Kennyysun/Courtesy

I am tired of hearing the same old stories about Kanye West. A recent TMZ headline reads “Kanye West Goes Nuts Again On Paparazzi.” Again? It’s common, it’s expected, it’s laughable. But more than that, these headlines are narrow-minded and ridiculous.

Once the clichéd notions of him being an egotistical maniac start to disperse like a camera’s flash, Kanye’s merits as an artist and as a popular figure starts to become as clear as the reflection from that same flash bouncing off his grills.

In light of his recent much-publicized feud with talk show host Jimmy Kimmel, it may seem unreasonable to try to defend Kanye’s relevance to pop culture. On Sept. 24th, Kimmel demeaned Kanye through airing a parody of an interview that West did with Zane Lowe by having milkshake-sipping kids reenact parts of the interview. Kanye responded via Twitter, attempting to humiliate Kimmel and express his intense disapproval of the sketch. Admittedly, Kanye’s Twitter explosion was indeed riddled with unnecessary vulgarity and irrational accusations that at times justified conceptions about his brash nature. He has definitely acted in ways that lead many to question his maturity and dismiss him as aggressive and self-centered. The common examples are all exhausted at this point: something about Taylor Swift, George Bush and the paparazzi.

I understand. I get where people are coming from. If you’re getting your information from tabloid headlines, out of context sound bytes and unflattering video clips, then yes, Kanye is a jerk. However, that is, again, remaining on the surface without daring to tread any deeper. The reality is, Kanye West is a visionary artist and a role model.

Parents should encourage their children to embody some Kanye traits instead of sheltering them from him. Whenever I’m bummed out or struggling with something, my brother usually gives me a succinct piece of advice: “Just be like Kanye.” Not literally, as in the sense of going out to record platinum albums and tour the world, but more in the way of embodying valuable character qualities that Kanye exemplifies. Mainly, be undeniably confident in yourself. Kanye thinks that everything he does and says is gold and that if people don’t realize that, then they simply don’t “get it” and can show themselves the door. He knows what he has to offer and people should be thankful for what he has to provide. He puts incredible value in himself, leading to the fulfillment of his entire potential. He captured this in a quote from the Zane Lowe interview — the same one that Kimmel mocked: “I always feel like I can do anything. That’s the main thing people are controlled by: thoughts and perceptions of yourself … If you’re taught you can’t do anything, you won’t do anything.”

Another way to “be like Kanye” is to adopt his passion. Undeniably, he is one of — if not the most — passionate people on this planet when it comes to the things that matter to him. He truly, genuinely cares about what he is doing and the impact that he can make. Whether it be music, fashion, or consumer goods, he puts everything he has into making it the best: “Taste, culture, art, just the quality of life, this is what I’m here to do,” he said during his appearance on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” a few nights ago while explaining that he wants to make as much of an impact on the world as Steve Jobs or Leonardo da Vinci. The cliché of “following your dreams” is epitomized by Kanye; he does whatever he wants with no regard of what other’s reactions will be: “You can’t ever tell me what dream to have and what not to have, or the level of importance.”

It speaks volumes about our society when people scoff at Kanye’s unapologetic claims to brilliance and roll their eyes as they dismiss his aspirations. Why does his confidence make people feel as if they need to mock him? Do adolescent self-deprecation and insecurities somehow make people more comfortable? If someone had faith in their abilities and pursued to make a difference with those abilities, would society cast a sidewards glance at them? Perhaps teenage girls looking in the mirror with disgust or teenage boys humbly burying their talents away from the spotlight makes everyone else feel more secure in themselves amid an overly critical world. Perhaps since he is a black rapper, people expect him to dress like he’s fresh off the streets and babble about drugs instead of being an insightful fashion icon. The sight of him getting justifiably pent up about a certain issue make people automatically jump to the conclusion that it is a nonsensical rant. Somehow, it follows along with the accepted norm. However, once one actually pays attention, like they would if he was a respected white guy, they realize that what he is saying is incredibly legitimate.

Last semester, on the first day of classes, a girl introduced herself and confided in my class that she had always dreamed of being a fashion designer — designing was her true love — but her parents forbade her to go down that path. As a result, she seemed incredibly unsatisfied with her current position as a pre-med student at Berkeley cracking the chemistry books, rather than Vogue or GQ. This girl very well could have gone on to become a world famous fashion designer if she pursued her passion with her entire being. Unspoken chains and unspoken fences constantly seem to tame people’s passions into an obedient, desk-ridden puzzle piece that fits into the accustomed world. If Kanye allowed for the same pressures to control him, he would not be one of the most polarizing and successful people in the modern age. He breaks these chains. And look at what he’s done.

