Yes, son?"
"I'm not your son," the small frog said matter-of-factly. "I'm Jimmy. My father is Sam Williams." He held out his hand for a handshake.
Titus smiled again and shook Jimmy's hand gladly. Then his smile faded as he realized that Jimmy's eyes were fixed on Titus' wig. Jimmy pointed at it and said in an awed voice, "What is that, sir?"
Titus gulped down rising terror. "It's hair," he managed to squeak.
Jimmy, though, didn't seem to find the hair funny. He stared at it in wonder. "Where'd you get it, sir?" he asked.
"My name's not 'sir,' it's Titus," Titus replied, getting rather annoyed with Jimmy's probing questions that threatened to expose him to the rest of the frogs. "And I got this hair from a fox."
Jimmy's eyes grew still wider, if that were possible. "Wow!" he exclaimed, too loudly for Titus' comfort. "A fox? How in the world did you get hair from a fox, Mr. Titus?" Before Titus could say anything, Jimmy rattled on, "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs! You must be an incredibly brave frog, Mr. Titus!" Jimmy grabbed Titus' hand and pulled him toward a crowd of frogs, chattering, "Come on, Mr. Titus, I wanna introduce you to my friends. They've gotta see you. A frog who has hair from a fox! You're amazing, Mr. Titus!" Titus was dizzy with wonderment. He wasn't strange? He wasn't weird? He was brave and amazing? Before they could get to the other frogs, though, the other frogs had risen to the surface and were beginning the evensong. Jimmy looked disappointed. "We're late," he said. "I guess I'll have to introduce you after the evensong, Mr. Titus. The director hates to have the song interrupted."
Titus smiled at his new friend. "That's all right, Jimmy," he said reassuringly. "I don't need to meet them right away. Why don't you go sing with your friends, and I'll wait over here until the evensong is over?" Jimmy nodded happily and swam over to his friends. Titus sat on the bank and watched. He had never seen the evensong, or the sunset, before. How much beauty he had missed while he was hiding in his house! The frogs were all so different, with different looks and different voices, but they all sang together in perfect harmony, praising the Creator of the world. The sunset was more colorful than anything Titus had ever seen, even on television. The sun itself was hidden by the trees of the forest, but above them were numerous clouds of pink, orange, and yellow. The sky itself turned from gold in the west to purple in the east by soft gradations of color, going through green to blue to indigo. Titus sighed with rapture.
After a little while, Titus noticed that the evensong was changing. Only the older frogs were singing now, and the little frogs, like Jimmy, were slipping out of the chorus to play. They went off a little distance from the others and splashed and laughed in the shallows. Jimmy seemed to have forgotten about Titus. At any rate, he wasn't introducing him to his friends. Titus sighed with loneliness. He'd found a friend, but it seemed that he'd lost him again. He cast his eyes around the pond and was surprised to see how dark it had become while he was watching the sunset. Then he caught a glimpse of a sudden movement in the grass. A flash of orange fur was revealed by the waving blades of grass. Titus jumped up and looked closer. He could vaguely see the dim outline of a fox. It was pressed low to the ground, and staring directly at Jimmy and his friends. With a stab of horror, Titus remembered Jimmy's words: "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs!" Titus was frozen in place for a split second. Then he knew what he had to do. He leaped into the air and yelled, "Swim away! Fox! There's a fox coming!" The evensong abruptly ended as the frogs scattered, rushing to the deeper reaches of the pond. Jimmy, though, seemed paralyzed by fear. He was standing in the shallows, staring with glazed eyes at the huge orange creature that appeared out of the tall grass. The fox raised a paw, and Titus saw one of the adult frogs cover her eyes and weep. Titus leapt forward toward his young friend. He landed between Jimmy and the fox, waving his arms and yelling, "Don't you dare eat my friend Jimmy! Eat me, if you dare! I'm Titus the fox-haired frog! I took the fur from a fox's own back to wear as a wig! You won't touch my friend!"
The fox sat back, surprised. He looked quizzically at Titus. He leaned forward and sniffed at the wig. Some of the hairs slipped out from under the spider webbing and went up the fox's nose. The fox sneezed three times and looked distastefully at Titus. He turned around with disdain and sashayed into the forest. That weird frog could be someone else's breakfast!
