The Wittenberg system is flawed.
I agree that attention needs to be called to the student body and administration about the recent events, especially when it is crimes against race, gender, sexuality, or whatever else anyone could consider a difference. When they do, the community responds in a positive way that can overcome the emotional damage caused. But when happens when crimes pertaining to this matter aren't always addressed, and emotional as well as physical damage has been caused?
If a Springfield resident assaults a student, Carl Loney will send an email within 5 minutes catching wind of the incident.
From personal experience, I know students who have been attacked, unprovoked, by another student on campus. AND, after all that the victim was called a racist -- for doing absolutely nothing. No one on campus was informed of this by email, word of mouth, or any form of address. In my opinion, I think situations where personal safety is at danger the students should know about it. I don't think it is right to have it be swept under the rug.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Puff the Magic Dragon
DISCLAIMER: Alcohol and Marijuana are not considered hard drugs for sake of my argument.
Drugs are common on college campuses -- no earth shattering news there. However, for me at least, I think drugs are more prevalent by word of mouth. By this I mean that I know people are doing drugs, and probably a lot of people I know, but I don't know personally which people. I don't ever see the actual drugs, so I guess I am naive about it. People are going to do what they want to do, so be my guest. I only see it as a problem when it interferes with everyday life and relationships. If you are on the show "Intervention" you have probably had enough.
Drugs are common on college campuses -- no earth shattering news there. However, for me at least, I think drugs are more prevalent by word of mouth. By this I mean that I know people are doing drugs, and probably a lot of people I know, but I don't know personally which people. I don't ever see the actual drugs, so I guess I am naive about it. People are going to do what they want to do, so be my guest. I only see it as a problem when it interferes with everyday life and relationships. If you are on the show "Intervention" you have probably had enough.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Campus Infusion
Through the glass doors of a stone pebble building, Ms. Sheri kindly greets you and points you down the hallway to where you need to be.
“Projection! Articulation! Diction! Annunciation!” chimes Martha Sawicki, a student volunteer.
The young kids line the built-to-size stage and wings, framed with red velvet traveler curtains, so they can soon begin their days Art Intensive Session (AIS). Monday would be a drama session and they would rehearse the script of timeless Grease, the kid’s version.
“Are we performing this in front of the beginners?” Amethyst quietly asks Ms. Sawicki.
“…And the intermediates…and all the teachers,” she responds.
“Oh, poop!” Amethyst says as she turns back around.
Then a young girl, “Miss Molly,” wearing a purple sparkly shirt, embroidered capris, glasses, and braces, steps forward on the gray stage with more authority than her innocent appearance reveals. As an actress she will play the role of Patty in the play.
“Cha Cha! What are you doing here! I am going to have to ask you to leave!” She announces proudly.
The young group continues rehearsing and each one giggles when the word “cutie pie” is read in the script.
Drama is only a fraction of what goes on in the after-school program, Campus Infusion. Offered by the Springfield Art Museum, the program provides busing from city and parochial schools to the local facility. Upon arrival, the children will be given a light snack then off to their AIS of the day, which typically lasts an hour. Beyond drama, dependent on a student’s focus, these sessions also include art, music, and dance.
“What’s the difference between an overture and an entr’acte?” quizzes Ms. Sawicki, but it seems fun than educational for everyone involved.
Alex, a freckly faced boy hidden behind glasses, helps his friend who is having trouble with the question to get both answers correct. Then, in his white adidas soccer jersey, jumps and fist pumps the air for his achievement.
“300 more points for Alex!” he cheers loudly. Alex had already been generous enough to grant himself 10 points prior for answering another question right about what “off the book” means. Intensive accurately describes today’s session.
Soon, it nearly 5 o’clock and the excitement is interrupted by some early arriving parents. The rest of the group will take a 15 minute break to collaboratively clean the Loft, where they will spend the rest of the time catching up on school work. The head advisor, Ms. Nuggie, motivates the kids to clean by placing bets that she can collect more dust on her Lysol wipe then they can.
“Projection! Articulation! Diction! Annunciation!” chimes Martha Sawicki, a student volunteer.
The young kids line the built-to-size stage and wings, framed with red velvet traveler curtains, so they can soon begin their days Art Intensive Session (AIS). Monday would be a drama session and they would rehearse the script of timeless Grease, the kid’s version.
