This lecture was just plain dull. Aside from the one lady basically blaming the whole freshman class for the outbreak of chlamydia or syphilis on campus, the speakers sounded bored. They basically told us things I think most of us knew from high school health class, and the presentation of the information itself was very dry. Really one of the only good things about this event was the free stuff they handed out beforehand. I think it was a good idea for a lecture because of course people should know more about HIV/AIDs, however I think it was just put together strangely. If they had made it a little bit more interesting or even understandable I think the presentation would have been much better.
Sexual Survival in the New Millenium October 17, 2008
This lecture started out interesting. Of course the topic of HIV/AIDs is an important one, and it should not be overlooked by any stretch, but Dr. Sweeney made the lecture somewhat unbearable at times. But before I mention the negative, I want to stress the positive aspects. Dr. Sweeney seemed very well informed on the topic of HIV/AIDs, and I was also very happy to see that her main research was in New York City, which is right near where I live. I appreciated learning the statistics of the disease and who it affects most because it has taught me to be more careful with what I do. I did not like, however, that the lecture was so long. The same questions were being asked of her over and over again, and she would go off on tangents that lasted 15-20 minutes at times. I also knew a lot of the information she provided us with because of the women’s health class I took as a senior in high school. Overall, though, I think it was a worthwhile lecture because people need to know about this disease and who it’s affecting.
I Think I May Have Found My Calling… October 15, 2008
Well, right now I’m really supposed to be writing my Civ midterm, but I found something a little more interesting and meaningful to do. So recently I have been considering my options in life. I have always known that I love to sing, and just about 20 minutes ago I was listening to songs by my favorite artist Maria Mena on youtube. I found out about her this summer, and just absolutely loved her voice. She has the kind of voice I’d love to have someday, so everyday I just keep singing. Anyway, I was listening to one of my favorite songs of hers, and when it was finished I clicked on a link to another song of hers that I had never heard before. Now, just recently I have been thinking about what I want to do and who I want to be, and I have been giving singing some serious thought. Anyway, I was just sitting back and listening to this song, and all of a sudden I stopped, shocked. I’ll post the lyrics below, and you’ll see why.
“So Sweet” by Maria Mena
cool and soothing
the wind is in your hair
not a single care
cigarettes and beer
the speed of moving
feels like you can fly
feeling kinda high
beneath the big blue sky
you let go and landed on your feet
and it felt so sweet
there’s nothing more that can hold you back now
Amelia
you always had what you finally found
Amelia
oh oh oh oh youre on your way
your fears are behind you
oh oh oh oh you’re on your way
your fears are behind you
morning glory
shines upon your face
not a single trace
of years all gone to waste
oh now here’s a story
full of hope and light
you didn’t win without a fight
now here’s to your delight
you let go and landed on your feet
and it felt so sweet
there’s nothing more that can hold you back now
Amelia
you always had what you finally found
Amelia
oh oh oh oh you’re on your way
your fears are behind you
oh oh oh oh you’re on your way
your fears are behind you
you let go and landed on your feet
and it felt so sweet
——————-
After I heard this and reread the lyrics several times, I just cried. This song explains my exact situation in life right now, and I cannot express how extremely joyful I am right now that I am coming to terms with myself and my abilities. I think this song was a sign, and I am going to pursue it as such. I can’t write anymore about this, or I’m going to drown my computer in happy tears! I’m going to go listen again…
P.S. If you want to hear the song, just go to youtube.com and search for: Maria Mena So Sweet
Deep Ancestry Inside the “Genographic Project” October 10, 2008
Intercontinental human migration routes discovered by Dr. Spencer Wells.
Yesterday I went to a lecture given by Dr. Spencer Wells, a population geneticist. Through his work, he aims to explain the patterns of human diversity, meaning how people got to be where they are today (the above map illustrates this), and why we look the way we do. He said some really interesting things. For instance, apparently, through his research, he has come to find that there is very little genetic variety between humans (only about .1%), whereas there are other species that have as much as 14% genetic variation. What I also thought was quite interesting was that he has traced the migration of peoples back over time, and has concluded that everyone originated in Africa. I enjoyed the lecture immensely and am planning to order a kit to join his project. This kit is provided so that you can send him a buccal swab of your DNA, and he will tell you where your ancestors have come from. I have always been really interested in genetics, and no one in my family can ever give me a straight answer as to what we are and where we have come from. I figure this is my chance to find out!
In a Metropolitan State of Mind… October 8, 2008
I wrote this essay as a descriptive narrative piece for my freshman composition class. I really liked it, and did well on it, so I decided to upload it here. If you can’t tell, it’s about the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City (my favorite city in the world!).
As I sat on the cold marble stairs finishing the last of my once-hot pretzel that had turned hard and cold in the autumn air, I prepared myself mentally for the treasures that lay waiting behind the large glass doors in front of me. Coming here had always soothed my mind while also letting my imagination run rampant, and I was ready for another cultural head-trip. After swatting a few stray crumbs from my scarf, I ascended the white stairs, my footprints almost visible from years of treading the same path. My gloved hand rested on the metal door handle, and I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I began to pull open the heavy museum door.
I surrendered myself to the wills of my feet, and they led me inside toward the sights I had become all too familiar with over the years. All around me, groups of tourists danced hurried patterns of excitement over the stone floor, swiveling their curious faces to marvel at the architecture, while small children gazed open-mouthed in wonder at the massive amount of people inside. I stopped to take it all in, resisting the urges of my feet if only for a moment.