Titus went limp with relief. The water exploded behind him as the other frogs rushed forward to cheer and congratulate him. Jimmy and his family were first by his side, hugging him and thanking him with glad tears. The director of the choir declared that he had never been so glad for the evensong to be interrupted. Jimmy didn't need to introduce Titus to his friends. Everyone wanted to introduce themselves to the brave, fox-haired frog who had saved their friend's life. Titus felt his heart swelling with pride and joy. Jimmy's hand was firmly clasped in his, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were affirming that they couldn't do enough for him. The choir director was asking Titus what part he sang. "Tenor," Titus said confidently. He had overheard the rehearsals and performances for his whole life, and had often sung along with the tenors in the choir. The director promptly called the frogs into chorus formation, assigned Titus a place in the tenor section, and began the evensong again. Titus, the bald frog with a wig, joyfully lifted his voice in praise to the Creator, free from fear and surrounded by friends.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Another Typical Tuesday
It's another typical Tuesday.
I rush out of the second-floor Coleman building classroom, where I've just spent an enjoyable hour. As always, I'm going to be late for work. My morning class, Written Communication, never gets done early (not that I'd want it to, since it's my favorite class), and it's some distance from the second floor of the Coleman Center to the ground-level Welcome Center on the next block, where I work. I weave through classmates and strangers in the hallway and reach the elevator short of breath. On the way down in the elevator, I fix my jacket and other accoutrements for going outside. It's still the cold season of the year. Too soon for my fumbling fingers, the bell dings and the doors open. I zip my coat and put on my gloves as I walk quickly toward the door of the wheelchair ramp. Both elevator and ramp are necessary, for I roll a large black suitcase, full of books, behind me.
It's another typical Tuesday.
With a sinking heart, I realize that the weather is fair and relatively warm. As I cross the Coleman/Kumm courtyard, I brace myself for the crowd of smokers who will surely be out in this weather. I draw closer to the crosswalk and see them standing like sentinels guarding the sidewalk against the weak of lung. Sadly, such a weak one am I; an athsmatic, whose disease is aggravated by cigarette smoke. Still, I steel my resolve, pull a fold of my scarf over my nose and mouth, and surge forward. As I frantically race through the crowds of laughing, chatting, smoking students, the bitter, tobacco-filled air wafts around me and seeps through my fuzzy makeshift gas mask. I hold my breath until the last smoker is behind me. I breathe too soon. In my wild career through the cloud of smoke, it built up in front of me from the force of my going. It clings to me now, floating into my breath and setting me to coughing. I clap my hand to my mouth. It makes a much more efficient gas mask than my scarf. I inhale deeply and hold my breath again. Again, I breathe too soon. The smoke is stuck to me even as I turn the corner, coughing, hardly daring to breathe again. When I finally do breathe again, the nicotine smell is gone. The smoke has dissipated into the air. Still coughing and trying to clear my throat, I open the Welcome Center doors, with a glance at the "Tobacco-Free Campus" signs posted in the windows. I greet my coworkers with a smile, roll my suitcase to my little cubicle, and sit down at my desk. I'm still coughing.
It's another typical Tuesday.
After an hour of work, I rush to another class. This class is mostly discussion, and as such, is dreaded by all its students. This time, we discuss for about an hour and are given the other hour to research. I'm off to the library, marching through the skyway from the Business Education Center to the Academic Resource Center. I and my group spend more than an hour on the computers, trying to make some sense out of a slew of newspaper articles and an ambiguous topic. The others leave for lunch. I stay, searching and writing and searching some more. Finally, I can't take it any more. My brain hurts and my stomach growls. I walk back down the skyway to the entryway stairwell of the BEC, where a faint, stale smell of tobacco lingers. I don't know where that smell comes from. I've never seen anyone smoking near those doors. I sit down at the small table at the top of the stairs, determined to rest my mind by simply experiencing the tangy, chewy sweetness of a creamy-peanut-butter, blackberry-rhubarb-jam sandwich. As I eat, I greet the occasional classmate or professor who passes through the entryway stairwell. Soon I join them, going back into the BEC and down the elevator to the basement.
It's another typical Tuesday.
