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Volume 7, No. 8 FEB 05, 2007

magazine

� FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

FIRSTLOOK

COnTRIbuTORSEditor-in-ChiEf: Shira Bender • dEsign Editor: Michael Sall • Editor: iSaac Katz • AssistAnt Editors: tiM PotenS, Benny laitMan • Art Editors: eJ horlacher, yue Wu • WEbmAstEr: tiM PotenS • businEss mAnAgEr: anna tolMach Columnists: Benny laitMan, tiM PotenS • Artists: Shira Bender, yue Wu, ShelBy Prindaville, eJ horlacher WritErs: Mara horWitz, Mira eStin, Sudha Meghan, chriSten ParaS PhotogrAPhErs: JeSSica gartner, Jin lee, richard lieBoWitz, irina Kotchach

COnTaCTfirst CAll, KElly WritEr’s housE

3805 loCust WAlK, PhilAdElPhiA, PA 19104WWW.firstCAllmAgAzinE.Com

[email protected]

the shot heard round the hospitalsudha meghan

CoCktails for a demoCratiC Cuba

FeaTuRe: negadeLphIa6

FC dISpaTCh: gReeCe14

Tim poTensFailure, failure, and more failure. How Philly’s sports ineptitudes relate to its larger cloud of pessimism.

Speedo-clad Euros offering to pee on your urchin-stomping foot? All in a day’s fun studying abroad in Greece.

A short story.

Free mojitos and a free Cuba go hand in hand. PennCANF screens a PBS Cuba documentary.

Cover: 8:48, IRIna KOTChaCh

mara horwiTz and mira esTin

ChrisTen paras

10

8

photo spotlight: baCk stagejessiCa garTner5

Crossword and overheardsediTors16

attaCk of the sequel Clones

Manufactured trilogies rake in money. You can do something about it. Benny LaiTman4

photo spotlight: light and mirror, water shadowjin Lee

11

photo spotlight: winter seatriChard LieBowiTz15

haikusediTors9

�FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

LeTTeR FROMThe edITORS

edITORIaLpOLICY

FIRST CALL IS ThE UndERgRAdUATE mAgAzInE oF ThE UnIvERSITY oF PEnnSYLvAnIA PUBLIShEd EvERY oThER mondAY. oUR mISSIon IS To PRovIdE mEmBERS oF ThE CommUnITY An oPEn FoRUm FoR ExPRESSIng IdEAS And oPInIonS. To ThIS End, wE, ThE EdIToRS oF FIRST CALL, ARE CommITTEd To A PoLICY oF noT CEnSoRIng oPIn-IonS. ARTICLES ARE PRovIdEd BY REgULAR CoLUmnISTS And wRIT-ERS. ThEY ARE ChoSEn FoR PUB-LICATIon BASEd on ThE qUALITY oF wRITIng, And, In ThE CASE oF CommEnTARIES, ThE qUALITY oF ARgUmEnTATIon. oUTSIdE oF ThE EdIToRIAL And oThER EdIToRIAL ConTEnT, no ARTICLE REPRESEnTS ThE oPInIon oF FIRST CALL, ITS EdIToRIAL BoARd, oR IndIvIdUAL mEmBERS oF FIRST CALL oThER ThAn ThE AUThoR. no ConTEnT In FIRST CALL UnLESSoThERwISE STATEd REPRESEnTS ThE oFFICIAL PoSITIon oF ThE AdmInISTRA-TIon, FACULTY, oR STUdEnT BodY AT LARgE oF ThE UnIvERSITY oF PEnnSYLvAnIA.

Dear Penninites:Few things strike fear into the

average American’s heart: high cholesterol, Osama bin Laden, gay marriage. Add to the list: pixelated, bird-flipping, Lite-Brite cartoon aliens from cable television shows.

