economics 101

Sitting in my living room with my good friend Laura Koch – a sophomore economics major here at K – the Denver Nuggets NBA playoffs game against the Los Angeles Lakers was on the muted television screen. Glancing at the score every now and again, I asked her to help me understand the causes of the current economic situation that everyone has been frenzied about since my return to the U.S. this past March. “I dunno. Umm… I feel really dumb that I’m an econ major and can’t give you an exact answer, but…. All I’ve really gathered from my econ classes is…. Well… I guess just the inherent properties of capitalism played a big part in our country’s economic downfall, and in a few blips on TV I’ve heard something about the auto industry going bankrupt or doing really bad, I really don’t even know though… sorry I can’t explain it better, I’m just not sure.” Concerned, I persist in pestering her for an explanation. She pauses to reconsider. “I’m sorry. I really only investigate or read up on topics I have to understand for assignments. With homework, extra-curriculars and my job, I’m just not motivated to research that kind of stuff.” She sighs. “It’s unfortunate… because I’m sure it affects me somehow… I guess.”

When adolescents leave home to go to college, one of two things can happen; First, new college freshman can become so detached from “the real world” without their parents around to cue them in on current events, that when asked their opinions on the issues that adorn the front pages of newspapers and are thoroughly discussed on every channel of the five-o-clock news, their minds draw blanks. Luckily, this transition away from home can also serve as an opportunity for young adults to formulate their own civic engagement behaviors that could become part of a routine for the rest of their lives.

Each year, the students in Kiran Cunningham’s research methods class – a foundation course required for Anthropology/Sociology (Ansoc) and Human Development & Social Relations (HDSR) majors – choose a topic relevant to the Kalamazoo College campus community, and devise a set of questions which are then used by the students during interviews with one hundred K College students selected at random in order to learn how to collect and analyze data. This year, the class was curious as to how in tune a particularly affluent college community would be, assuming that the majority of students wouldn’t be inclined to read up on the situation during their own time unless they were studying economics and were required to understand the unfortunate phenomenon. The results were surprising to say the least. Some questions were raised about how effective the liberal arts “K-plan” has been in preparing students for life after college.

Across the board, there was a clear difference between men and women and the nature of their responses to the interview questions as well as the sources from which they learned about the causes of the economic crisis. When asked what they perceived to be the causes of the economic crisis, 35 out of the 50 males interviewed, gave a confident response with answers ranging from Owen Willis’s explanation, “the housing market collapsed, the extent to which the banks and accreditors are tied together through duties of securitized loans, and overall a general lack of understanding and responsibility at all levels,” to Alex Grabko’s response “George Bush f’ed up.” 12 males gave a wavering response, chocked full of “umm…’s, I’m not really sure but I think……..’s, and well I think I heard someone say that…” while only five openly admitted to having no idea what the causes of the economic crisis were.

In comparison with the level of confidence in the responses of the 50 females interviewed, only 15 showed signs of certainty in their answer, while a whopping 27 doubted their understanding of the situation, even if what they perceived to be the causes was indeed, an educated or “correct” answer, and the final 12 women had no idea. Of the 12 women who had no answer, 7 of them referred to themselves “stupid” or “dumb,” and one even called herself “worthless” for not having an answer.

Furthermore, when the interviews came to the questions “How important do you consider K College’s involvement with the larger Kalamazoo community?” And, “Are you involved?” the difference in responses between the genders again was shocking. 36 females reported that they are actively involved in the community through programs like Woodward PALS, habitat for humanity, and building blocks, while only 18 males in the sample value reaching out to the community and “popping the K bubble.” For those in the sample survey who aren’t involved in the community and don’t consider it a priority, some explanations include “I don’t know, personally I just keep to myself and am too focused on my academics and athletics” says a sophomore history major who wishes to remain anonymous, or junior economics major Matt Remsen provided this blunt response, “honestly, I don’t care enough. Pursuing my goals is much more important than helping others.”

