“They don’t have it.”
“Have what?”
“They don’t have the movies.”
“So no Superbad or Pineapple Express?”
“Yep.”

 These were the words exchanged between three friends on a Friday afternoon in Askwith Media Library. Rays of artificial light illuminated their dejected faces as they flipped through binder after binder. Just when it seemed that there was no chance for cinematic satisfaction, one of the friends (me… I know, what a surprise!) saw an intriguing image. Underneath a laminated cover was a face. His face was almost as distressed as those of the three friends. His disheveled body stood in front of a large green board. The words CHALK were scrawled across it. Finally. Movie magic.

The film “Chalk” is a mockumentary (much like “The Office”) about the ups and downs of high school through the eyes of teachers and administrators. Directed by Mike Ackel, “Chalk” achieves that perfect balance between humor and sadness. The level of reality portrayed by Ackel made it impossible to not be invested in the characters. I found myself immediately rooting for romantic entanglements between Mr. Lowry (the pathetic first year history teacher) and Coach Webb (the overly pushy gym teacher), while I could not stop laughing at the absurd nature of Mr. Stroope (the teacher who yells at students who use big words).

However, “Chalk” is not superficial in its intrigue. It truly is a fascinating cinematic commentary on the American educational system. According to the director at the start of the film, 50% of teachers quit within the first three years and what’s even more disheartening are the quality of some of the teachers hired. “Chalk” serves to illuminate these facts by showing the day-to-day struggles of being a teacher. Not only does the pay suck, but teachers also have to put up with numerous devil children (watch the first scene and you will understand the plight of teachers). After viewing this film I gained a new perspective on my own teachers, both past and present (maybe it was the students who made my freshman biology teacher a bitch… or maybe not). I also left with a newfound respect for these professionals whose life long goal (at least for some) is to educate and hopefully inspire.

If you are looking for a great way to spend a Friday night definitely check this movie out. It’s definitely better than Superbad.

Is any one else disappointed about the seemingly lack of original movies these days?

Sherlock Holmes and The Lovely Bones are both recent releases based off of books, and who can forget the popularity of the movie adaptations of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings?  I’ll admit, I’ve seen the last two HP movies at the midnight release, complete with costume. And cult movies like Blade Runner? You can thank Philip K. Dick for writing the story it’s based on.

Graphic novels are also a primary source.  V for Vendetta was based off one, as was 300.  And let’s not get into the movies that come from superhero comics.  Those have been produced by Hollywood since the late 70s.

I’m not saying this is a bad thing (I love Ironman, LotR will always be dear to my heart, and we’ll just skip over my obsession for Transformers, shall we?) but I’m simply saying I would love originality.  What’s next, movies based on RPGs?

Actually, Prince of Persia is in the works.

I’ve never actually played Prince of Persia, so I can’t say anything about the game, but since we’re on a kick of bringing old school things into a new light, such as Star Trek, why can’t we do the same with games?  Why not re-version classic arcade games, like Frogger?

Why not Pac-Man?

It’s got action, romance, guns, mystery, and a hip new look for a favorite figure from our childhood. What’s not to like? My roomie would be the first in line for this movie if it was real.

But me? I want a little more drama, a little more angst. Tetris seems to satisfy that for me.

And if none of these suit you, you can always chose Minesweeper.

But would these be amazing to watch? They would be able to reach out to the older generation, hoping to remind them of their childhood and draw in a new and younger audience. And it’s this timelessness that makes a movie a classic. Watch, in five years one of these will actually be made and land an Oscar nomination.

You arcade loitering blogger,

Jenny

As far back as we have records, heroes have existed.  It’s not just all about Superman, but about Hercules, Aeschylus, Odysseus.  It’s about Joseph and Jesus and Abraham and Mohammed.  About Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Neil Armstrong, Martin Luther King, Jr.  In the 21st century, it’s about Arnold Shwarzenegger, Barack Obama, soldiers in the Middle East, Tiger Woods.  Etc etc etc.  Heroes are everywhere.  With them comes this great image about them that is cast far and wide, projecting a perspective of awe and admiration, fear and respect, intimacy and personality.

Back up… Tiger Woods?  He who has had countless mistresses and who apparently has a sham of a marriage that was alleged to have been a mere media ploy?  Hmm…

I’m not one who is interested in celebrity news.  Like anyone else, I will admit that yeah, maybe it can be kind of interesting, but typically I don’t even glance at Perez or read the People magazine cover in the grocery line.  I’m just not that into it.  But taking a class on journalism has made me become aware of something: the media is a powerful, powerful tool.  And Tiger Woods is someone who knows just how to use it.