In the five years since 9/11, so-called terrorism experts have repeatedly claimed that the risk of the next terrorist attack is not a matter of whether it will occur, but when. So when 38 mysterious battery-powered light screens displaying the “Mooninite” characters from the Cartoon Network show Aqua Teen Hunger Force appeared in Boston, vigilant citizens called the authorities. Highways and public transportation were shut down, a bomb squad blew up one of the objects, and the advertisers responsible were arrested.

Fear-mongering, bomb squads, and an entire city shut down: all in a day’s work. Even if one initially mistakes a cartoon character for the work of a terrorist, Boston authorities kept up their misplaced outrage long after the truth had come out. The advertisers arrested were charged with intent to incite a panic despite their obvious intent to promote a movie. Equal numbers of identical objects were placed in nine cities around the US – only in Boston did the issue come up, and only because of the inanity of the authorities.

Closer to home, paranoia hit even harder. Last week, a Penn law student, suspecting that his next-door Drexel neighbors were spies, emptied his Glock 9mm into

the door, shooting off the lock. All the while, one of the Drexel students was hiding in his bedroom. The DP, oddly, played up an ethnic angle: the law student was a Korean-American, the neighbors both Indian-born. The law student’s xenophobic fear that his neighbors were spying on him apparently sparked the incident.

What are we all so afraid of? Lite-Brite terrorism? South-Asian spies? Britney’s vagina? No, friends. We are afraid of nothing more than colorful alerts, sensational headlines, and 24 episodes. Perhaps the best way to actually fight the terrorist threat is to start acting like independent thinkers who take the time to tell the difference between a cartoon and a bomb before wasting thousands of dollars and minutes neutralizing the “threat.” Or maybe we all need to start watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force – at least that way we’ll be too busy to make fools of ourselves.

Sincerely,

Shira Bender, Editor in ChiefIsaac Katz, Editor

4 FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

aTTaCK OF The SequeL CLOneSBenny LaiTman | BeTTer LaiTman Than neverWhat We Can Do about exploitative SequelS

This rant won’t be too long. I just needed to sound off about

something that I noticed lately in the movies. This past winter break, I caught up on all the movies I have missed over the last semester as well as the new ones that just came out. This is the problem: it really bothers me when the movie industry takes really great movies, which make a lot of money, and then turn them into crappy trilogies to cash in from devoted fans. Case in point: Ocean’s 13.

For those of you who don’t know, Ocean’s 13 is the sequel to Ocean’s 12, which was the sequel to Ocean’s 11, which was a remake of the 1960’s Rat Pack version of Ocean’s Eleven. These movies seem to get crappier as the sequels increase. The 2001 remake of Ocean’s 11 was actually regarded as a better movie than the 1960’s version

starring Sinatra, Martin, and other Rat Pack members. It raked in 184 million dollars in the United States, and over $450 million worldwide. This killing of a profit undoubtedly led to the creation of Ocean’s 12: a pointless sequel with the intention of making even more dough. Somehow, despite its crappiness, it managed to bring in 125 mil: nowhere near its prequel, but more than its budget. Even so, with all that money made, Ocean’s 13 was lurking around the corner.

What really gets me angry about these situations is that most people, myself included, are almost obligated to see the sequels of pretty decent movies. Because the first was so good, we go to the sequel with the mindset that it will be just as entertaining. We forget what our past experiences with movie sequels have taught us, and we

are inevitably disappointed. It is also not unusual that the atrocious sequel we inevitably see ends at a cliffhanger that practically draws us in to see the third movie in the trilogy. If I have paid $9.50 to see a movie, I would like to know the ending. Let us not forget the Pirates of the Caribbean experience—millions flocked to the theaters to see the sequel to The Black Pearl, entitled Dead Man’s Chest, making it one of the highest grossing films of all time. Millions were also let down as they discovered, after sitting in theaters for hours waiting for some sort of conclusion, that the resolution would not be revealed until a third movie. I was never more frustrated in my life.

