Troy has always been the ideal place to live. It’s not a large city, but close enough to one to not be estranged from popular entertainment. It’s not farmland either, but it’s not difficult to drive a half hour to an apple orchard, if you really wanted to.  There isn’t an overbearing homogeneity in the population, yet for the amount of racial differences, resulting conflicts are surprisingly few. The weather can get nasty sometimes, but Troy residents can always expect sunny days. There’s no smog, so you can see the sky. The school district is stellar. The people are kind.

  Yet, recently, a murder occurred in Troy, in the neighborhood in which I once lived, in which I once played.

I first heard it being discussed among students in my computer science class. “Did you hear about the murder?” one asked another. I took it to be just another murder that occurred somewhere in the world. I ignored it.

“I live down the street from them,” the other said. I jolted.

In retrospect, I wonder why I reacted so differently when I learned it had occurred in my own community. I’ve heard a few versions of the story, but one fact remains glaringly clear: two young children have been left motherless, and that makes my heart ache. Yet I know for a fact that if this woman had been murdered anywhere else, my brow would not be furrowed as harshly as it is now.

After I learned the entire story from the students sitting behind me, the first one spoke again. “You know, this just bumped Troy down so many places in the safest cities ranking.” It reflected badly on the esteemed safety of Troy, just like the white man who raped his foster daughter on Sherman Alexie’s reservation reflected badly on the morals of the Indian community. Yet both are outliers, inaccurate representations of the respective community and the people in it. Troy is not a city full of murderers any more than the Indian reservation is a community full of rapists and boys who “start drinking real young.”

At least we have mayor Slater asserting that the murder was “not a reflection of the community,” and nobody’s going to believe that Troy is suddenly a terrible place because this murder happened. For Alexie’s reservation, however, there’s nobody to dispel the false perceptions.

Everybody knows about Apple, innovative tech giant and builder of the world’s most popular device – and, most recently, defender of the common people’s privacy in the Apple vs. the FBI case. Stuart Carlson’s political cartoon aptly portrays many aspects of the situation, many of which the common citizen is probably not aware of.

In the political cartoon, Apple is seen being forced by the FBI to unlock the “backdoor,” a word which, in everyday English, is used to describe something secretive and devious.  Both Apple and the FBI have neutral faces and regular sized bodies – both see their respective sides as the responsible and right thing to do, and both have their reasons. In any case, they both have good intentions.

The giant, almost superhuman people leering behind Apple and the FBI, however, definitely do not. With their eager smiles and tense body positions, hackers and repressive regimes look almost like children in standing in front of a candy shop. And they might as well be. If Apple really hacked the iPhone, that would open up the code to the rest of the world – not excluding people who shouldn’t be able to. If hackers, repressive regimes, cyber criminals, etc. are enabled access to that code, their power would be immense – much larger than what Apple and the FBI would be able to handle.  

The title, “Pandora’s iPhone”, also gives a little insight to the disastrous consequences Apple’s hacking the terrorist’s iPhone could have. After all, this political cartoon is alluding to Pandora’s release of all of mankind’s evils, achieved just by opening a little box she was told she shouldn’t. If Apple were to unlocked “Pandora’s iPhone,” they would be unleashing the power to all sorts of evils. 

I thought I had last week’s bird flock compare and contrast essay in the bag. I compared and contrasted, like the prompt had asked me to, I got rather in depth in terms of the philosophy of the pieces, and I had time for a relatively decent “future implications” conclusion paragraph. Apparently, I did not have it in the bag. A high scoring essay would have focused on contrasting, and my philosophy wasn’t exactly wrong, it just wasn’t right. I didn’t pick up on the biggest difference – Audubon was a scientist, while Dillard was a writer.

Still, I’m going to defend myself. Audubon just wrote so beautifully, relating the flock of birds to “the coils of a gigantic serpent” (line 42) – how was I supposed to pick up on the fact that he was an ornithologist (other than through the article source, which I (shamefully) admit that I missed)? He had me deceived. In context, that’s about the highest compliment he’ll ever get from me. I have no outstanding interest in his 19^th century writing or his bird studies, but I do have an extraordinary interest in his 19^th century writing and his bird studies, the perfect mix of art and science.

