A Photograph of Teendom

by Chris

 

Summer nights at the Golden Twist, an ice cream and sandwich shop, will forever keep with me. The hum of the ice cream machines, the flashing blue and red of the open sign, the sizzles and pops of the deep fryer: all these things will come to form an album of distant and pleasant memories. Looking back, the customers served me more than I served them.

 

We live our lives retrospect, always dreaming of some earlier time when the world was new and hope was high. All of us have moments which seem to weather the passage of time itself; for me it will be the elderly customers, their faces aglow with the vivacity of a youth they once lived. I never once knew a customer personally, save those from school, yet I always found in those moments of interaction a fleeting unity between they and I. I felt as if I could see their album. Their eyes would shine as I presented them their chilli dog or banana split, and, for an instant, a genuine, human compassion would betray their otherwise feigned civility. In those moments the entirety of their earthly experiences would present themselves to me, and I could rifle through the sepia photos of one who had lived five my lifetimes. But it was fleeting; in the next instant the album would slam shut, and the present would shout, "More orders are waiting!"

Or perhaps it was Harry Wilder: septuagenarian, cancer survivor, father of two lawyers, and proud owner of the Golden Twist. Both he and his shop were known by name throughout the city. He had lived a long and colorful life, had befriended the mayor, had established himself as a respectable businessman, but every day he was at the Golden Twist working alongside everyone else. I remember Donna, the adult manager, talking of his battle with cancer and how he would drive several hours each day just to come to work. Why several hours? Because his chemotherapy treatments were in Indianapolis. No words suffice.

Above the bathroom threshold hangs a framed picture of a racecar; it is blue and gold and has the business's logo on it. That picture is older than I am. And yet it is but one of thousands which fill the pages of Harry's album. It shall fill my album also, as shall the countless summer nights I've spent at the Golden Twist. My teen years will be a series of juxtaposed pictures of banana splits, of youthful elderly customers, and of a flashing neon sign; so too shall they fill others' memories, for even today, on clammy summer nights, when the sky is clear and the air sweet, you can still hear the buzz and see the flash of the Golden Twist.

 

The future is so frightening, and our place in it so undefined:  that's why we look to the past, with its unchanging state. Looking into the eyes of Harry Wilder and all the elderly customers allowed me to feel my own humanity. Each time I did so, I felt the true vastness of time, sensed the true breadth of human continuity. In those transient moments, I thought, "Perhaps I can open the album of humanity itself and in quiet and reverent fashion, insert my own photo."

DIY Hairmasks & Beauty Tips

by Daisy

 

Now, I’m not a beauty expert. I’m probably nowhere near as experienced with makeup and hair care as 90% of the other girls in my school, or girls in general, but I’m starting to really get into all the little things like eyeliner and such. I’m also very devoted to growing out my hair too, so I thought maybe I could give a little bit of insight to my experiences and maybe give you a few tips that I’ve learned along the way.

When it comes to beauty, the number one thing that I have always been very anal about is my hair. If it doesn’t look a certain way or fall right or is too stringy or too flat or too big, I get really upset about it. My hair may not be as perfect, as long or as beautiful as other girls’, but I do try hard to make it look nice and healthy. I try not to put heat on it, but who am I kidding? Almost no one likes their natural hair; there are really few that do. So I cave and straighten it or curl it so it looks nice. Putting heat on your hair can really damage it though, so here are some tips that I can offer you and that I try to follow as well.

 

On the weekends (or weekdays), if I’m not going anywhere and am staying at home or inside all day, I don’t style it. It’s kind of like, who am I trying to impress? My family? They know me and don’t really care what I look like so I let it go natural. Also, if you can try and find ways to style your hair without using any heat or products, some simple suggestions are: putting your hair in a bun or ponytail, pulling it all to one side, braiding it, or even putting in curlers when you go to bed at night. The reason you want to stay away from heat is because it drys out your hair and causes split ends. You don’t want your hair to be a broken, brittled mess. Did you know that your split ends can split all the way to the roots? That’s crazy, so I highly recommend taking good care of your hair.

One of the things I like to do is put in DIY hair masks. I’m not gonna lie...it’s kinda gross because DIY hair masks are mainly made up of household items like food and powders and oils. I’m not a master at mixing and creating my hair masks, but it gets the job done when it comes to split ends. I usually use a spoonful or two of mayonnaise (yuck!) some olive oil, 2 eggs, and honey, with a dash of cinnamon. The cinnamon doesn’t really do anything for your hair but the mixture tends to smell really bad, so I put that in so I’m disgusted by the smell.