The Matrix saga took a similar path. Wikipedia says it best: “The [Matrix’s] mainstream success led to the greenlighting of the next two

films of the trilogy, The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. It was a number of years and several iterations of scripts before the final movies were approved. The two sequels, which tell a continuous story rather than being stand-alone episodes, were filmed simultaneously and released six months apart.” Neither of the following films did any justice to the original. The first Matrix was high-tech, action packed, and funny (if you consider the fact that Keanu was the star). It even beat out Star Wars: The Phantom Menace for special effects that year. In short: it was pretty cool. The next two films, theologically metaphorical and pretentious (Jesus and all—sorry to whoever that offends), were

5FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

firstcallismgroundhog:(n.) miracle of modern meteorology.

disgusting.Maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh.

People have said to me, in response to my cynicism, “Well, if you go in not expecting much, then you can be like ‘hey those are some pretty cool robots.’” While “pretty cool robots” are often in my wheelhouse, if I am paying ten bucks, I want to see more than just special effects. I’ll save my robot-packed action viewings to rainy day weekends and OnDemand.

And, honestly, some of the trilogies aren’t too bad. I reserve this statement, however, for those trilogies that were written as trilogies, and intended to be released as such. Star Wars, for example, is one of the, in my opinion, greatest trilogies of all time (I’m a space geek, I know). George Lucas wrote all six movies (both trilogies) prior to the movies’ release. The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the “counter-nerd trilogy” to Star Wars as Clerks II put it (if you haven’t seen Clerks II, go see it now—that is one worthy sequel; I can’t wait for the last installment of the potential trilogy), were filmed simultaneously. The Matt Damon flicks The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy are actually the first two installments in a trilogy of books by Robert Ludlum. These are usually the only trilogies I can stand, as the sequels are not just made for marketing schemes, even if they still rake in the cash.

I hope that you have taken away something from this rant and will subsequently look at movie trilogies differently. As for me, I am not going to see Ocean’s 13, although I will be tempted at every turn; as I said, we are drawn to these movies because of their original film’s popularity and appeal. But truthfully, I hate George Clooney (he gets all the girls), and I cannot stand the fact that Julia Roberts plays a crook. Don’t take my word for it, but if you find yourself in theaters watching this potential crap, I wouldn’t hesitate to say “I told you so.” Maybe you’ll learn your lesson (maybe we all will) when they release Ocean’s 14!

Benny Laitman is a freshman in the College.you can write to him at laitman@sas.

FC

phOTO SpOTLIghT:baCK STage, bY JeSSICa gaRTneR

jessica gartner is a sophomore in the College. you can write to her at gartnerj@sas.


Philadelphia is a pessimistic city. There’s no other way to put it. In

fact, it seems so obvious after 19 years, that it took a lot of thought for me to even piece this thought together. Philadelphians are notorious for being generally miserable and outright obnoxious sometimes (read: at sporting events). But is this because we are bad people, with no love for our fellow man? Of course not: We are not ready to drop “the City of Brotherly Love” yet. No, this anger is driven by the forces of perpetual disappointment.

That in itself is a pretty pessimistic thing to say, that we in Philadelphia have always been disappointed and will forever be disappointed, but it appears so true. You don’t even have to look beyond the one major thing

that every Philadelphian seems to care about: our sports. It has been 24 years since a team from Philadelphia won a championship. Just in my lifetime, all four teams have made it to their championship, and all four teams were defeated in miserable fashion. Do I sound a little disappointed? There’s much more to tell.

A few weeks ago the Eagles played the New Orleans Saints in the NFL division playoffs and lost after squandering opportunities late in the game, something they’ve gotten pretty good at. The offense refused to capitalize on a New Orleans fumble, moving the ball down the field a sum total of zero yards on their last possession. Then, on what everyone watching the game knew would be the Eagles’ last chance, the coaches decide to punt the ball away. “I thought we would get the ball back,” Andy Reid calmly told us after the game. With

under two minutes left, Andy? Sure.Many Philadelphians have spent

these last few weeks cursing every aspect of that game: poor calling by the referees, poor playing by the team, poor decisions by the coaches. But I’ve gone the other route: pretending it never happened. My roommate and I immediately went about forgetting the game. The Eagles flag hangs upside down in mourning from our door, but we tried to search for something else. Hockey season is in full swing; is there hope there? Not when the injury-ridden Flyers sit secure in their slot as the worst team in the NHL Well, baseball season is right around the corner, right?