Perhaps the main objection against Kanye, albeit a subconscious feeling, is that he does not conform to the accepted status of a celebrity. Celebrities are idolized as perfect specimens who have every facet about them incredibly well-calculated — what they say, what they do, what they wear — but Kanye’s revolt against this methodized approach to stardom seemingly makes some people uneasy. Most prefer the pinch-her-cheeks-adorable Zooey Deschanel or the cheery, relatable Joseph Gordon Levitt to the blatantly honest and unfiltered West. Rather than being in fear of stirring the pot, Kanye speaks for all celebrities against the position that they are put in — yet people think he’s selfish. He told Kimmel that he can’t understand why “people feel (it is) okay to treat celebrities like zoo animals or act like what they’re saying is not serious or their life is not serious or their dreams are not serious.” Instead of staying in his designated place according to his social status as the object of adoration and perfection, he is the leading force towards destroying this “zoo animal” celebrity culture. He speaks his mind and stands up for himself and doesn’t cower under the fear of scarring his image.

When the facade of his “rants,” his antics, and his missteps dissipate, his message is blatantly uncovered to even the most resilient eyes. Simply because he is confident and passionate does not mean he is an out of touch egotistical hothead. Nor should we write him off as a bad example for the kids. Quite the opposite, actually.

Everyone should want to be like Kanye.

Image courtesy of Kennyysun.

Contact Taran Moriates at tmoriates@dailycal.org or follow him on Twitter: @taranmoriates.

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Dear Megaphone,

A couple of my friends are in open relationships, poly, monogamish — whatever they want to call it. My girlfriend has been hinting about it for a while, and I kind of figured she was eventually going to pop the question about seeing other people. So she did last weekend, and I said sure, because I’ve kinda wanted to get some strange myself lately. But then she said SHE wanted to see other people, but she’s not comfortable with ME doing it.

What the hell should I do with that?

— Wasn’t Expecting That One

Oh, WETO. The important thing is to handle this calmly, like an adult. This is a very common situation people find themselves in. It’s a state we typically refer to as “Dating a Self-centered Assbag.” Luckily, there are several cures.

Break up with her in song. Break up with her on Facebook. Break up with her while making out with someone else in front of her, on her bed, wearing her PJs. Break up with her via hilarious Vine video. Ride the 51B past her on the street and scream “NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE” as you blaze by. Get down on one knee, open a small black velvet box, and when she notices that it’s empty, tell her it’s stuffed with all the fucks you give about the future of your relationship. Get creative! There is almost no way to do this wrong.

Your girlfriend thinks she deserves freedom to express herself and try new things while you deserve to wait for her to come back and tell you all about it. There’s nothing wrong with an open relationship. Most people are, in fact, in open relationships, but only 50 percent of them know that. The difference between openness and cheating is honesty and that sense of fairness. You don’t have to dump her for making this mistake, but you do have to dump her if she doesn’t get why this isn’t cool.

But seriously, WETO, even if she takes it back I’m pretty sure this is over. That she’d try this approach at all should show you pretty clearly what she thinks of you and your relationship as a whole.

Now, do the right thing and go sleep with the person she had in mind. There’s nothing like revenge sex to cheer you up after dumping someone.

Submit a question or comment to the Megaphone at megaphone@dailycal.org or follow Meg Elison on Twitter: @paganmeghan.

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It was freshman year, and I was bored with some friends on Telegraph. Happy High Herbs, a vendor of herbal remedies and supplements, had just opened, and the fluorescent troll painted on the storefront beckoned to us. “Something to do,” it said. When we went inside, we told the proprietors we wanted to get as high as legally possible.

We found ourselves at the Big C that night, crouching inside a haphazard teepee of eucalyptus branches someone had built, chewing the salvia leaves we purchased earlier from Happy High. They were bitter, it was dark, the city lights danced in the distance — but we didn’t get high at all. We just felt kind of sick and then hiked back down to our dorms.

Later, I learned about a people indigenous to Mexico called the Mazatec who chew salvia to enter different states of consciousness during healing rituals and celebratory festivals. In videos, it’s obvious they’re having powerful visionary experiences. But my friends and I weren’t affected in the least, and we chewed a lot of the stuff. Smokers of salvia in the United States do report powerful hallucinogenic experiences, but it’s mostly unpleasant stuff about being stuck in an infinite shopping mall — a far cry from the way it is talked about by its original users.