With other early-arriving classmates, I stand at the door of the locked classroom until a kindly janitor takes pity on us and lets us into the room with chairs. I wearily sink into the cushioned swivel chair and take out my necessary papers. Students trickle in. A few minutes after the class is supposed to start, the professor enters. None of us minded the delay. We have a test this afternoon. First, we ask any questions we need to ask about the homework and such. As usual, I'm jumping into every discussion, no matter how tired I am, trying to be the teacher's assistant. Should I keep my mouth shut? Is it possible? Oh, well, now the test starts. The room is immediately silent, except for the scratching of pencils and the clicking of calculator buttons. The occasional whispered question interrupts the quiet, but everything is still muffled in test stress. A few finish early and leave. Then I finish early and leave. With relief, I pack my suitcase and drag it back to the elevator. I love the class, but after a long day of school and work, I'm glad to be on my way home.
It's another typical Tuesday.
I fight the buffeting wind on my way to the bus stop. I left just in time to catch the next bus. There it comes around the corner! I pull out my student ID card and hold it up for the driver to see. I push the pulling handle of my suitcase down and drag it onto the bus by its other handle. I look around for a seat. A score of long-day-of-work faces stare at me. I hitch myself and my suitcase toward the back and--oh, rapture!--I find a seat. I relax, letting my face go somber, like the faces of my near neighbors. Other passengers talk, listen to music on headphones, or read. Most, like me, simply stare blankly out the window, the better to see their stop when it comes. Finally, we reach my neighborhood. Someone else pulls the cord, and I pull myself (that is, my accoutrements) together. Soon I'm tumbling down the short steps and out onto the sidewalk, making sure that I'm a good enough distance from the bus before stopping and pulling out the pull handle on my suitcase. Once, I was almost run over because I stopped too soon. I trudge wearily, but gladly, homeward. I drag that ubiquitous suitcase up the steps into the front porch and unlock the front door. With an immense sigh, I call out, "I'm home!" Whoever's home comes to greet me, and I shed my accoutrements gladly. I relax until I remember what homework I have. It usually takes me until late at night to finish everything. Then I drag myself through the ritual of getting ready for bed, set my alarm an hour later for Wednesday, and pull the ancient cord to turn off the light. I daydream until I really dream.
It's been another typical Tuesday.
I rush out of the second-floor Coleman building classroom, where I've just spent an enjoyable hour. As always, I'm going to be late for work. My morning class, Written Communication, never gets done early (not that I'd want it to, since it's my favorite class), and it's some distance from the second floor of the Coleman Center to the ground-level Welcome Center on the next block, where I work. I weave through classmates and strangers in the hallway and reach the elevator short of breath. On the way down in the elevator, I fix my jacket and other accoutrements for going outside. It's still the cold season of the year. Too soon for my fumbling fingers, the bell dings and the doors open. I zip my coat and put on my gloves as I walk quickly toward the door of the wheelchair ramp. Both elevator and ramp are necessary, for I roll a large black suitcase, full of books, behind me.
It's another typical Tuesday.
With a sinking heart, I realize that the weather is fair and relatively warm. As I cross the Coleman/Kumm courtyard, I brace myself for the crowd of smokers who will surely be out in this weather. I draw closer to the crosswalk and see them standing like sentinels guarding the sidewalk against the weak of lung. Sadly, such a weak one am I; an athsmatic, whose disease is aggravated by cigarette smoke. Still, I steel my resolve, pull a fold of my scarf over my nose and mouth, and surge forward. As I frantically race through the crowds of laughing, chatting, smoking students, the bitter, tobacco-filled air wafts around me and seeps through my fuzzy makeshift gas mask. I hold my breath until the last smoker is behind me. I breathe too soon. In my wild career through the cloud of smoke, it built up in front of me from the force of my going. It clings to me now, floating into my breath and setting me to coughing. I clap my hand to my mouth. It makes a much more efficient gas mask than my scarf. I inhale deeply and hold my breath again. Again, I breathe too soon. The smoke is stuck to me even as I turn the corner, coughing, hardly daring to breathe again. When I finally do breathe again, the nicotine smell is gone. The smoke has dissipated into the air. Still coughing and trying to clear my throat, I open the Welcome Center doors, with a glance at the "Tobacco-Free Campus" signs posted in the windows. I greet my coworkers with a smile, roll my suitcase to my little cubicle, and sit down at my desk. I'm still coughing.
It's another typical Tuesday.