“Are we performing this in front of the beginners?” Amethyst quietly asks Ms. Sawicki.
“…And the intermediates…and all the teachers,” she responds.
“Oh, poop!” Amethyst says as she turns back around.
Then a young girl, “Miss Molly,” wearing a purple sparkly shirt, embroidered capris, glasses, and braces, steps forward on the gray stage with more authority than her innocent appearance reveals. As an actress she will play the role of Patty in the play.
“Cha Cha! What are you doing here! I am going to have to ask you to leave!” She announces proudly.
The young group continues rehearsing and each one giggles when the word “cutie pie” is read in the script.
Drama is only a fraction of what goes on in the after-school program, Campus Infusion. Offered by the Springfield Art Museum, the program provides busing from city and parochial schools to the local facility. Upon arrival, the children will be given a light snack then off to their AIS of the day, which typically lasts an hour. Beyond drama, dependent on a student’s focus, these sessions also include art, music, and dance.
“What’s the difference between an overture and an entr’acte?” quizzes Ms. Sawicki, but it seems fun than educational for everyone involved.
Alex, a freckly faced boy hidden behind glasses, helps his friend who is having trouble with the question to get both answers correct. Then, in his white adidas soccer jersey, jumps and fist pumps the air for his achievement.
“300 more points for Alex!” he cheers loudly. Alex had already been generous enough to grant himself 10 points prior for answering another question right about what “off the book” means. Intensive accurately describes today’s session.
Soon, it nearly 5 o’clock and the excitement is interrupted by some early arriving parents. The rest of the group will take a 15 minute break to collaboratively clean the Loft, where they will spend the rest of the time catching up on school work. The head advisor, Ms. Nuggie, motivates the kids to clean by placing bets that she can collect more dust on her Lysol wipe then they can.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Damn Uniform.
Its 6:30 a.m. Monday morning and I button up my pastel blue oxford and slip into my wool jumper that’s probably six inches above my knee, four inches less than the “fingertip rule,” but all the girls do it. I put on my light blue socks to match my shirt, and grab my suede Mary Janes as I walk out the door before I am late for homeroom.
It was the only detention I got in my four years of high school. I wouldn’t get the perfect conduct award my senior year.
I was pulled aside during lunch hour that day only to be informed by my evil vice-principle that my socks were, and I quote, “too lacy.” God forbid a horny teenage boy sees my ankles.
I always hated wearing a uniform.
However, I wore the same gray jumper, blue oxford, and socks recently to a party themed, “throwdown for your hometown.” I got in trouble that night too, we all did. My sorority is now placed on high-threat probabation.
Please God forgive me.
It was the only detention I got in my four years of high school. I wouldn’t get the perfect conduct award my senior year.
I was pulled aside during lunch hour that day only to be informed by my evil vice-principle that my socks were, and I quote, “too lacy.” God forbid a horny teenage boy sees my ankles.
I always hated wearing a uniform.
However, I wore the same gray jumper, blue oxford, and socks recently to a party themed, “throwdown for your hometown.” I got in trouble that night too, we all did. My sorority is now placed on high-threat probabation.
Please God forgive me.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Color Story
Tombstones surround me, but I feel so full of life. Everyone faces towards the sun, high in the sky. The weather hasn’t been this nice for months. Now, I am finally experiencing the manifestation of spring unfolding. The cemetery is a good place to finally take a break. Down a scenic road, full of lush green foliage and cobbled stone stairways, and around the bend, I find myself sitting in solitude on a bench with a full view of the pond and Buck Creek in front of me. I leave Wittenberg behind.
I take a deep breath and allow the quick, cool, clean breeze to revive my lungs. The aroma of fresh dirt and grass hug my senses. I try and take it all in: the pond, the cascading waterfall, the exploding fountain, the construction workers. I sit and admire the work the crew has accomplished on the creek within the past year; the landscaping now garnishes both sides of the water, and my anticipation for experiencing the “holes” of the whitewater builds. A man along the far side of the creek pushes a red kayak down the grass to the bank of the water. It looks like he’ll get to experience it before me.