There’s a major difference in the ways indigenous peoples experience the plant medicines they consume. Maybe it has to do with the way they consume them.

Herbal medicines have long been available in Berkeley. Before Happy High, there was Lhasa Karnak. Judging from Lhasa Karnak’s customers, most people buy medicinal teas and spices from the store, or maybe some nutritional supplements. Ask the employees, though, and they’ll tell you about the throngs of desperate students who come to the store around finals week, hoping for an herbal edge on their inclement exams.

There’s debate as to the efficacy of the herbal medicines in question, but in the looming shadow of finals, many are willing to suspend their disbelief.

Arguments against such herbal supplements are usually founded on dismissing their efficacy as result of the placebo effect, stemming from belief instead of a direct biochemical cause. We’re usually reminded, “Hey, it might be the placebo effect, but the placebo effect isn’t to be sniffed at; it’s still pretty powerful.” Conversation often stalls here, because it is difficult to deny the power of the placebo effect, and there are many reports of remarkable results from what are deemed to be biologically inactive “medicines.”

The question is: Are the people who profit from selling what can sometimes amount to little more than placebos providing a valuable service to their customers, allowing them to harness their hopes and beliefs, or are they essentially scam artists?

Places such as Lhasa Karnak still sell their herbs primarily as a means of treating illness, while other stores, such as Happy High Herbs, seem to be capitalizing on the hopeful student’s notion that an herbal supplement can have immediate cognitive or emotional effects­ — when the ones that actually have more noticeable effects have been made illegal.

The herbs at Happy High are packaged with inflated claims as to their potential effects, although the results of trying them are usually disappointing.

So if the actual experiences are so underwhelming, where do these claims come from? Usually, they’re from the indigenous people who discovered the plant in question — Mayans, Siberians, Mazatecs — you name it; an herb store has probably appropriated it. For these peoples, the plants in question often have a deep cultural and mythological context to support them. In South and Central America, many cultures view the plants as being personified in a spirit; to use the plant is to commune with another entity. Plants are a part of the stories through which these cultures understand the world, not just a bagged and labeled commodity.

Happy High Herbs unites the indigenous medicines of the entire globe under one roof, with their traditional uses tersely indicated on a little tag or vaguely alluded to by an employee who has read a few books. While a store such as Happy High Herbs isn’t making these appealing claims about the power of its herbal products in a void, the pretext for them comes from a traditional culture we may never really understand.

That’s where it comes back around to the placebo effect. Maybe some people have a conviction strong enough to be really affected by herbal medicines, but it seems most don’t. If we accept an herbal treatment’s efficacy to be to some extent a function of belief, then we have to also start to take into account the beliefs of the peoples who originally found it effective as a medicine.

The placebo effect alone isn’t enough to dismiss herbal medicine or condemn its purveyors, but staying conscious of it means examining the contexts in which these herbs originally were used.

While we may never be able to get as high as an indigenous people does on their herb of choice, staying conscious of the role of belief and tradition in our own medicine might help us make it more effective in the long run. If we want to harness the power of the placebo effect, we may do well to learn something from them: that the potency of a medicine isn’t only about the material but also about how it’s administered.

Contact Micah Fry at mfry@dailycal.org or follow him on Twitter: @student_bodies. A version of this blog appeared in the Oct. 11, 2013 version of the Daily Californian.

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Jamiesrabbits/Courtesy

I’ve seen more seasons of “The Bachelorette” than I would like to admit. I even watched some episodes of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” this past summer and felt my heart rate quicken every time some dumb fight arose, such as when Kylie stole some of Kim’s clothes. Needless to say, my television-watching has always been sub-par, to say the least — I’d say borderline socially unacceptable.

But then I learned some very valuable information: My parents have a Netflix account. This made me re-evaluate my watching habits once I realized that there was more out there for me than getting flustered over some “Bachelorette” contestant having a girlfriend back at home or getting fired up over a swanky Calabasas suburban house brawl.

Before this revelation, I had never really been deeply invested in a hardcore drama or any other critically acclaimed show. Throughout my teen years, my TV watching consisted mostly of “The Amazing Race,” “SportsCenter,” reruns of “Friends” and, of course, that god-forsaken tearjerker mentioned above. And although I can recount to you almost every hilarious spazz attack that Ross has during the “Friends” series, I was always the one quietly pretending to check Facebook on my phone every two seconds while my friends were gushing over last night’s thrilling episode of this show or that.