After an hour of work, I rush to another class. This class is mostly discussion, and as such, is dreaded by all its students. This time, we discuss for about an hour and are given the other hour to research. I'm off to the library, marching through the skyway from the Business Education Center to the Academic Resource Center. I and my group spend more than an hour on the computers, trying to make some sense out of a slew of newspaper articles and an ambiguous topic. The others leave for lunch. I stay, searching and writing and searching some more. Finally, I can't take it any more. My brain hurts and my stomach growls. I walk back down the skyway to the entryway stairwell of the BEC, where a faint, stale smell of tobacco lingers. I don't know where that smell comes from. I've never seen anyone smoking near those doors. I sit down at the small table at the top of the stairs, determined to rest my mind by simply experiencing the tangy, chewy sweetness of a creamy-peanut-butter, blackberry-rhubarb-jam sandwich. As I eat, I greet the occasional classmate or professor who passes through the entryway stairwell. Soon I join them, going back into the BEC and down the elevator to the basement.
It's another typical Tuesday.
With other early-arriving classmates, I stand at the door of the locked classroom until a kindly janitor takes pity on us and lets us into the room with chairs. I wearily sink into the cushioned swivel chair and take out my necessary papers. Students trickle in. A few minutes after the class is supposed to start, the professor enters. None of us minded the delay. We have a test this afternoon. First, we ask any questions we need to ask about the homework and such. As usual, I'm jumping into every discussion, no matter how tired I am, trying to be the teacher's assistant. Should I keep my mouth shut? Is it possible? Oh, well, now the test starts. The room is immediately silent, except for the scratching of pencils and the clicking of calculator buttons. The occasional whispered question interrupts the quiet, but everything is still muffled in test stress. A few finish early and leave. Then I finish early and leave. With relief, I pack my suitcase and drag it back to the elevator. I love the class, but after a long day of school and work, I'm glad to be on my way home.
It's another typical Tuesday.
I fight the buffeting wind on my way to the bus stop. I left just in time to catch the next bus. There it comes around the corner! I pull out my student ID card and hold it up for the driver to see. I push the pulling handle of my suitcase down and drag it onto the bus by its other handle. I look around for a seat. A score of long-day-of-work faces stare at me. I hitch myself and my suitcase toward the back and--oh, rapture!--I find a seat. I relax, letting my face go somber, like the faces of my near neighbors. Other passengers talk, listen to music on headphones, or read. Most, like me, simply stare blankly out the window, the better to see their stop when it comes. Finally, we reach my neighborhood. Someone else pulls the cord, and I pull myself (that is, my accoutrements) together. Soon I'm tumbling down the short steps and out onto the sidewalk, making sure that I'm a good enough distance from the bus before stopping and pulling out the pull handle on my suitcase. Once, I was almost run over because I stopped too soon. I trudge wearily, but gladly, homeward. I drag that ubiquitous suitcase up the steps into the front porch and unlock the front door. With an immense sigh, I call out, "I'm home!" Whoever's home comes to greet me, and I shed my accoutrements gladly. I relax until I remember what homework I have. It usually takes me until late at night to finish everything. Then I drag myself through the ritual of getting ready for bed, set my alarm an hour later for Wednesday, and pull the ancient cord to turn off the light. I daydream until I really dream.
It's been another typical Tuesday.
Definition of peace
There are two different kinds of peace: peace with others and peace within oneself. Peace with others might be defined as “The absence of war or other hostilities,” or “Freedom from quarrels and disagreement; harmonious relations,” as thefreedictionary.com says. Under this category falls peace between nations, between family members, and between humans and other beings. We talk of living at peace with God, at peace with nature, and at peace with situations, in this way. Peace between nations is a cause for which many people have striven, as evidenced by the many quotes I found about it. People have taken many sides on the issue of world peace. Some say it is impossible, others that it is imperative. For example, Bill Clinton said in 1997, “The real differences around the world today are not between Jews and Arabs; Protestants and Catholics; Muslims, Croats, and Serbs. The real differences are between those who embrace peace and those who would destroy it; between those who look to the future and those who cling to the past; between those who open their arms and those who are determined to clench their fists.” Herbert Hoover said that peace between countries had to be preceded by peace within oneself: “Peace is not made at the Council table or by treaties, but in the hearts of men.”