I turn back to the rush of the fountain in front of me: up, down, up, down, up, down -- a continuous cycle that speaks to me as a metaphor of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The sun beams, reflects off of the ripples of the pond, and the whole picture lights up and sparkles. The mist of the fountain tickles my warm cheeks. I leave my flip-flops by the bench, roll up my madras pants, and tip-toe across the weather-worn, smooth rocks beneath the cool waterfall, and let the water weave between my feet. It is a pleasant contrast to the beating sun.
A Caterpillar excavator continues hard at work, digging into the fresh soil, while a “cornflower blue” pick-up oversees the job at hand. The constant annoyance of the construction beeps rhythmically, transcending into a calming meditation of the soul.
It is the epitome of Spring.
I take a deep breath and allow the quick, cool, clean breeze to revive my lungs. The aroma of fresh dirt and grass hug my senses. I try and take it all in: the pond, the cascading waterfall, the exploding fountain, the construction workers. I sit and admire the work the crew has accomplished on the creek within the past year; the landscaping now garnishes both sides of the water, and my anticipation for experiencing the “holes” of the whitewater builds. A man along the far side of the creek pushes a red kayak down the grass to the bank of the water. It looks like he’ll get to experience it before me.
I turn back to the rush of the fountain in front of me: up, down, up, down, up, down -- a continuous cycle that speaks to me as a metaphor of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The sun beams, reflects off of the ripples of the pond, and the whole picture lights up and sparkles. The mist of the fountain tickles my warm cheeks. I leave my flip-flops by the bench, roll up my madras pants, and tip-toe across the weather-worn, smooth rocks beneath the cool waterfall, and let the water weave between my feet. It is a pleasant contrast to the beating sun.
A Caterpillar excavator continues hard at work, digging into the fresh soil, while a “cornflower blue” pick-up oversees the job at hand. The constant annoyance of the construction beeps rhythmically, transcending into a calming meditation of the soul.
It is the epitome of Spring.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
DOW Special
Born in Block Island, Rhode Island in (19--) Riker would grow to possess many qualities that anywhere else could only be shared by a group of people. After a 4-year career spent playing varsity lacrosse, Riker would graduate from Springfield University in Springfield, Massachusetts with a degree in History and would later on attain a masters in Humanities. Riker would ultimately find his calling as a college women’s soccer coach, utilizing his unique leadership skills.
After taking a personality test and receiving results that placed him in several type character categories he reassures himself, “I’m one complicated dude.”
I’m not sure if complicated is the right word. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.
In the height of his stress, Coach Riker berates down the sideline of the field, each follicle of hair standing on end, fists clenched, either yelling at a player or, even better, giving the referee permission to card his own team. Norman Dow Riker’s coaching techniques are ones for the books.
Crazy?
Riker traveled with the Wittenberg Women’s Soccer team in 2008 across seas to Europe to prepare the women by expanding their culture and knowledge of the game and the world. While staying at a Hostel in Nijmegen, Holland, the team was woken to the shrill sound of a fire alarm ringing throughout the halls. Riker proceeded, in his worn ACDC t-shirt and plaid red boxers, to get to the bottom of who set off the alarm. He refused to believe that the team actually worshipped precious sleep and was adamant that it must have been the cause of native goods from an Amsterdam café. His concerns did not make it much past the giggles of the girls who just saw their coach in his pajamas.
“Even his wife and kids were ready to disown him at this point,” says Sara Pirozzi, a senior player on the team.
Awkward? No, still not it.
In the mean time, Riker has been raising two brown-eyed beauties, Isabelle and Sofia, to follow in the footsteps of the ladies he currently coaches. He makes a point that the Women’s team are wonderful role models for his daughters. Isabelle resembles Riker with dark, brunette, wavy hair, and deep brown eyes. Sofia is growing up to look more and more like her mother, Gabrielle, everyday, with full cheeks and a smile big enough to warm the sun.
Riker spends a lot of time caring for his family, and it shows. Whether he is running back and forth from Wittenberg to drop off and pick up his kids from school, and then cart them to practice and games, or caring and deeply loving a wife who has been battling breast cancer for years.
“She’s my better 7/8th,” says Riker.
Compassionate? Getting closer…
After taking a personality test and receiving results that placed him in several type character categories he reassures himself, “I’m one complicated dude.”