After divesting myself of my scarf and gloves, my feet took off, heading left in the direction of the Greek statues. I walked through the hall of life-sized gods and goddesses, frozen in time in cages of white marble. I stopped in front of every statue, trying to picture the sculptor who had created such a masterpiece. I noticed the similarities between the statues, all partly, if not completely nude, wearing unreadable expressions of triumph, indignation, sorrow, or longing. I envisioned the minds behind the masterworks, my brain conjuring images of old men bent double over blocks of marble with chisels in their hands and pictures in their minds. The products of hard labor lay before me in neat rows, and as I passed through the room I realized that each statue had its own unique history.
I kept walking until I got to the Oceania wing. I let the ceremonial masks and costumes invade my pupils, and my imagination soared. The handmade costumes, dripping with beads, came to life before my eyes, dancing and celebrating through Maori tradition. I looked around at the carved canoes and wondered about the people who had used them. How could something so everyday for one person be regarded as art for the next? I wondered about this, all the while bypassing the once heavily used ceremonial objects, and the glass confines to which they had been subjected.
My feet pushed forth, leaving my brain no time to realize where I was headed. The next wing ironically enough, housed the more modern art. Odd shapes and unidentifiable objects jumped out at me from every painting on the wall. I always felt like such an outsider in this hall of images. The harshness of the bright lights hindered my capacity to comprehend what exactly was happening in each painting. I had never liked this wing, but I had to walk through it to get to the more familiar, more comfortable art. The paintings seemed to scoff and jeer at me, sensing my inability to understand their true meaning, so I quickened my pace.
Upon finally passing the last of the self-righteous paintings, I reached the hall of Roman statues. My feet automatically led me towards my favorite of the bunch. It was a statue full of inhumanity and questions. A man sits twisting his mangled, yet fully formed fingers in his mouth. An expression of extreme emotional agony separates him from the figures that surround him. Four young boys (his sons, the plaque says) drape themselves around their father’s body, clawing at him and offering their bodies as his sustenance. Upon learning the story behind the statue for the first time, my face mirrored that of the father’s for a few moments until I finally gained enough repose to move on to the next exhibit hall.
I came across the room of religious relics, and the severity of the pieces forced a hushed calm to settle over the room. An enormous altarpiece loomed overhead, nearly brushing the ceiling with its pointy tips. I tiptoed underneath it, feeling as though a loud step or quickened stride might awaken the weeping Madonnas from their sorrow and mourning. Their faces twisted in the agony of losing a child, and I softly left the room feeling a bit uneasy, yet comfortably at peace.
I wandered unconsciously into the room of the imported Spanish plaza. It was a sparsely decorated, yet extremely lavish space that prohibited my mind from taking a break. I sat on a bare stone bench to collect my thoughts and relieve my aching feet. I willed my mind to rest, but all I could see were highly decorated, expensive looking women dancing the tango with dapper, mustached men in tuxedoes. The women wore flowers in their long black hair, the men had roses in their mouths, and they all moved in time to a silent song that could not quite permeate my already overloaded senses. I longed to join them, but I knew it was illogical and impossible, and yet again I let my feet guide me toward my next destination.
They glided over the heavily trafficked marble floors until I reached the main staircase. I scaled the stairs two at a time knowing exactly what I would find at the top, though unsure of how I would receive it this time around. The staircase seemed unending in my anticipation, as though I were traveling the wrong way on an escalator, but my pursuits were rewarded with a new floor full of art to rediscover. As I traveled around the carpeted floors of the second story, I came across images of French cafés and outdoor scenes from two hundred year-old paintings, as well as month-old photographs forever memorializing the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in black and white 8 x 10s. I walked past fantastical, prehistoric statues created to terrify the onlooker, yet they merely intrigued me. I stared at the ancient sculpture; at the Pegasus wings, the horse hooves, and the lion’s tail, and wondered what exactly I was looking at.
I walked back downstairs, my subconscious controlling my movements, and I wandered unknowingly to my favorite part of the museum. I walked past the old stone walls of partial pyramids, and the faded death masks in the excavated sarcophagi of the deceased. I turned the final corner and there it was: the Great Temple of Ur in all its glory. The huge pool of water before me reflected broken images of yellow and orange trees from Central Park, falling through the wall of windows. The ominous temple beckoned at the far end of the room, and as I stood before it, my feet finally at rest, I felt more welcome, and more complete in my actions than I had ever felt in my entire life.
President Sidney A. Ribeau’s Convocation Speech October 1, 2008
I actually really liked the president’s convocation speech. I didn’t think his tone was too casual. He was talking to a bunch of young people (and of course the faculty), so I think his content and tone were appropriate. I thought it was admirable that he called out certain students and commended them in front of a school-wide audience. He gave the current students like me, a standard to look up to, and not just the legacy of the past. My favorite part of the speech, however, was when President Ribeau compared himself to music, a color, a book of the Bible, and a leader. I liked this a lot, so I decided to do my own, a little differently.
If I were music, I would be Big Band.
If I were a color, I would be bright yellow.
If I were a book, I would be “On the Way Down” by Nicholas Sparks.
If I were a leader, I would make promises I could keep.