Let me explain. I’ve had a passion for the fine arts since a relatively young age; I’m not one of those prodigy children about which articles are sometimes shared on Facebook, but I like to think that I do have some above average skill in drawing and painting. I’ve invested a lot of time into my art, but my parents would rather I have a steady career as an engineer (I have Asian parents – surprise!). It’s not that they’re forcing a future on me – I have developed an interest in STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) from my science and math classes, an obsession over modern mobile devices, and participation in the robotics team. Having equal interests in art and STEM, I decided, over the course of high school, to integrate the two. In terms of current career goals, I’m thinking human-computer interaction, which combines computer science and design. Point is: I love interdisciplinary integration.

I feel like interdisciplinary work is a relatively new concept, especially STEAM (STEM plus art), as its components are traditionally seen as clashing. So it’s nice to see that John James Audubon had already caught on more than a century and a half ago, using absolutely beautiful language to describe his scientific observations of a flock of birds’ “undulating and angular lines” (line 37), which would seem to clash with each other, but somehow actually works – just like science and art. Also, he’s a painter, so instant connection right there.

Jason Stacy, who wrote about the connection between history and English in “Strangers Across The Hall”, puts it nicely: “the two disciplines are not so estranged as they might seem” (page 66). It’s not just history and English, though, but any two, or three, or even a greater number of disciplines. In today’s globalized world, everything’s connected. In my case, it’s STEM and art. The walk down the never-ending hallway, down a flight of stairs, and through a connector hallway may not be as easy as Stacy’s mere stroll across the hallway, but I think I’ll manage.

There is so much violence appearing in the world today: the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, terrorist attacks all around the world, and even harsh invectives thrown among American politicians, making everyone in the United States hot for humility as their government becomes the laughingstock of the world. It seems that the philosophies of people like Mahatma Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Cesar Chavez, famous proponents of nonviolence, have been forgotten, despite their obvious success; prospects are only going to become grimmer hereafter. In an article commemorating Dr. King and alluding to Gandhi, Chavez uses artful rhetoric to support nonviolence. By explaining that violence will lead to either destruction or demoralization (lines 19-21), and appealing to people’s religious nature, Chavez effectively convinces the farm workers, and anybody after him who is fighting for a cause, that “nonviolence is more powerful than violence” (lines 12-13).

Sometimes people feel detached from the horrible events occurring all around them; ironically, the mass media of modern days contributes to that. Every day, so much news about war updates and shootings and politics is spread around that people have become numb to them – they’re just another part of daily life. And the fact that this information is often viewed among the videos of cats and haikus about refrigerators on the internet makes it even more difficult for people to differentiate heavier topics. There is a lack of realization that violence is too prevalent in the world, and so there is no motivation for change. This may have been the case in the 1970’s, when Cesar Chavez wrote this article, but there is no doubt that this is definitely the case in the world now, and Chavez’s same article is needed for the same purpose it was first written for – to remind about the power of nonviolence.

Saying they wanted their daughter to follow her passions, the parents of 15-year-old Madeline Zhang* told reporters Wednesday (after they dropped her off at her robotics meeting) that they strongly encourage all of her interests that will lead to acceptance from an Ivy League university and high-paying career. “We want Madeline to pursue what makes her happy, whether that’s violin, piano, math, or medicine – as long as it’s something that looks good on her college resume and will be useful in her future – whatever her heart desires,” said Madeline’s mother, Yuhua Li, adding that she would gladly take her daughter to any necessary meetings or practices that happened to be located within a 10-minute drive. “Anything in the world that’s eight, maybe nine miles away that expands her horizons is definitely something we want to support, and when she turns 16 and can drive, then we can support anything that falls within a $100-a-month budget. And if it’s something that one of our friends does for a living and is willing to offer an internship, all the better.” The Zhangs admitted, however, that they were actively discouraging their daughter from a small handful of potentially useless extracurriculars, such as art, theater, and similar activities for which they’d have to constantly lend her money to support her in the future. When asked whether she accepts all of the decisions her parents have made for her, Madeline responded that “I have spent so much time in my activities that now I love doing them.” She was confident that even if she doesn’t start out enjoying her career in the future, as long as she can earn enough money to make her family proud and provide them with humble bragging rights to all the other Chinese parents at Lunar New Year parties, she will find that the more she immerses herself in her work, the more she will enjoy it.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the family, who did not wish for their friends to see this article, but will nonetheless bring it up in conversation and hint that it is about them.