I’m not sure if complicated is the right word. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.
In the height of his stress, Coach Riker berates down the sideline of the field, each follicle of hair standing on end, fists clenched, either yelling at a player or, even better, giving the referee permission to card his own team. Norman Dow Riker’s coaching techniques are ones for the books.
Crazy?
Riker traveled with the Wittenberg Women’s Soccer team in 2008 across seas to Europe to prepare the women by expanding their culture and knowledge of the game and the world. While staying at a Hostel in Nijmegen, Holland, the team was woken to the shrill sound of a fire alarm ringing throughout the halls. Riker proceeded, in his worn ACDC t-shirt and plaid red boxers, to get to the bottom of who set off the alarm. He refused to believe that the team actually worshipped precious sleep and was adamant that it must have been the cause of native goods from an Amsterdam café. His concerns did not make it much past the giggles of the girls who just saw their coach in his pajamas.
“Even his wife and kids were ready to disown him at this point,” says Sara Pirozzi, a senior player on the team.
Awkward? No, still not it.
In the mean time, Riker has been raising two brown-eyed beauties, Isabelle and Sofia, to follow in the footsteps of the ladies he currently coaches. He makes a point that the Women’s team are wonderful role models for his daughters. Isabelle resembles Riker with dark, brunette, wavy hair, and deep brown eyes. Sofia is growing up to look more and more like her mother, Gabrielle, everyday, with full cheeks and a smile big enough to warm the sun.
Riker spends a lot of time caring for his family, and it shows. Whether he is running back and forth from Wittenberg to drop off and pick up his kids from school, and then cart them to practice and games, or caring and deeply loving a wife who has been battling breast cancer for years.
“She’s my better 7/8th,” says Riker.
Compassionate? Getting closer…
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Jungle Jim's
A not so hidden gem of Fairfield, Ohio, Jungle Jim’s aka “Foodie Land” catches the eye with the life size wild animals outside to welcome you in for a new, different, and exciting experience in the world of grocery shopping. Founded by Miami Grad, Jim Bonaminio, the original market has been described as an amusement park for foodies. Why shop anywhere else?
The elaborate storefront guests that greet you at the door continue to decorate the 300,000 square foot market in a loud, quirky way. It makes the place feel fun and unique. At the center of the store sits a larger than life Campbell’s soup can character perched on a swing, and that is just the beginning of the many cartoons, characters, and mascots you’ll find around every corner and atop each aisle. Behind the candy shop, lives an Elvis-impersonating singing Lion, with perfectly coifed hair, purple suit, guitar – the works. And above another food aisle plays a garage type band featuring Buzz from Cheerio’s and Rabbit from Trix Cereal.
Different than other ubiquitous retail food chains, Jungle Jim’s is an unusual international market that features over 150,000 products from around the world, including more than 10,000 labels of a wine and 1,000 brews of beer, a connoisseurs dream. Their employees are just as educated on the variety as well, as we were offered advice on beer from a worker with a heavy European accent. With more than 350 employees, the food is not the only international thing in this place.
Many people travel from out of town, even out of state to purchase the hard to find products that are sold here in the market. You can become a world traveler by only visiting one place.
The elaborate storefront guests that greet you at the door continue to decorate the 300,000 square foot market in a loud, quirky way. It makes the place feel fun and unique. At the center of the store sits a larger than life Campbell’s soup can character perched on a swing, and that is just the beginning of the many cartoons, characters, and mascots you’ll find around every corner and atop each aisle. Behind the candy shop, lives an Elvis-impersonating singing Lion, with perfectly coifed hair, purple suit, guitar – the works. And above another food aisle plays a garage type band featuring Buzz from Cheerio’s and Rabbit from Trix Cereal.
Different than other ubiquitous retail food chains, Jungle Jim’s is an unusual international market that features over 150,000 products from around the world, including more than 10,000 labels of a wine and 1,000 brews of beer, a connoisseurs dream. Their employees are just as educated on the variety as well, as we were offered advice on beer from a worker with a heavy European accent. With more than 350 employees, the food is not the only international thing in this place.
Many people travel from out of town, even out of state to purchase the hard to find products that are sold here in the market. You can become a world traveler by only visiting one place.
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