Peace within oneself might be defined as tranquility, repose, calmness, or a lack of stress. This kind of peace can also be possessed by a place: e. g. “the peace of a mountain resort,” an example from dictionary.reference.com. It is this kind of peace—stillness, quietness, and calmness—that people are arrested for disturbing, and that people want after a hard day’s work. It is this kind of peace that a guilty conscience does not allow. As George Eliot said, “I could not live in peace if I put the shadow of a wilful sin between myself and God.”
Peace within oneself might be defined as tranquility, repose, calmness, or a lack of stress. This kind of peace can also be possessed by a place: e. g. “the peace of a mountain resort,” an example from dictionary.reference.com. It is this kind of peace—stillness, quietness, and calmness—that people are arrested for disturbing, and that people want after a hard day’s work. It is this kind of peace that a guilty conscience does not allow. As George Eliot said, “I could not live in peace if I put the shadow of a wilful sin between myself and God.”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Summary of Ge Vang's Thursday presentation
College drinking in La Crosse is a problem. So says Ge Vang, Western Technical College’s AODA counselor. Mr. Vang came to our class yesterday morning and presented us with much information about college-age drinking in this city. He began with a YouTube video of a Milwaukee news story about the La Crosse river drownings. In that video, the news anchors interviewed several students who claimed that a serial killer was luring their peers down to the Mississippi and pushing them in. These students loudly proclaimed that they were drunk, but that being drunk wasn’t enough to get them down to the river and falling into it. According to the police and other authorities in La Crosse, though, the only link between the eight recent drownings was a high blood alcohol level. All eight victims had blood alcohol content at nearly three times the legal driving limit of .08. Ge Vang also presented a slideshow of statistics on college drinking in La Crosse and in Wisconsin as a whole. The slideshow pointed out that Wisconsin ranks number one in the country in the number of alcohol users, DUIs, and binge drinking. In La Crosse, it said, twenty-four people have drowned in the Mississippi in 30 years. Many more statistics referred to the numbers of young people who are killed or injured because of alcohol use. After the presentation, Ge Vang gave us time for questions and answers. He stressed the importance of knowing one’s limits when consuming alcohol, and putting safety and health first.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Fake Letter
Have you ever felt the pangs of hunger and known that you could not satisfy them? Have you ever looked into the face of one whom you love and been forced to deny them a slice of bread because there was none in the house? If so, then you know the plight of hundreds of families in this county right now. Usually, when a poverty-stricken family runs out of food, they can find relief at the local food pantry. Now, though, there are so many hungry families that the food pantries themselves are running out of food. Our college is taking action. On Friday, March 27th, there will be volunteers in the cafeteria with boxes to collect non-perishable food items for all of our local food pantries. When you come into the cafeteria on that Friday, with your stomach growling, please don’t just complacently feed yourself. Bring cans and boxes of non-perishable food, and feed the hungry families of La Crosse County!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Good Accountant
A good accountant must be ethical, accurate, and dedicated. These qualities are hard to maintain in the handling of other people’s money, where temptation to fraud and negligence is strong. However, the consequences of poor accounting decisions can be grave, for both the accountant and those he or she serves. For example, if an accountant acts unethically and falsifies accounting records, a failing business might be misrepresented as a successful business, and investors would continue to invest in it. They would then lose their investment when the business finally failed, and the persons responsible for the fraud could be faced with monstrous fines and long prison sentences. The accountant’s reputation would suffer, as well; he would find fewer clients who would trust him with their money. Inaccuracy in accounting also has negative consequences. If an accountant makes a mistake as simple as putting an extra zero on the end of a dollar amount, then the business’s accounts will not balance and their checking account might become overdrawn, which could result in bounced checks and high bank fees. Accounting also requires dedication and hard work. If the accountant is careless, and misplaces important papers or procrastinates on a task, then the business might endure late payment fees or be unable to collect payment from a customer. I have reaped the consequences of procrastination in my personal finances. When I neglect to record and plan my financial activity, I find discrepancies in my records, and have piles of papers to analyze and file. Even worse, I don’t know if I’ve misplaced or forgotten something important, or if someone has stolen from me while I wasn’t paying attention. To search out the documentation of financial transactions, to proofread and correct every single stroke of the pen, and to get everything done on schedule, requires much time and effort. A good accountant, though, will devote himself to the task in order to serve the best interests of his clients.
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