My “Netflix Revolution” came at the beginning of this semester, and it has changed everything, similar to the effect of  when an In N Out opens in Berkeley one day. Ever since then, I’ve quite frequently found myself cocooned in my bed with my computer propped up while I watch a show: when I come back from classes, in between homework assignments and as I look at the clock and wonder what my psychology professor is saying in lecture at that moment.

My first order of business was zipping through the first season of “House of Cards” in a few short days, which led to a serious sense of self-pride, as if the fact that I succeeded in watching a drama of merit meant I was moving up in this world. It was a feeling much like when I realized that I was beginning to sprout some armpit hair years ago — the feeling that I’ve made it. Since then, I’ve laughed through two seasons of “Arrested Development,” dabbled in some “Orange Is the New Black” and participated in some serious procrastination.

The main benefit of having a Netflix account is convenience. Whenever I have an hour or so of free time, I can flip on a show and get lost in something other than my numerous social media feeds or the paper due the next day. Also, rather than losing past shows to the vortex of time, I’ve been able to revive and enjoy them. Instead of awkwardly fidgeting on the outside of the circle of friends once the conversation turns to a TV show, I can be right there in the middle of it and emphatically declaring my opinions.

However, as fantastic as Netflix has been to me in the past month, there are still some aspects of it that, to put it bluntly, scare the crap out of me. And I would probably be able to describe this emotion more eloquently if I hadn’t been looking at the clock wondering what my psychology professor was saying at that moment while I lay in bed watching “Modern Family.”

I’m deeply worried about what I could possibly become due to my Netflix consumption. I have nightmares in which I envision my face in black and white, and dramatic music plays as a narrator says, “Tonight, a shocking TLC Special: ‘How I Lost My Life To Netflix.’ ”

I could turn into that guy who sloppily shovels spoonfuls of Fruity Pebbles into his mouth with his hair askew and his pajama pants still on while having his eyes transfixed on the computer screen for hours — days — on end. I could get ferociously angry at my roommate when he opens our bedroom door right when the climax of an episode is going down and never talk to him ever again because he completely ruined the best part of the show. This, of course, is after shoving him out of the room while making an alarming noise that reveals my inner animalistic nature — I imagine an outburst somewhere between Chewbacca and a chimp from Planet of the Apes.

Or I could drive my friends crazy by being super into shows that were popular years ago. “Oh my god, can you believe what happened on ‘Lost’? This is crazy, I bet no one can guess what’s going to happen next, it’s that intense of a show, bro.” “Dude, ‘The Sopranos’ is insane!” “Jack Bauer is a serious stud. I wonder if he’s going to catch the terrorist this time!” And, naturally, all these exclamations would be my Facebook statuses, tweets, texts and parts of my normal conversations. Then, fed up, my friends would reply with a link to Wikipedia with an entire plot summary, and I would become beyond hysterically upset.

It’s certainly a fine line to walk in this newly found Netflix world of mine. I can broaden my television entertainment beyond constructed reality shows, and I could be hip and happening next time someone brings up how amazing a certain show is. But I could also turn into a monster possessed by the powers of streaming capabilities and lose all friends and sense of civility that I have.

Perhaps worst of all, I could become one of those annoying “Breaking Bad” fans.

Image courtesy of Jamiesrabbits.

Contact Taran Moriates at tmoriates@dailycal.org or follow him on Twitter: @taranmoriates.

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Last winter, I shadowed a doctor whose name bore an unfortunate resemblance to “quack.” He was a legitimate practitioner, but he also used “alternative” medicine, and his inevitable critics were all too happy to use the pun against him. For me, their criticisms were ill considered. I found the “quack” doctor to be inspiring: Here was someone who had recognized the shortcomings of the predominant western medical tradition and was trying out new, cross-disciplinary methods. His critics seemed to be possessed of the same dogmatic faith; they were so eager to decry in his alternative healing practices. His patients were satisfied — he had clearly been successful in his methods.

I hoped to see the doctor practicing alternatives to what I perceived as the mishaps of conventional medicine: a lack of holistic perspective, overuse of antibiotics and casual prescriptions of potent opiate painkillers. Knowing some of these practices to be harmful, I wanted to see what he chose to do instead.

I had his patients stereotyped: wealthy, granola-munching, wooden-toy-buying yuppies. The first patient who came in didn’t fit the bill.