Go online and look up hair mask recipes that suit you and then apply it in the shower. You’re supposed to thoroughly apply it to your hair and leave it in for about 10-30

minutes. What I do is I’ll apply it and put a shower cap on and go watch an episode of American Dad on Netflix while I wait. Once time is up, go rinse out your mask and make sure that you get it all out - you don’t want any egg or mayo residue in it. Super gross. Finally, you shampoo and condition your hair as normal, and it should help with split ends. At least it did for me. I don’t want anyone to take my word for it, but this mask works for me, so it might for you.

I was never girly growing up. I was a really awkward tomboy. Recently, though, I’ve been trying to experiment more with this foreign concept. Makeup. *shudders* I seriously have no idea what I’m doing. Right now the best I can do is concealer, eyeliner sometimes, and mascara. To finish this article, a little tip that will probably help with ladies who make mistakes sometimes is that if you mess up, a little baby oil on a Q-tip does magic for makeup removal.

Justin Timberlake

by Daisy

 

I’m not going to lie...I am completely in love with Justin Timberlake! Everyone who even knows me a little bit is aware of this fact! I always joke about how we’re gonna get married and how much I love him, so that’s why this article is dedicated to my future hubby, Justin Timberlake...even though he’s already married, but there’s divorce for a reason! (I’m obviously kidding; I wish him and his wife many years of wedded bliss.)

For the same reason I love Spiderman, I love Justin Timberlake because he has been a part of my life ever since I was little, and when I say little I mean 9-10 years old. My first memory of JT was watching/listening to his music video, SexyBack. I loved everything about Timberlake, from his sweet, angelic voice to his boyish attitude and good looks. Which, by the way, his are so pleasing to the eyes. I love his face. Omg, he’s perfect. Sorry for the fangirling, but I am just head over heels for him!

JT’s music career started when he was about the same age I was when I first listened to him, at around 10 years old. He got his start with Disney on The All New Mickey Mouse Club with Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears. Eventually he went on to become a member of the boy band, ‘N Sync. Eventually he broke off from the band and became a pop idol.

Just recently he released his newest album, 20/20, which I strongly recommend to anyone willing to listen. I think it’s a well-crafted and unique album, although I must admit that each song seems to run on forever (they’re about 7 to 8 minutes long), containing long preludes and/or interludes. But other than that, his album is quite enjoyable, and I love listening and dancing stupidly in my room to it.

The Tragedy of the Twerk

by Chris

Before I start, I want to make a few things clear. One: I was never a fan of Miley Cyrus and never watched a single episode of Hannah Montana. Two: I actually abhor most rap music and the hip hop industry in general. Three: The proceeding words are utterly biased and were written without any consideration given to alternative viewpoints. Good, now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about Miley Cyrus!

No, no, not VMA Cyrus, not rapper Cyrus, let’s talk about “clean” Cyrus. Long before she was twerkin’ (Wow, autocorrect removed the “g;” I’m not even kidding) on middle-aged men and smoking marijuana on stage, Miley Cyrus was the idol of millions of prepubescent girls. She was clean, couth, compassionate, and just a bit country. And to top it all off, she was the star of her very own show on Disney. Now as I said before, I never watched Hannah Montana, but surely I can deduce a few things about it: the lead character was a blonde girl; the plot revolved around trivial conflicts; the settings were horrendously artificial; the saddest episodes involved one of the many static “friends” of the protagonist moving away. All of these things sound about right, but I forgot one thing: the star of the show (read: Miley Cyrus) had to embody her character constantly.

It wasn’t enough for Miley to play Hannah Montana; she had to become Hannah Montana. Prepubescent girls simply aren’t mature enough to distinguish between what’s real and what’s manufactured. Sure, they know that movies aren’t real, but they don’t understand that characters like Hannah Montana are played by real human beings like Miley Cyrus who often have completely different personalities. So while Miley Cyrus appeared clean, couth, compassionate, and country on TV, she was probably anything but in reality. She was simply marketed. Is it any wonder that the recurring idea of “We Can’t Stop” is “I can do what I want?” I can do what I want? Clearly this implies that at one point in time she couldn’t do what she wanted. Why? Because her success depended on conforming to the expectations of millions of naïve girls. What we’re seeing with Miley today is the reaction to years of restriction. She was never allowed to truly express herself; her world was artificial and superficial. Playing Hannah Montana meant being marketed as a product for Miley Cyrus, her individuality forsaken in the face of profit.

This is perhaps the greatest tragedy; Miley Cyrus was forced to conform to the expectations of little girls and their parents, to be a “role model.” Why can’t parents be role models to their own children? Why are they so reliant on the media to raise their children, to teach their children right from wrong? Could it be that life in a commercialized world of consumerism and materialism, which holds money above human life, inhibits the ability of parents to interact with their children and thus leaves said children at the mercy of an advertising apparatus so sophisticated and so pervasive that it indoctrinates the children into the world of consumerism and wage labor that originally robbed them of parental guidance? Then, continuing the tradition of indoctrination, the children grow up and chase false dreams in a fast-paced world, leaving their children before the onslaught of that very advertising and sensationalism, thus reducing human existence in America to nothing more than consumption.