The thing with Tiger is that everyone is up in arms about him right now.  But why?  Because he was Tiger, the untouchable, the unbreakable, undefeatable.  Oh la la, and lookie here, now he’s the baddd mannn Mommy always warned us about.  Mmm… maybe.  People are always drawn to drama, especially celebrity drama, so the hubbub about  the straying hubby isn’t all that surprising.  What is surprising, however, is how long this scandal has been kept wrapped up.  According to my instructor, a journalist herself, the news of Tiger’s busy hands has mostly likely been long known.  He has so many journalists on his tail everyday, there were countless rumors about certain bars and rooms he frequented for questionable purposes.  But no one ever reported it.  Why?  Because Tiger had essentially built up an empire controlling the sports media– if anyone ever wanted to be in Tiger’s circle, they would never write anything bad about him.  Once an enemy, always on the blacklist for life.  And because Tiger was such a big name and thus drew in tons of revenue, no high-aspiring sports journalist would ever report anything negative about the heroic Tiger Woods.  He had developed a myth about him that created around him an untouchable aura.  His PR team was gooood.

Achilles didn’t have a PR Team, neither did Jesus.  Jackie Robinson rose to fame on his own and Martin Luther King was a preacher.  Yet, these people all became heroes and mythical figures (in the sense of their power, not that they never existed) and still retain some power in the media today.  Achilles is in countless translations and editions of The Iliad, Jesus has the Bible, Babe and Jackie still lived in a time where media was used to broadcast sports and thus spread their names to the national listeners of baseball.  Martin Luther King, Jr.’s sermons and speeches were reported in newspapers and televised.  Perhaps they didn’t all have a PR team that possessed the same kind of imperial hold over media, but the fact is that they live today because of and through the media.  This is how powerful the concept of media, especially mass media, is.  Isn’t it crazy to think about the fact that people who work in and with the media have such a tremendous power over its audience?  How every choice they make determines the scope of the knowledge received and understood by the public?  It’s a double-edged sword, the media…

(To be continued next week…)

—–

Gabby Park is a thinker who is fascinated by the concept of communication in society and who aspires to one day be someone who actively pursues the acquisition of hidden knowledge.

What a vast, terribly uncertain abyss perception is. It is through some flurry of processes, interacting in a lurid convection akin to the turbulence of a particularly belligerent sea, that we produce, in our mind’s eye, something coherent and meaningful. Objective physical sensations (a squiggly sound wave, a playful touch on the wrist) converge and pinch together into a holistic image, an abstraction which is then projected on to the screen stretched taut and pinned within the architecture of lobes and cortexes. It is this pictoral representation, shaded in with our singular experiences and memories, that we incline our heads toward in acknowledgment. Hundreds of editions of a hundred separate, independent textbooks carefully delineate the precise mechanics of impulse transmission in nerves… and yet…

And yet, in spite of our understanding of how the nervous system’s minute electrons, leaping haphazardly about to culminate in what we call, “chemical activity”, we seem to have run against some sticky impenetrable darkness if we yearn to look further onwards. That is to say, nobody knows (yet) how these alterations of chemical activity relate to psychological states. The entire procedure indeed occurs, but there’s a gaping, palpable absence of a bridge of sorts that elegantly arches to render a connection between the quantifiable ocean of ion channel openings to the wonder of consciousness — to the mystery of perception and of interpretation. And surely, when we engage with art, we perceive and interpret seamlessly, while the systematic processes that are unbeknownst to even ourselves murmurs quietly and opaquely on. Regardless of how introspective we feel, we cannot reveal to ourselves what fantastical things are happening behind this black curtain.

Cognitive psychologists try to work this out, to sketch to their best ability a sort of crude functional bridge, by assessing at how automatic processes we take for granted operate and sometimes “malfunction”, producing what we know to be optical illusions. Psychologists call the “real world out there” the distal stimulus (a horizon), while the image projected upside-down on our retinas is termed as the proximal stimulus (a tiny, two-dimensional, rotated by 180° image of a horizon). The percept is that coalescence of the rather impersonal sensations (proximal stimulus) with the quiet whirrings of our cognitions, drawing in recollections and logical procedures to capture the most sense we can of this little upside-down universe, this universe beyond our seemingly disembodied mind.

What’s noteworthy is the observation that we are mostly ineffective, in recollection or in recreation, in seizing the entirety of what we perceive. Something, or rather, a dazzling cavalcade of things occur between the step of the proximal stimulus and the percept. We sometimes recognize what is actually absent while other times don’t see certain things that are there — things that are mightily exerting their existence in the corporeal world.