He was haggard, pale and overweight. From the beginning, you could see that behind his self-deprecating jokes and dismissive shrugs that there was a deep-rooted sadness. This guy had seen the doctor before; I gathered that he had injured himself on the job, and his business had disintegrated. He was on government payout — and a steady stream of opiate painkillers.

The doctor asked him about his life, which he no longer seemed to care much for. He didn’t have enough money to get by, and he spent his time playing video games. Although his relations to his family had fallen apart, it wasn’t really his fault. It was a terrible situation, and he had no drive to fix it — he’d given up.

At the time I was surprised and disappointed that the doctor renewed his opiate prescription, although I saw there wasn’t much he could do. He did give the man some positive mantras to try to improve his outlook on life, but they were tiny Band-Aids on a gaping wound.

I wondered what I would have preferred the doctor to do, though.

Prescription painkillers, opiates such as Vicodin and Oxycontin, are inheritors of a tradition that finds its roots in characters such as Friedrich Surterner, who isolated morphine from opium at age 20, and Alexander Wood, inventor of the hypodermic syringe, whose wife died from an injected morphine overdose.

The problem since the beginning has been that they’re extremely addictive, physically and psychologically.

While it goes without saying that meaningless pain and suffering should always be avoided, pain is very rarely meaningless. Physical pain can be a warning sign from the body that something needs to be changed or injury will occur; this ranges from the finger-in-the-fire example to chronic back pain as a result of poor postural habits.

Nietzsche wrote of pain as the primordial mnemonic device, the fundamental precursor to human learning. Pain is part of what motivates us, what makes us remember — if you’ll pardon Socrates, too — it’s an integral part of pleasure. Forms of emotional pain such as guilt and compassion motivate altruistic deeds and ethical codes.

Perhaps we ought to take it more seriously when we eliminate or dull all pain with powerful prescription opiates.

For the “quack” doctor’s patient, his painkillers were numbing the pain of his injury but enabling his apathy — and in part preventing him from rebuilding his life. It is a pattern I’ve seen in other people’s lives, people I have been close to.

These people have been trained to view their own pain as a symptomatic aberration, something that can be treated with a pill in the same way one might treat a bacterial infection. But pain is not an external infection; it is intrinsic to the body, and in some ways it can act as the body’s voice. An attempt to remove pain without adequate exploration of the possible underlying causes — both physical and mental — often facilitates slow physical degeneration and an ever-worsening addiction that does not assuage but increase a patient’s suffering.

Earlier this month, the FDA responded to a petition by a group of doctors to alter the labeling on strong, extended-release opiates like Oxycontin, attempting to persuade doctors and patients to take the drugs more seriously. Such actions are certainly a step in the right direction, but they leave the problem of how to treat the many pain conditions that don’t warrant stronger drugs. There are elements of alternative medical traditions that show promise, but it seems even open-minded doctors such as the one I shadowed often find themselves at a loss.

Maybe it is up to the patient: to reject his or her pain or to listen to it. Sometimes pain is purposeless, but I think often it is trying to tell you something. It can be hard to own up to it, but for patients such as the one I saw at the “quack” doctor’s office, the message pain is trying to get across might be just the one they need to hear.

Image courtesy of dwmjr1985.

Contact Micah Fry at mfry@dailycal.org or follow him on Twitter: @student_bodies.

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A few weeks ago, American author Joyce Carol Oates mused on Twitter how fascinating it was that alumni always lament the falling standards at their alma mater after they have graduated but never while they were in attendance. If this is the case, then homecoming is a charged time. It is a remembrance of the glory days for many as Berkeley welcomes back waves of alumni who were students here when the school was really great.

There will be returning individuals who remember the Free Speech Movement and the moment in time when Berkeley was synonymous with action and revolution and the liberal fringe. There will certainly be more recent alums among us who recall milder times, high points such as The Play or a long winning streak when Cal had the Axe. That things have changed at Cal will be obvious to returning alumni, but they will also see how things have stayed the same.

The relationship between alumni and their alma mater is often complicated. It’s comparable to a family relationship — it defines us once we’ve graduated, and it’s an association we cannot shed. We finish growing up here, and in some ways, we must define ourselves by how we are different from it. It’s easy to feel loyal to a place that has given so much, especially given the prestige and continued cachet of the name of UC Berkeley. It’s also easy to feel unsure of what that really means in the present.