Note: this post is a parody of this Onion article: http://www.theonion.com/article/supportive-parents-encourage-childs-interests-anyt-52139

According to Price in “The Plastic Pink Flamingo: A Natural History”, one half of the flamingo’s success was its bright pink hue. She lists a plethora of “electrochemical pastels” (line 33) of the 50’s in lines 34 to 36. As an artist, I could tell you exactly what kind of dingy olive green you would get from mixing cadmium yellow and ultramarine blue, but I am ashamed to admit that I couldn’t imagine half of the colors Price references (I blame the generation gap). So I need to get my act together and figure these colors out.

Tangerine: This is one I know, and I think everyone will know. The color of the citrus fruit that is so amazingly soothing to consume if you have a sore throat. Also, kind of reddish. Like a dark coral?

Broiling magenta: Ah, magenta. The consensus color people default to when they get tired of debating whether Sarah’s shirt is pink or purple – we all know magenta. But broiling magenta? It sounds like a color used to add some more warmth on a cold winter day. My verdict: a darker magenta. Like the pink/purple version of maroon. Doesn’t sound particularly “pastel”-y (line 33) to me.

Livid pink: Livid reminds me of that one crazy aunt everybody has, the one who finds faults in everything and is convinced the world is ending – and angry, always angry. Interestingly, this word that’s used to describe pink has a dictionary definition of “a dark purplish color” (Merriam-Webster). A dark mixture of purple and pink… isn’t this just broiling magenta?

Incarnadine: This one loses me. A quick Google search shows me… a dark pinkish-red. I don’t know, I kind of imagined “forward-looking” colors to be brighter, but they’re all pretty dark. But no matter. Moving on.

Fuchsia demure: Fuchsia, I know, is a pink. A fuchsia, I also know, is a redish, pinkish flower. And demure means modest and ladylike (which I didn’t know but the dictionary told me). Fuchsia demure obviously is a pink fit for a lady – but I thought these hues weren’t “old-fashioned” (line 37)?

Congo ruby: Ruby is a dark blood-red jewel. I’ll just end it here.

Methyl green: Wow, a cold color in this lengthy list of warm pinks! And what a cold color indeed – methyl reminds me of my AP chemistry days, which could be considered the dark ages of my life thus far. Also, apparently methyl green is the name of an actual chemical compound. I must have forgotten that. In any case, Google Images shows me that this is the only remotely “pastel” color in the list.

Having done that research, I now feel slightly deceived. These mostly dark colors are not, by any stretch of the imagination, “electrochemical pastels,” “forward-looking,” or “sassy” (line 40). With an initial reading of the essay, I had the notion that America was obsessed with bright, joyful colors, but it wasn't, and that confuses me. But just because these rather dark, unsaturated colors were deemed "the hottest color[s] of the decade" (line 40), people suddenly found them to be the best thing ever. I do have to commend Price for her artful manipulation of these colors – it just further proves her point that American consumerism was (and is) absolutely ridiculous. 

I know of a friend who might be rejoicing after reading this post – maroon is her favorite color, and there is an overabundance of that here. I, however, am partial to brighter colors, and am now suffering from a saturation deficit. I’ll need to go find an essay about consumerism in the 70’s.  

I’m an avid Ted Ed watcher. I can honestly say I sometimes spend hours at a time on YouTube, watching one Ted Ed video after another. It’s really a terrible addition. While I was reading Deborah Tannen’s “About Men”, her reference to Ralph Fasold’s biological gender studies reminded me of a Ted Ed video I had recently watched, called “Sex Determination: More Complicated Than You Thought”. I took it upon myself to watch it again (not reluctantly), noting the “markedness” of different species.

The sex of humans, as Tannen (and our freshman biology classes) tells us, is determined by the presence or absence of a Y chromosome, making the male sex – the one with the Y chromosome – the “marked” sex. Birds, however, pass on Z and W chromosomes, with the presence of the W chromosome creating a female bird and the absence, a male. In this case, female birds are “modified” (Tannen 555) males.

The Ted Ed video also touches on whiptail lizards and their complete femininity, which Tannen also mentions. It’s true that “[t]here are no species… that produce only males” (Tannen 555). There are species, however, that produce offspring that are male unless otherwise indicated. For example, clownfish are all born male, with a lucky few becoming female later in life. So clownfish “default” (Tannen 555) to male.

In some species, males and females are both marked. The sex of painted turtles, for example, is determined only by temperature. If it reaches above a certain temperature, the eggs will all produce females. If it doesn’t reach that temperatures, the eggs will all produce males. Painted turtles, as the Ted Ed video tells us, are all “hot chicks or cool dudes.”