Automatically, like doting parents, our minds assign depth to the two-dimensional, maintain size constancy, and fill in blind spots with a surreptitious flourish. The mind does this by means of monocular and binocular cues, like relative size and linear perspective (artists have exploited these methods) to transform that image, pricking our retinas, to a more faithful description of the three-dimensional world outside. It is when these “cues” are mixed and used contradictorily, that we see optical illusions.

And this is simply visual perception. What about the embarrassing gaps of other perceptive mediums? What about more complex abstractions like thought and emotion?

Interesting musings, no?

Perhaps, as time trudges onwards, we’ll understand better. For now, the battalion of psychologists and neuroscientists continue to work in their labs, trying to answer smaller questions in hopes that one day, these collective little advances give rise to a fuller view on this front of knowledge.

Sue majors in Neuroscience & English and tends to lurk in bookstores.

I was discussing this matter with my Father over lunch one day.  He loves to quote a speaker at one commencement speech he attended saying, “It’s not who you know, but what who you know knows.”  Wow, say that 10 times fast!

I contest him on this topic every time he brings it up, and if you know anyone over the age of 50 you will know their repetitions are far from few.

His argument is that people who you know often know the same people you do, so they are not great resources for you and thus do not get your name ‘out there.’ Whatever this infinite abyss is.

I argue that those you know are more than likely to know an outside group you do not, and therefore will hope to introduce you to them.

As a college student the relationships with the people around us seem to determine a great deal about our present and future lives.  From your best friends to your boyfriends, or your ‘potential’ love lives for those of us out there still waiting to be paired up; every person you interact with determines something about your life.

So if my Dad’s philosophy on relationships is correct, then it seems as if in order to go far you must know a wide range of people.  This seems perfect in theory, but in practice it sounds terrifyingly daunting.  Maybe that’s the part I’m not understanding or blocking myself from understanding.

I am trying to facilitate relationships in the art field, specifically in the museum world, so that I will get letters of recommendations and hopefully secure a job after this magical world of college.

Maybe like many things in life, I should have a backup plan.  Who knows who I will run into or what opportunities may come my way.  In that case, maybe having a connection with many people in an array of fields will open more doors than simply knowing everyone at UMMA, in my case.

So maybe the goal is not who you know, but how many people you know and what can they offer you.  Choose wisely about the relationships you want to foster.  Make sure they better you as a human.

Keep all of your options open and I am sure those ‘right’ people will come your way.

Sara Studies Art History and Enjoys Long Walks

Before I begin, I would like to preface this entry with the following: Yes, I am from New Jersey, and no, I have never encountered (for better or for worse) the “Situation.”

I guess my obsession with the MTV hit “Jersey Shore” was a long time coming. Everywhere I went people were talking about the “shore” and these self proclaimed “guidos” and “guidettes.” Even my friends (both from New Jersey and elsewhere) were completely hooked. “Is that what Jersey is like,” my friends from Michigan would ask, to which I would have to calmly respond, “No. It’s not.” For my friends back home, the intrigue of the show was the fact that it presented them with a new perspective of their home state. The places, roads, and landmarks that are shown throughout the show were the backdrops of some of our fondest memories. In fact, most of my friends spent the weekend after prom frolicking about in what has now been made infamous by MTV, Seaside Heights, New Jersey.

For those of who have read thus far and still don’t know what the hell “Jersey Shore” is let me quickly explain. “Jersey Shore” follows the lives of eight twenty- somethings living and partying together for one summer on the shore. Part “Real World” and part “The Hills” (except instead of Dior we have to settle for DEB) “Jersey Shore” is truly a whirlwind of fake tans, big boobs, and even bigger hair.

 The fakery, however, is not exclusive to the outward appearance of the “cast.” In fact, the entire notion that this show is an authentic portrayal of the Jerseyites (yes, I just made up a word!) is truly ludicrous. The truth is that only one of the eight cast members is actually from New Jersey, while most of the cast hails from New York (while one guy is from the great state of Rhode Island)- oh the joys of “reality” television!

Ultimately, “Jersey Shore” is truly just another caricature of the Garden State, founded upon stereotypes rather than reality (an albeit addictive and “so bad that it’s good” type of caricature!). My only hope is that you, the viewer, will be able to discern the truth from the reality. Trust me, New Jersey is more than theTurnpike, malls, and annoying accents. Take a chance and find out… I can give you first hand accounts if you’d like 🙂

Have a great MLK day/ FOUR-day week and be sure to leave your comments below!