In the research method’s class, Junior Andrew Grayson suggested that the significant difference in nature of the collective responses from each gender could be in relation to the fact that the economics majors are majority male, and that majors in humanities are majority females, but after sifting through the interviews once more, I discovered there were only 12 economics majors interviewed, eight of them being male, and only 7 HDSR/Ansoc majors were interviewed, five of them female.

When asked about the discrepancy in the male to female ratios of both the Economics and Ansoc/HDSR majors, professor Cunningham confirmed that for the past ten years, both Ansoc and HDSR majors have only been 10% male. “It’s been changing though, each year the number of males in the departments has increased.” And she’s absolutely right. This year, out of 18 HDSR majors, there are 2 males. That’s 11.1%. While information revealing an exact percentage of males and females in the Economics department was not easily accessible, each of the 12 economics majors interviewed confirmed that there was a noticeable male majority in every economics class they’d taken thus far.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with this obvious imbalance between genders and choice in majors. Every student at Kalamazoo College has the freedom to select whichever major they choose, but what’s wrong with this picture? With the way things are in our economy and society in general, shouldn’t all educated college students, regardless of gender, be concerned and informed about what’s going on outside of K college? At times K can feel more like a nine-month-long rigorous summer camp for learning, paid for by mommy & daddy, and complete with cabin monitors on every floor of every dorm. This is a big problem since evidently the current state of the world outside our tiny campus isn’t as high of a priority in the curriculum as we would like to believe.

profile piece

and here's the finished product, quotes from the owner included

The Strutt: “More than just coffee” by Lindsey Scarlett

Owner Darren Bain is proud to assert the coffee that they indeed roast themselves at The Strutt is imported directly from a farm in Guatemala. Along with some Kenyan blends, the variety of ground beans can be seen hanging from the ceiling in individual paper bags over the front counter, with their logo “Kalamazoo Coffee Company” printed on each bag. Aside from the tasty selection of café drinks, including “love potion number nine,” and a healthy selection of fruit smoothies and tea, this funky venue on the corner of Academy and Stadium Drive has so much more to offer than just coffee.

The atmosphere could on one hand be described as a peaceful space for studying and relaxing. The antique-looking fireplace, potted plants and trees scattered about the front room, generally low lighting and white Christmas lights lining the perimeter of the room and up the handrail of the narrow staircase to the loft with additional private seating add to the soothing aura. On the other hand, returning patrons experience a new invigorating experience each time they stroll into The Strutt. Colorful T-Shirts for $10 are on a stand at the counter, and another bookshelf is chocked full of brochures for yoga, massage therapy, and couples teambuilding retreats, comic magazines such as “The Watchmen” and “Batman,” along with fantasy novels and board games. Freckled with fliers for upcoming shows, benefit concerts, and nightly specials alternated with an eclectic collection of abstract paintings from local artists and students, the avocado colored walls suggest the artistic taste of the staff.

If the décor won’t do it, the menu certainly confirms the creativity cultivated here. The colossal cup of creamy cocoa, zesty goat cheese salad and the savory chocolate and raspberry “crêpe dolce” were enough to win my heart – and my taste buds. But according to a group of friendly college-aged customers playing monopoly, the Mediterranean Plate, complete with hummus, pita, olives, tomatoes and baba ganoush is a favorite appetizer, and the Pollo pazzo pizza, adorned with blackened chicken, carmelized onions, and three different cheese specimens is nothing less than scrumptious, “it’s hard to just choose one though, all of the pizzas are good.”

But don’t get the wrong impression, this classy joint is the furthest thing from a pizza place. There is an array of panini sandwiches as well, and on the weekends, The Strutt serves equally inventive brunch platters from nine to one alongside local Jazz musicians on Saturdays and a Bluegrass band on Sundays.