This year’s events provide for a unique visit home. The university is still reeling from the explosion and ensuing confusion on the last day of September. That the explosion was the result of copper theft is a detail that is not lost on the UC Berkeley community. This university is, after all, home to former Secretary of Labor and current UC Berkeley public policy professor Robert Reich, who recently released his documentary “Inequality for All.” Reich could tell you copper theft is often the action of poor people, who sometimes risk stealing against their better judgment because it’s obviously dangerous, and people have died attempting it. Setting aside our shared trauma as students and alumni here, the incident itself is worth examining in larger social and economic context. Cal is increasingly an island of privilege in the middle of the Bay Area’s astonishing rich-poor gap. Strange days around homecoming, indeed.

This homecoming also takes place during a historic and frustrating government shutdown, the last of which took place in 1995 and 1996. The relationship between this campus and the federal government is difficult, no less so under President Obama than under President Clinton. We celebrated the inauguration and reelection of the current president on the same plaza where we protested his drone strikes and railed against the appointment of his former Secretary of Homeland Security as UC president. If alumni worry Sproul Plaza will grow cold, this homecoming should reassure them: The Cal legacy is solid.

Despite the continual change and turmoil and adjustments and rate hikes and occasional explosions, I doubt Joyce Carol Oates would find her backward-looking pessimist alumni here. Alums returning to Cal are indeed returning to their alma mater — a Latin term meaning “nourishing mother.” The relationship we have with this mother after we’ve left her is always going to be complicated and rich. She is still really great, according to the people who decide these things. She’s not the mother we remember: She’s got new scars, and she rearranges the furniture. Her income is often in question, and she always seems to be in a fight. But Cal is still here to nourish us, students and alumni and community alike. Every fall, no matter what, she will be here to welcome us home.

The post Alma mater, other matters appeared first on The Daily Californian.

From the top to the bottom, it’s a fall from fortitude and glory as graceful as Miley Cyrus’s transition from Disney sweetheart to foam-finger sex machine. Although I do get mistaken for Kanye West on a regular basis, I am not talking about a celebrity transition from adoration to widespread scorn such as that West experienced after the Taylor Swift shenanigans or Cyrus’ life after her VMA meltdown. And even if I were indeed Mr. West, anyone who dared approach me would have his face smashed in with a 15-karat bling ring.

I’m talking about that plunge from being a strutting, strapping, suave senior to being a squirmy, shock-eyed, self-conscious freshman. Oh yes, you know the struggle. And as if this post didn’t have enough pop culture references already: These new freshmen sing their own version of Drake’s “Started from the Bottom Now We Here”  loud and proud in order to make them feel better. There’s something about simply twisting the words to proclaim they “Started from the Top Now We Here” that gives them a warm, fuzzy feeling, much like when their moms would make them fresh-baked cookies with milk in the week leading up to college.

You might be saying to yourself: “Whoa, bro, that was you only a year ago, you sophomore, pretentious fool.” But, that’s exactly what scares me. That was indeed me, walking down Durant Avenue in a pack of floormates while getting stoked that someone else likes the Strokes, too — we must be friends now! — only 365 days ago. It doesn’t scare me in the “oh my god, did I actually used to wear plaid shorts” kind of way but more so because I already feel dramatically distanced from that first week of college.

Why do I feel so much older than that now? How have I become so removed from those awkward first stages of college?

In some cases, my growth from freshman year is a comforting revelation. Now only 90 percent of the myriad of faces I see on my way to class belong to people I have never met in my life, instead of 99.9 percent. I know that if I am assigned a 10- to 12-page research paper, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what I did last year, when at midnight the night before it was due, I was still looking for primary sources while a blank Word document was tauntingly laughing at me like my high school basketball coach when I couldn’t do 50 pushups. I don’t have to deal with matted hair in the shower drain, courtesy of my female floormates, or with vomit in the sink, courtesy of said female floormates’ drunken boy toy from the night before. I also went through a period of self-discovery during my freshman year and learned things about myself, such as that I actually am capable of making my own macaroni and cheese. I must say, at first it was a luxury when Bobby Flay would call me for tips on the daily, but now it’s starting to be quite the nuisance.

In other cases, this distance from the first year is a scarier revelation than going to college and realizing you have to find someone to apply your Preparation H for you. The magical euphoria I felt as an incoming freshman walking through Sproul or looking over the bay from the top of the Campanile was an incredible state of mind that seemed to wisp and degrade away as time coarsely rubbed against it. The carefree optimism turned into the rapid scurry to catch all the grains of sand before they leak through the hourglass.