To prove their arguments, Deborah Tannen and Ralph Fasold focused on those species in which the male is the marked species – one of which is the human species, so it’s a strong argument. But there are so many other species in which neither (or both, however you want to see it) sex is marked, or in which the female sex is marked. 

This week, we read a lot of things about dads.

Which was interesting, because it gave me something to compare my relationship with my dad with. Of course, Brad Manning’s “physical relationship” (Manning 144) with his father and Sarah Vowell’s “[incapability] of having a conversation [with her father] that didn’t end in an argument” (Vowell 153) are not normal relationships; they even verge on being unhealthy. However, these things are defining characteristics of their relationships, and play a part in each author feeling “less challenged than loved” (Manning 148) by their respective fathers.  

The defining characteristic of my relationship with my father is its bipolarity. I often complain about the fact that my dad yells at every little thing: I’m not wearing socks, I dropped my pen, I don’t charge my phone the right way. At the beginning of the school year, we had a pretty long debate about my driving rights; I argued with rules of the state, yet he maintained that there are rules of the house. We can have some pretty heated arguments.

If you listen to a televised sporting event, announcers usually refer to players by their names or numbers, presumably to avoid confusion. In “Champion of the World”, however, Angelou’s announcer refers Joe Louis’s opponent, Primo Carnera, by name only once in the story, preferring to call him “the contender” (Angelou 89). At first glance, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Angelou probably did that so Carnera could just fade into the background, as it’s Joe Louis and the black community who’s important; it doesn’t matter who, exactly, they’re fighting against.

However, the use of “the contender” also denotes a sense of an all-powerful being. “The contender” could be any white man; heck, it could be the entire white community put together. By not being given a name, Joe Louis’s opponent is not given a personality – he has no weaknesses. This is apparent in the circumstances under which “the contender” is used: “the contender is hanging on” (Angelou 89), “the contender keeps raining the blows” (Angelou 89), “the contender is trying to get up again” (Angelou 90). In every case, Joe Louis’s opponent shows no sign of defeat. Joe Louis could go at him for hours, days, years, just as the black community has been working against racism for hours, days, years, and “the contender” would never weaken.

The moment “the contender” is given a name, however, Joe Louis gains the upper hand. He is no longer boxing with an idea of the white community, but with Carnera, one person. And one person, to Joe Louis, who won 66 out of 70 fights in his lifetime, is no big deal. When Carnera is reduced to only his name, the Brown Bomber becomes the “champion of the world” (Angelou 90). 

My Sunday was planned to be free all day, thanks to the relatively little amount of homework I was assigned on Friday, so I decided to watch the 2013 movie portrayal of The Great Gatsby. Of course, I had my comments, so I’ll just share them in chronological order. (This is going to be a long post – sorry)

The movie started out the same way that the book did – with Nick Carraway’s narrating voice: “In my younger and more vulnerable years…” (1). It immediately tied the movie very closely to the book, and the rest of the film did not disappoint in that regard. What struck me about that scene in the movie though, was how old and tired Nick sounded. And it occurred to me that this was possibly Nick recounting the story decades after it happened. But once the sanitarium came into view, it came to no surprise to me when Nick’s face appeared still young shortly afterwards – the memory clearly haunted him immensely. The movie made it seem that Nick was extremely effected by what happened, aging him decades in only a short period of time, while the book kind of plays off a sort of cool indifference on his part, especially during his encounter with Tom Buchanan years after everything happened.

Also, let’s take a moment now to appreciate this particular doctor’s handwriting, while still flowery, maintains a semblance of legibility.

Then, we enter Nick’s flashback to the very beginning of his New York adventures. But where the book contained archaic writing, the movie was able to portray the liveliness and magic of the “Roaring Twenties” with the old timey videos and energetic music. And the way Nick said “East Egg” really made it sound like a magical fairytale land – which, of course, we know, is not.

And then, Nick visits the Buchanan residence.

But first, Tom’s mustache.

OK, now that we have that out of the way, on to the magical quality of Tom and Daisy Buchanan’s majestic home. It’s definitely a sight to behold, what with the light filtering in through flowy curtains and hundreds of servants who seem to be dancing in sync.

Also, why is Jordan so tall? She literally looks like a giant next to Nick.