When asked where the distinctive menu ideas came from, Bain explains “It’s important to me that the items on our menu are original, because if they weren’t, we’d be outta business.” He shares his dissatisfaction with the taste of the food served at many of the restaurants around town, and gives credit where credit is due to the chefs at The Strutt. “Presentation is one thing, but taste is what makes good food good. Our food kicks the crap out of everywhere else because unlike those other restaurants, we have people who really know what they’re doing in the kitchen.” The fresh herbs used for cooking deserve some credit as well. By the way he described it, it is apparent that he is delighted with the herb garden that’s recently been planted just outside of the shop.

The relaxing food coma you may experience after stuffing yourself with healthy delicious food perfectly compliments what one may experience on a typical night at the bar in the back room of The Strutt. While there are plans in the making of having a Brewery in the basement space, Bain is still trying to gain support from the landlord who owns another brewery in town and is a little weary of the competition that could ensue. “He doesn’t need to be worried, the clientele here are completely different than the crowd at his other brewery, he’ll come around soon though, I can feel it” reports Bain optimistically. Although they don’t brew their own beer quite yet, and that project probably won’t take place for at least another year, the beer and liquor menus behind the counter boast a wide range of drinks, an assortment of more than thirty different beers, plus on tap there is the tried and true Pabst Blue Ribbon, Kalamazoo’s very own Bell’s Oberon, along with three unique brands of beer, “Crooked tree,” “Dragon’s Milk,” and “Rogue Dead Guy Ale.” The colorful and artistic handwriting on the menu is interrupted by a cartoon drawing of a pirate with an eye patch directly under the final selection.

One customer shared her testimony of the time she was actually scolded by Bain for taking an alcoholic beverage outside. “It was shortly after it opened, and there were policemen nearby, so I think he was just under a lot of stress.” But Bain proudly affirms that he’s recently been granted an outdoor liquor license so that from now on, patrons can enjoy their beverages on the fenced in patio just outside of the main entrance of the coffee shop.

On any given night, while indulging in their drink of choice, one can sit back and relax in the smoke-free environment, enjoying live music performances, comedians, or poetry slams that take place on stage at the bar in the back half of the venue which is decorated just as tastefully as the front room. The original brick walls on the interior provides an old-fashioned feeling, complete with gold plated antique mirrors, stained glass hanging lamps and even more original artwork. On some nights, there are minimal cover charges, ranging from $2 to $5, a reasonable price during these hard times to support the artists and the improvement of the establishment. Strutt records is another accomplishment of the company. “The musicians that play here are having CD’s recorded under our label, and it’s been a great investment.” Says Bain. While Kalamazoo, Michigan is the midpoint between Chicago and Detroit, Bain sees potential in the future for hosting nationally known musicians amidst their tours through the Midwest, and since day one, his main focus of The Strutt has always been to create a reputable space for talented local musicians to perform. So far, so good. The musicians that perform represent a mix of all types of genres – no lame cover bands, and no obnoxious karaoke performances here.

Bain has total confidence that The Strutt, formerly known as Ravenwood coffee shop and more recently “Dino’s,” will break the curse of failure that previous owners have encountered due mainly to bad luck. “While Ravenwood & Dino’s weren’t roasting their own coffee, and didn’t have a liquor license, live music or an outstanding menu, they were also plagued with the bad luck of construction on the streets outside of the shop, making it bad for business.” To top it off, The Strutt hosts a Saturday Art Market every week from two to seven p.m. featuring local artists selling crafts, art, jewelry, and much more. Bain hopes to put on an outdoor art festival outside the shop in early June, and is working with the city in hopes of closing off the street for art vendors to show off their work to the greater public.