Whoops, my Orwell is showing. But what’s curious is the public outcry against Miley Cyrus. Doesn’t she represent our modern age? She’s young, white, rich, sensational, bereft of morals, and ostentatiously (yet awkwardly) sexual. Any impartial observer would say she complements our society perfectly. Why, then, is she discussed in the most scathing, vehement terms our language can muster? I feel she is a scared little girl navigating the turbulent waters of adulthood. She’s searching for her true identity, and she is throwing off the shackles of that artificial world that once held her. She embodies the totality of the American spirit. And yet, America spits on her for daring to defy expectations, for divorcing herself from the Disney doll Hannah Montana. That’s the tragedy of it all: we are so wrapped in the tentacles of consumerism and sensationalism that we cannot see the glory in Miley Cyrus twerking.

Maximum Ride

by Daisy

Maximum Ride. No this isn’t a ride at an amusement park; this is a girl, Max, and she and her friends all have a gift - a very special gift. They have wings. And if you’re thinking chicken wings and barbeque sauce, then go get a snack and come back because you’re hungry, and that’s not what this article is about. They have wings coming out of their bodies. They can fly. Of course, this isn’t real. No one has wings, and if they did my mind would be blown. But this is a book series, eight books total by James Patterson, that follows the adventures and antics of Maximum Ride and her friends, Iggy, Fang, Nudge, Angel, and The Gasman (or Gazzy).

Their backstory is quite simple, really. They’re a group of minors, ranging from the ages of 6-14, that escaped from an institution called The School, with the help of scientist Jeb Batchelder, who experiments with genetic mutations. Once escaped, Jeb Batchelder takes them, The Flock, deep into the mountains, teaching them basic survival skills and how to defend themselves. Eventually Jeb disappears after two years, and The Flock are then on their own, thinking he’s dead, leading to where the first book of the series begins.

Personally I recommend the series to those who enjoy adventure, intricate twists and turns, and even a little bit of romance. I haven’t had much experience with said books, except for Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment a few years back, but I recall the novel being quite intricate and unique, and I would love to continue reading about The Flock’s adventures.

Famous Fashion

by Rose

What’s considered fashion differs from person to person. Fashion is a broad topic compared to the numerous styles that exist. It’s hard to label yourself as what you look like and how you dress; you might consider yourself a ‘hipster’ while everyone and their mother think you’re a ‘prep’, or you might consider your style unique while the next guy might say you look basic.

There are a great deal of styles: Goth, Hipster, Sporty, Preppy, Skater, Chic, Scene, Tomboy, Nerdy, Punk, Thug, Boho, Girly, and sometimes the groups run together or even have sub-groups within the style. The three styles I’m going to talk about are the ones I see most and can differentiate clearly, for there’s no mixing up Scene and Sporty.

Sporty: An athletic look is desired amongst the Sporty ones. The look can be categorized as sweatpants, basketball shorts, or T-shirts with a sport team logo. Sporty girls normally wear little to no makeup, and their hair is usually pulled back into a ponytail with maybe a headband. The boys wear tennis shoes or Nikes and sometimes muscle shirts.
The Sporty look is common in high school, obviously most frequently seen with the kids who play on sports teams. It’s not one of my favorite fashion styles, but it’s not one of my least favorites either; I admire those who take pride in staying in top physical condition.

Hipster: I’ve noticed that Hipsters have been getting quite a bit of attention lately, and it seems to be, ironically, the new ‘in’ thing, despite the whole point of being a hipster being to be as far away from mainstream society as possible. Hipsters are usually seen wearing beanies, skinny jeans, glasses, or T-shirts with bands on them that ‘you’ve probably never heard of.’

Hipsters are greatly common in teens and young adults. I used to really enjoy Hipster style, but over time I have grown away from it.

Scene: Scene and Emo get mixed up easily. Now, don’t make the mistake of telling one they’re the other. Scene is categorized as straight, layered hair (sometimes colored to an unnatural color) with black makeup around the eyes and dark clothes and skinny jeans tighter than my liking.

Fashion, like many things, is what you make it. It doesn’t matter what style you fall under. As long as you enjoy the way you look and are confident in what you wear, you’ll look good in anything.

Creatures of the Sun

by Chris

 "Concerning the generation of animals akin to them, as hornets and wasps, the facts in all cases are similar to a certain extent, but are devoid of the extraordinary features which characterize bees; this we should expect, for they have nothing divine about them as the bees have."

~ Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)
 

Nothing is so beautiful, so majestic as the relationship flowers and bees share. They have evolved together over millions of years, and every spring we see their courtship played out all over the world. We see the countless worker bees toiling in the sun, buzzing from flower to flower collecting nectar and depositing pollen. This dance had occurred for hundreds of millions of years, and today it is a vital part of our ecosystem. The flowers and the crops that are pollinated by bees produce food for our consumption; the bees return to their hives with the nectar to make honey and wax. All of this we take without gratitude. In ancient times, honey was considered sacred. It was said that honey was the nectar of the gods; the bees themselves were held in similar esteem. Today, however, there is no such reverence for bees, only fear.

But why do we fear honeybees? Sure, we humans have many, many irrational phobias, but why is it that we all seem to share a horror of the humble honey bee? Cartoons depict them as vicious swarms waiting to engulf innocent passersby. The buzzing of a bee evokes dread; the sight pandemonium. The reason for this fear, of course, is the sting of the bee. People seem to have this ridiculous notion that bees want to sting them. Our culture has conditioned us to believe that bees are hell-bent on causing us immense pain. This couldn’t bee further from the truth.

The vast majority of bee stings occur when they are forced to defend their hive, wherein their queen, their larvae, their home, and their honey lie. Furthermore, bees sting only once. Their stingers are barbed and get logged in whatever they sings, so when they try to fly away, the lower part of their abdomen is ripped off. The act of stinging must be inconceivably excruciating for a bee, but they must do it in order to defend their colony. Most of us would aggressively defend our home if our children, parents, and wealth lied inside. Is a gun not a stinger of greater destructiveness? But on a much deeper level, bees are justified in stinging any human they want, considering what we’ve done to them. What, exactly, have we done to them?

The answer to that question is actually quite simple: we’ve reduced them to machines. The demand for produce and crops has necessitated new methods of pollination. Sure, allowing bees to freely pollinate crops may have worked long ago, but in this modern era, when orchards span hundreds of thousands of acres, when hundreds of millions of people depend upon fresh produce, and when the growing season has not grown with demand, the natural way is no longer viable. Yet, because no one wants to or is able to physically pollinate billions of plants, bees must still be used. So we cram them into wooden crates and ship them around the world to pollinate massive orchards. And while they are being transported in boxes, we feed them a watery solution of high-fructose corn syrup. How could high-fructose corn syrup possibly compare to honey, the nectar of the gods? It can’t. All this, however, cannot compare to the worst of it.

No bee colony can exist without a queen. The ritualistic mating between a queen bee and her male suitors that results in baby queen bees seldom occurs. Yet we need many colonies of bees to pollinate our crops; therefore, we need many queen bees. The solution to this problem? Artificial insemination. Indeed, as crazy as it sounds, we sedate queen bees and fill them will sperm from the strongest male bees we find. Besides being an absolute disgrace to the queen bee, this process hurts all bees: because only a few males are used, the genetic diversity of the queen’s offspring is greatly reduced. This results in a colony more susceptible to disease and pathogens. Moreover, the resulting queen bees are weaker than their natural counterparts.

Then there are the fungicides and systemic pesticides. We, being the industrious race that we are, use fungicides in an attempt to protect our crops from fungi. Systemic pesticides? Think inserting pesticides directly into the DNA of a plant. Now, any logical person would agree that this could have adverse health effects on humans. For bees it has proven absolutely devastating. It affects their nervous system; they become disoriented and unable to function. Entire colonies of bees have simply vanished. And we’re not talking about a few disparate hives here; we’re talking about half of all commercial beehives in the United States: billions of bees. We even have a term for this phenomenon: Colony Collapse Disorder.

Our actions have caused Colony Collapse Disorder. We have treated the worker bee as a drone, fed them artificial sugar solutions, violated their queens, and exposed them to the worst toxins we have. And still, they only sting us when they feel threatened. So ask yourself, who is the true menace? Anyone who enjoys fruits, flowers, or nuts are profiting from the pain of bees. We shouldn’t fear honeybees: we should be grateful to them for everything they do for this planet, for us. Instead of swatting them with rolled-up newspapers and destroying their hives, we should be doing everything possible to help honeybees; for the simple fact of the matter is, honeybees are dying. They are dying, and we are killing them.

Contained within the the nectar of every flower is the energy of the sun. Bees have been granted access to this precious substance, and they carry it with them to the darkness of their hive. Yet there is no darkness there: the nectar itself is the light of the sun captured in material form. Honey is but a purified form the nectar, a purified form of light guiding the order of the hive, making each bee a creature of the sun. Perhaps Aristotle was on to something when he proclaimed the divinity of bees, a divinity we have perverted with our strange apparatuses and toxic chemicals. So let us end with another quote by Aristotle, something to alter our opinion of bees, something to put things in perspective:

''Honey falls from the air, principally about the rising of the stars, and when a rainbow rests upon the earth.''