Perhaps it is the abrupt disappearance of a quarter of my college experience. In the beginning of it all, it felt as if four years was a colossal amount of time. But then, suddenly, it is apparent that it is actually only a minimal span. Instead of looking to see who else on my floor enjoys the neuroticism of Woody Allen movies or drinking strawberry smoothies, I am forced to look for a major and a career path. The burdens of the real world are seemingly seeping into and occupying the wide-eyed naivety prevalent in my first steps on campus.

Although I may sound disenchanted, perhaps even bitter, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I think the appropriate term would be “wiser.” Wise enough to realize that a college experience is only a bullet point on the timeline of my life. Wise enough to realize that instead of scoffing at the freshman nature, aiming to maintain that ambitious, open attitude is the best way to be throughout my years here at Cal. Wise enough to realize that there is a high chance I will look back at this post a year from now and laugh at how mature I thought I was as an insignificant sophomore.

Nevertheless, might as well continue to get those excited goosebumps about all the little things that make college unique, for the grains in the hourglass are a bit too heavy to lift.

Taran Moriates writes the Monday blog on pop culture.

The post The wisdom of an unwise sophomore appeared first on The Daily Californian.

The Orthodox Christian Church is predenominational; it’s approximately 2,000 years old. It contains both Eastern and Oriental Orthodoxy, whose members are referred to as “Orthodox Christians.” Within these two groups are churches that are all part of one family — just separated on the basis of geographic region. I am part of the Coptic Orthodox Church, which originates in Egypt.

The theology that is foundational to the church remains steadfast and constant and was passed down from the apostles — the disciples of Christ — and continues into modern day. Although the doctrine is, without argument, the principal component of the church, there is a cultural presence that must be considered. Unless one is part of the growing American Orthodox Church, one is bound to be confronted with cultural norms that prove to be perplexing.

Despite the fact that I’m Egyptian, being born and raised in the United States has lent itself to some difficulties. Growing up in a church that had an apparent Middle Eastern influence, it took conscious effort to distinguish culture from beliefs. Over time, I came to terms with the fact that every culture has faults distinct from its faith. Fortunately, I also came to perceive the beauty that culture added to the church.

For a person unfamiliar with Orthodox Christianity, it may seem strange at first. The unfamiliar languages and traditional form of worship coupled with a large number of people with the same ethnic background and uncertainty about how to behave is normal and expected. The primary culture differs between various Orthodox Churches, but the belief systems remain the same. It just takes some time to realize that the peculiar is not very peculiar after all.

Whether it is the Coptic, Greek, Russian or any of the other Orthodox Churches, icons depicting Jesus Christ, the saints and other holy imagery line the walls, reminding the congregation of the saints’ continual presence in the church. Also, hymns are sung in English as well as in the traditional language connecting the modern-day church in America to the geographic region where it originated.

In a liturgical service, where the Eucharist is administered, members gather together in participation of the sacramental life in  accord with the early church started by the apostles. This is the pride of the church. It is able to unite with the past, for it remains grounded and consistent in dogma, withstanding the pressures of time and culture, allowing for a coherent remembrance of the past.

Although cultural values and social norms are unnecessary to practice the true faith, this history is what makes the church a living remembrance to the past, adding to its richness. Even though the incense has lost its poignancy and church attendance may have become plain routine, the profoundness of the faith continues to be realized on a daily basis.

The UC Berkeley community takes pride in being a collective group of individuals that is always seeking and learning. Most students are willing to listen to differing beliefs from their own, whether they be religious or not, but when it comes to certain topics, you may feel like you know enough about a topic to form an educated opinion. Whether or not you are informed enough, this is the time to explore and not hold back. It could be scrutinizing doubts you’ve had about your stance on certain social issues, it could be taking a class in a field of study that has been intriguing you lately — even though it has nothing to do with your major and will not satisfy any requirements — or it could be inquiring about believers because of ongoing persecution in countries like Egypt and Syria. The time is now. Be proactive.

Monica Mikhail contemplates the truth of the matter in her Thursday blog. Contact Monica Mikhail at mmikhail@dailycal.org.

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Creative Commons/Courtesy

While in high school and even more so during my first year of college, the “What are you planning on majoring in?” question always made me worry unnecessarily about the inevitable decision I’ll have to make — a decision that I was able to make with ease after I had the time to think about it. Now, it’s the “What are your plans after graduation?” question that has me stressed out.