If these incredibly innovative ideas and entertaining events somehow don’t appeal to you, the little shop on the corner of Academy and Stadium is still a nice place to cozy up with a book on rainy days. The furniture is homey and comfortable, a large kidney shaped leather couch against the bay window closest to the front counter is the perfect spot for playing a game of scrabble with your friends (it’s kept behind the counter, just ask one of the friendly baristas). If you feel that your loyalty to the late Dino’s or Ravenwood is being compromised, don’t worry, you can still sip a delicious fair-trade cup of joe while gazing out the window past the cars whizzing down Stadium at the Burger King across the street

profile piece: the strutt

Because i didn't have the pleasure of catching owner Darren Bain for an interview until a few hours ago, this piece is lacking a concluding section which i hopefully will finish in an hour or less. For fairness and deadline's sake, here is my review of The Strutt thus far. Can't wait to read all of your profiles! :)

The Strutt: “More than just coffee” by Lindsey Scarlett

Owner Darren Bain is proud to assert the coffee that they indeed roast themselves at The Strutt is imported directly from a farm in Guatemala. Along with some Kenyan blends, the variety of ground beans can be seen hanging from the ceiling in individual paper bags over the front counter, with their logo “Kalamazoo Coffee Company” printed on each bag. Aside from the tasty selection of café drinks, including “love potion number nine,” and a healthy selection of fruit smoothies and tea, this funky venue on the corner of Academy and Stadium Drive has so much more to offer than just coffee.

The atmosphere could on the one hand be described as a peaceful space for studying and relaxing. The antique-looking fireplace white Christmas lights strewn about the perimeter of the room and generally low lighting add to the soothing aura of the front room. On the other hand, returning patrons experience a new invigorating experience each time they stroll into The Strutt. Freckled with fliers for upcoming shows, benefit concerts, and nightly specials alternated with an eclectic collection of abstract paintings from local artists and students, the avocado colored walls suggest the eclectic taste of the staff.

If the décor won’t do it, the menu certainly confirms the creativity cultivated here. The colossal cup of creamy cocoa, zesty goat cheese salad and the savory chocolate and raspberry “crêpe dolce” were enough to win my heart, and my taste buds. But according to a group of friendly college-aged customers playing monopoly, the Mediterranean Plate, complete with hummus, pita, olives, tomatoes and baba ganoush is a favorite appetizer, and the Pollo pazzo pizza, adorned with blackened chicken, carmelized onions, and three different cheese specimens is nothing less than scrumptious, “it’s hard to just choose one though, all of the pizzas are good.” Don’t get the wrong impression, this isn’t a pizza joint. There is an array of panini sandwiches as well, and on the weekends, The Strutt serves equally inventive brunch platters from nine to one alongside local Jazz musicians on Saturdays and a Bluegrass band on Sundays.

The relaxing food coma you may experience after stuffing yourself with healthy and delicious food perfectly contrasts what one may experience on a typical night at the bar in the back room of The Strutt. While there are plans in the making of having a Brewery in the basement space, he is still trying to gain the support of the landlord who owns another brewery in town and is a little weary of the competition that could ensue. “He doesn’t need to be worried, the clientele here is completely different than the crowd at his other brewery, he’ll come around soon though, I can feel it” reports Bain optimistically. Although they don’t brew their own beer quite yet, the beer menu behind the counter boasts an assortment of more than thirty different beers, plus on tap there is the tried and true Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the Kalamazoo locals favorite Oberon, along with three unique brands of beer, “Crooked tree,” “Dragon’s Milk,” and “Rogue Dead Guy Ale.” The colorful and artistic handwriting on the menu is interrupted by a cartoon drawing of a pirate with an eye patch directly under the final selection.

frank sinatra has a cold

Ooops, i hit "publish post" before noon today and immediately walked out the front door & went to lunch, just got back to my house and realized the page didn't load. My apologies.. luckily it was saved!



Sitting at my usual spot in our oversized leather armchair in our living room, wrapped cozily in blankets, I read "Frank Sinatra has a Cold" with Sinatra simultaneously crooning a jazzy melody "There is nothing for me but to lovvvee you..... and the way you look tonight..." out of the surround sound speakers. I couldn't help but to feel like an insider in the late singer's close circle of luxurious confidantes while reading this piece. Sipping cranberry juice from one of our thrice used plastic cups, I imagined I was actually sipping Cabernet Sauvignon from an Austrian crystal wine glass at a jazz bar listening to Old Blue Eyes performing live.