The next part is one of my favorites in the entire movie, because YASSSS pretty music. Please listen to it while you read the rest of my post (I’m listening to it while I’m writing this post). Not only will it make me immensely happy (because I probably wasted too much time looking for this on the Internet and will have something to show for it), you will be better for it, too. I swear, pretty music is good for you. (link here)

Next, on to the Valley of Ashes. It is almost literally a mass of gray – gray skies, gray buildings, gray people. Doctor T.J. Eckleburg is basically the only hint of color in the Valley of Ashes. This large pair of eyes was compared to the eyes of God almost in the very beginning of the movie, and alluded to many more times in the film, while in the book, Wilson only commented that “God sees everything” (126) after Myrtle’s death. The large billboard itself also appears many times in the film, which makes it seem like a more emphasized symbol than it was in the novel. And that’s due to the nature of the two mediums – unless something is stated in a book, either implicitly or explicitly, it doesn’t exist, but as long as the camera is able to pan over a landscape in a movie, everything exists.

Gatsby’s parties! 

They look absolutely crazy, something you wouldn’t be able to tell from the, once again, archaic writing of the novel. Of course, that’s not Fitzgerald’s fault, as it was the writing style of the time, but just the movie’s merit. So many things can’t be captured by just words on a page, such as the rhyme in “Broadway directors, morality protectors, high school defectors,” which wasn’t a part of the book but definitely adds to the enchanting effect, or the irony in Jordan’s preference for large parties because “they’re so intimate” (42) that you might have missed in the original if you read too fast, or the morbid foreshadowing of the lyrics of the song playing over the party: “a little party never killed nobody.” And of course, you’d never be able to see Gatsby the way he was at the party, fireworks bursting behind, glass held out in front, with as much vividness as the movie was able to provide.

And Nick and Gatsby’s friendship is portrayed in the movie in a way the book would never be able to. I love the part that Baz Luhrmann (the director) added after Gatsby mentioned “the confidential sort of thing” (68); when Nick said that inviting Daisy is just a favor, without compensation required, the smile that appeared on Gatsby’s face was truly heartwarming. And the part when Nick avoids answering Gatsby’s inquiry about whether the flowers were “too much.” And when Nick came into the house and clanged the pan around the sink to get Gatsby and Daisy’s attention. I’m really glad that Luhrmann decided to add those little moments that weren’t part of the book in, as it develops their relationship more.

And can we just take a moment to appreciate that Gatsby got his “old sport” habit from Dan Cody? When I heard Dan Cody say “old sport” I was like OMG! 

There are also the hidden innuendos that either couldn’t have been mentioned discretely in the book or just weren’t, such as the latin “ad fidelis finem” carved onto Gatsby’s gate. A quick Google search told me that that meant “faithful to the end” – definitely foreshadowing Gatsby’s “end.”

Also, swoosh, swoosh of the ladies' dresses. Too fancy. 

And while we’re on that sophisticated note, let me go crazy over music again. Listen please!! (link here)

The next scene was pretty intense, especially the whole thing with Gatsby trying to get Daisy to tell Tom she never loved him. But when Tom counters with his “I love Daisy, too,” I was almost convinced. And that’s the power of acting – good actors can get into character so well, that you can’t not believe what they’re saying. Of course, I experience this with books too, but I didn’t with The Great Gatsby. Of course, that may be due to the time gap between me and Fitzgerald, messing communication up a bit, but whatever the reason, the movie was a big help in that regard.

After Myrtle’s death, in front of the Buchanan’s house, I could see the disgust for New York City and the people living in it form on Nick’s face – I could see every step it took, I could see the final product, and I could feel it.

And of course, the death of Gatsby. I’ll just let you read my notes for that.

As you can probably tell, I was going through quite a few emotions while watching that scene. And I felt a hatred for Daisy that didn’t quite form with a reading of the book. And when Nick tried to call Daisy, I saw him looking down the stairs at her. Looking down at her. Condemning her. And when he ran down the stairs, yelling at everybody to “get the hell outta here!” I heard him yelling at her.

The last passage of the novel – “borne back ceaselessly into the past” (142) – was beautiful in and of itself. But there was a transcendence achieved through hearing it read by Nick that my emotionless silent reading couldn’t get even close to. It felt great to hear that last part being read aloud, and I thank Tobey Maguire for that.

Lastly, I really enjoyed the movie’s addition of the doctor. It gave context to Nick’s recount of his story, that he “wrote” Gatsby as a form of escape from traumatized memories, and in the process, realized how great the man was.

And there’s my super lengthy (sorry!) comments on The Great Gatsby, the movie!