Like many students, I have no concrete plan. Sure, there are certain occupations I’m interested in, but I have yet to decide which one I would like to pursue, so my post-graduation plans are currently nonexistent.

Taking into consideration that, as college students, even our lunch plans for the day are vague, it is beyond my understanding why some people are unable to understand why a student wouldn’t have any future plans in mind. It doesn’t make sense to me why there lies this expectation that students must, from the beginning, have a goal beyond their college years to strive toward because there really isn’t a point to studying “aimlessly.”

This is not to say that those who ask this stress-inducing question expect a detailed plan — if anything, it’s a nice follow-up question to “What is your major?” However, because this inquiry brings on anxiety for many students, there must be social pressures that invoke it, such as the pressure to be successful at a young age and the need to gain a sense of security.

For some of us, it seems like time is running out — that the ticking on the analog clock will eventually stop. Except, surprise, time actually won’t be running out. We live life as if we’re on a time limit: The quicker you reach your goal, the more impressive. This is confirmed when people praise those who accomplish what others have accomplished at a younger age — which, although impressive, should not diminish the achievements of other students no matter the magnitude or the age that success came by. It is important to be a hard worker and to be productive — but not at the expense of rushing through life.

Then there are those who figure that once they’ve accomplished what they set to accomplish, then they will stop stressing. If  a student stresses majorly through his or her college years about college and about the future, chances are that even after gaining the level of security desired, he or she will still be worried and want more.

The truth of the matter is that stressing won’t make you successful; it’ll just make you miserable. The time for adult decisions will come. Decisions will eventually be made. In the meantime, it doesn’t hurt to enjoy these four years instead of speeding through them or having them clouded with apprehension for the future. Plan for your post-grad life, but enjoy the present. The undergraduate years only happen once.

Image Source: marsmet481 via Creative Commons 

Monica Mikhail contemplates the truth of the matter in her Thursday blog. Contact Monica Mikhail at mmikhail@dailycal.org.

The post Impracticality of stressing over post-grad life appeared first on The Daily Californian.

In return, I gave her this face.

Here’s the deal: I wasn’t offended because I didn’t own a mirror; I was offended because BRF is actually becoming a “thing.” As soon as the fake public safety announcement video went viral, hungry journalists wasted no time. Articles like this, this and this immediately identified celebrities that suffer from BRF. Anna Paquin even confessed to Jimmy Kimmel that she suffers from “a severe case of BRF.” She added, “It makes you look really angry all the time, like you want to kill people or like you’re a giant bitch.” Personally, the BRF trend amazes me, considering how the term originated from a YouTube skit. Everybody knows this, yet we still treat it like an actual phenomenon — or worse, a disorder.

Yep, you read that right. BRF is now officially a biological disorder that can be cured using corrective plastic surgeries. Plastic surgeon Anthony Youn told The Today Show, “Basically, many of us have features that we inherit and/or develop with age that can make us look unpleasant, grumpy or, even, yes — bitchy.” He recommended procedures like “grin lift” and Botox injection to turn that frown upside down.

It looks like our generation has found the new “cellulite” myth! (In case you didn’t know, “cellulite” was coined to lure women into condemning skin dimpling, which is otherwise a perfectly natural condition, like aging. In return, the cosmetics industry and plastic surgeons profited hugely once “cellulite” became a thing that must be corrected.)

Another thing that pisses me off is the reeking smell of sexism in BRF. Even though the original video was mostly geared toward women, it also mentioned the male version of BRF — Resting Asshole Face, or RAF. Yet, as expected, it is not RAF that gains traction in media. (I don’t see any actor publicly apologizing for his unfriendly facial expression.)

Why?

Because we have this double standard that makes a man look dangerously sexy when he scowls and a woman unattractively fierce. This is why RAF is not a disorder. Rather, it’s seen as a feature that augments a man’s sex appeal. Meanwhile, women are either bugged by busybodies on the streets — “Smile, honey!” — or tagged as a cold person.

Ann-Marie Stillion, a communication strategist and artist from Seattle, describes what she has to do to “fix” her BRF: “I smile a lot now, not because I’m so happy but because I know it makes people more comfortable.”

This kind of attitude made me push Robin Thicke aside to write about BRF instead. I mean, unless you’re a walking billboard for Crest 3D Whitestrips, I don’t see why anybody has to walk around with a fake smile on his or her face to appease other people. So, can’t we just please get through a week without feeling like the media is a sexist on Viagra?!

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