Gay Talese wrote this piece so well, without ever having even talked to Sinatra. The sensory details were so delicious to read, and he revealed Sinatra's character to such an extent that I feel like i know him personally. I really like the writer's account of all the people that were lined up outside of the bar just to catch a glimpse of him "to pay their respects," As well as the scene where he's singing the song about his daughter Nancy, and is portrayed to be an emotional and sentimental person. It was a nice contrast after hearing about how big of an asshole he can be when he's in one of his moods.

I really like the angle the writer took on this piece. He was very much absent in the piece, an invisible observer. I liked that it wasn't a paparazzi account of Frank being rude and causing a scene in public every once in a while, or showing how nice of a guy he is to his house guests and friends, it captured so many sides of him, his relationship with his daughter, his ex-wife, his parents, his manager, and his closest friends. Like I said before it made me feel like I really knew him. Everyone gets colds and is miserable when they have a cold, but no one stops to think how much worse it would be to have a cold when you're a singer. And not just any singer, but Frank fucking Sinatra. His career is on the line, millions of dollars and other peoples jobs are on the line.... it's a pretty big deal when Frank Sinatra can't sing because he has a cold.

Rewrite of personal essay

i want a better title. help?

Redemption

I can see it from my mother’s eyes: the wretched little bitch I was becoming. At age seven I was already coming home past my curfew every day after staying at the park playing Cowboys and Indians or riding my bike all over town with the other neighborhood kids when it was time to practice violin or piano.

One summer evening I came home at six thirty – five hours after the time Mom told me to be home. She grabbed my wrists way too hard and pushed me into a corner so that the back of my head had a bump later and she yelled in my face lots of words that Moms should never say. I remember she was so close to my face that I felt her spit spatter my face when she yelled. Her eyebrows furrowed together so that she looked like a real live wicked witch. She spanked me hard and sent me to my room without letting me eat anything. “Don’t you DARE come out until you’ve practiced your entire lesson perfectly for one hour. Every mistake is five extra minutes!” This was cruel and unjustified torture. “…I’ll get you my pretty! And your little dog too!”

Six years later, I still never wanted to practice violin or piano, ever. Every day there was a fight. I had to practice for hours each day if I wanted to see my friends again. And let me tell you, making friends and keeping them was not easy in seventh grade. Never once did I feel proud after winning an award or the position as concertmaster in whatever orchestral audition I was dragged to. It was never my accomplishment, it was Moms’. I sure as hell didn’t want to be wasting my weekends and summers flying all over the country and sometimes even Europe to compete for a score from some stuffy old judge.

For years I’d concealed the anguish that swept through our house like a fever from my friends and even from my Dad. He had some idea that I was suffering, but he didn’t want to undermine Mom’s authority, and anytime I approached him for help he would be too busy reading the paper in his armchair or filling out paperwork at his desk or playing basketball with the neighbors. On the rare occasion that he wasn’t too busy doing these things and found a few minutes he could spare to hear me out, he scolded me for whining or lying or disobeying my mother and it usually ended up in another screaming match. My friends asked me why I had to practice all the time since I was already so good, and when I tried to explain myself, they refused to believe that Gail Scarlett had a single mean bone in her body. I didn’t bother trying to convince them and excused myself every day when I was supposed to go home to avoid any humiliating scenes that would surely be the result of my defiance.

One day, after a particularly brutal battle, sobbing myself into delirium and feeling particularly resentful about my deteriorating social life and unsatisfactory parents, I did something that Mom never saw coming.

The violins hollow body made the most delicious cracking noise I’d ever heard when it hit the ground. Its smooth shape lay fractured and helpless in the middle of the room, like an injured antelope awaiting its inevitable doom. I’d died and gone to heaven, the joy of every kid wearing Mickey ears that day in Disney World combined was inferior to my own. My heart exploded with bliss while I destroyed pages and pages covered in thousands of black dots on lines and shredded my lesson books into snow. “I’m king of the jungle, hear me roar!”

I leapt across the field that was my room abandoning my prey to let it suffer in silence, and bounded down the stairs towards the front door with no destination in mind and no intentions of ever returning home. With the door handle just barely within my grasp, mom grabbed me by the back of the neck, whirled me around in a blur of kicking and punching and scratching, and pulled me to the ground by my ponytail. Kneeling on my stomach, she smacked both sides of my face with superhuman strength, shrieking the very words she made me scrub off the wall in my closet last Christmas, and forcing her eyebrows into that unmistakably satanic arch.

Although the violin was repaired, because I was forced to continue mastering a variety of musical endeavors in my high school years, the emotional gap between my mother and I was never bridged. Not having a relationship with my mom was one of the many factors contributing to my angsty adolescent era, but when my emotional instability consumed my life and my ability to function socially and academically, school counselors recommended me to a number of psychologists that could provide some assistance to get my life back in order. My mom, who had never before shown any detectable concern for my well-being, was supportive of meeting with my therapist and I upon the therapists request.

To my surprise, with each session she attended my mom gradually opened up about her experience as a child with parents who were far more abusive than she, and because it was how she was raised, she felt that pushing me to be the best was good parenting. “I was never as good as you are, and my parents hated me for it.” Tears welled in her eyes, and for the first time ever, I saw my mom as a troubled person with her own emotional issues as opposed to a heartless monster who enjoyed making me miserable. “I wanted you to be able to take advantage of all the opportunities that I never had… I couldn’t understand how you could hate it so much, when it’s everything I strived for growing up.” To me, it made sense. I’d been waiting for the moment when I had a reasonable cause for forgiving my mom, and could let myself pop the cork out of my heart and let the love I’ve always wanted to give her erupt and drench her to the bone.

My mom finally let go of her dream that I would become a distinguished musician. I wasn’t happy playing violin, I was passionate about other subjects, and she admitted to always having known I would be successful in whichever direction I chose to steer my life. After a few more years of therapy, the trust between us strengthened tremendously. I’m really proud of the person she’s become, and every time she apologizes to me or professes her guilt and regret, I hug her and remind her “You’re only human mom, we all make mistakes.”

From Telling True Stories

Isabel Wilkersons section "Interviewing: Accelerated Intimacy" hit very close to home for how i felt as a student community organizer in our very own Building Blocks program two years ago. I remember knocking on many doors in my assigned neighborhood and after only one or two sentences of my introduction and explanation to the residents, many of them slammed the door in my face simply because they saw me as an intruder.

Although I wasn't interviewing the residents to write an article, the idea of myself, a perfect stranger, wanting to talk to them about their community and their views was understandably a little unsettling at first. After the third or fourth time the residents saw me walking up and down their block or talking with their neighbors, they became a little bit more comfortable with me and the idea that i was just a college student promoting a program that was more beneficial to them more than to me.

I intentionally held off with a few of the residents, only asking basic introductory questions about their families, hoping to find something in common i could latch on to in order to make a deeper and more personal connection - or as wilkinson put it "making a connection with the person to accelerate getting to know them" (32).

All of the phases of this "accelerated intimacy" are pretty much exactly what i had to do to accomplish my goal as a student community organizer. My only qualm with Wilkinson's advice is that at the end of the interview, the relationship is pretty much dead. As soon as you reach "the center of the onion" as a reporter, you've got what you wanted, the subject knows nothing about you, and your work there is done.

This makes me incredibly uncomfortable simply because I believe in cultivating mutual relationships in order to get a fuller picture of inside the subjects life and mind. Building Blocks taught me that the more you share about yourself and the more you can empathize with the subject, the more they trust you and are willing to tell you their experiences.

While Wilkinson provides a good feel for how to initiate an interview, I don't believe I myself could ever judge and report someone else's life without sharing a little bit about myself in exchange. That is of course, only if the subject had an interest in me and my motives for writing their experiences. Is this something I need to get over in order to successfully write Narrative Journalism?

here's my article for you all.. hope you enjoy it.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/19/world/middleeast/19baghdad.html?_r=1&ref=world