The Philadelphia Phillies, the team with the most losses in the history of professional athletics, is perhaps the epitome of disappointment. And yet, I can’t remember a year that I and every one I know didn’t say “This is

FC Feature: the Long-term eFFeCts oF PerPetuaL DisaPPointment

By tim Potens | Potent PotaBLes

�FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

our year!” I suppose by January the heartache of September has passed and we’ve mostly forgotten how the Phillies choked at the end of the season (again). See, Philadelphians aren’t always pessimistic. We try hard to look forward positively, or at least pretend we aren’t as disappointed as we really are. So, my roommate and I are moving on, looking ahead. Spring training in two weeks, opening day is only two months away, and the Phillies are looking good this year (as always). Our door now reads: “10 days until pitchers and catchers.”

Through it all though, the reaction after a loss in Philadelphia is never one in anger. Rather than becoming enraged over the continuous defeats, we simply fall deeper into our disappointment. Even when (it pains me to type these words) the Eagles lost the Super Bowl two years ago, did the city burn and succumb to rioters? No, Philadelphians, despite their well known raucous behavior while winning, are strangely subdued after a loss. When Philadelphians riot, it is almost always in celebration. I’ve only heard the stories about the glory days of World Series and Stanley Cup victories and riotous parties that seized intersections across the city. So, when the Eagles choked in the championship (as all our other teams had before them), we didn’t become angry and call for blood. Instead, we just somberly closed our doors and lowered the green flags to half staff.

In the midst of all this disappointment, though, many Philadelphians become desperate, grabbing for champions wherever they can find them. Floyd Landis wins the Tour de France, and suddenly Lancaster County isn’t so far away. A few years ago Smarty Jones, a horse bred in Bucks County just north of the city, came close to winning the Triple Crown. Huge screens were set up on the Parkway so crowds could watch the final race. Smarty Jones lost and I saw grown men cry because

Philadelphia had been denied a champion once again. In fact, in our desperation for a victory – any victory – Philadelphia has actually invented her most beloved champion. Every Philadelphian knows the epic tale of Rocky Balboa, the greatest underdog story the world has ever seen. Every youngster from the Delaware to the Schuylkill dreams of following Rocky up the steps of the Art Museum, arms raised in triumph. Is it bad to wallow in this fictional success? Maybe, but when the only other option we see is disappointment, of course Philadelphia flocks to Rocky’s side.

Why is it that Philadelphians force themselves to celebrate imaginary heroes, instead of playing with the cards they’re dealt and staying optimistic? It has to be more than simple disappointment. A few championship losses aren’t enough to really shatter a city’s spirit. It almost seems as if Philadelphia suffers from a terrible inferiority complex. We’re wedged right into the middle of the Northeast Corridor between New York and Washington. Look at a smaller map of the US. You see New York and DC, but not Philadelphia; even Minneapolis and Memphis get a mention, but more often than not Philadelphia is left off. Of course, logically you know that given the space limitations, Philadelphia gets passed over for the nation’s capital and largest city, but logic is hard to come by for pessimists. Maybe it’s this lifetime as a second string city that drives so many Philadelphians to pessimism.

R u n through

some television shows in your head, and think about where they take place. New York, LA, San Fran, Chicago... Any in Philadelphia? Well, we had Boy Meets World, and there’s Cold Case on now, but is a show about unsolved murders going to make you feel any better about Philadelphia? When Philadelphia is even mentioned on a show, I’m shocked. On Jericho, a series of cities around the country get nuked, including Philadelphia. Finally, some recognition of our importance! If they nuked us, we must be a great city, right? I thought so for a little while, but I quickly saw that only second-tier American cities had been attacked, since our big brother New York was spared. So much for curing my pessimism.

Well maybe these insecurities about our hometown are only in the realm of sports and pop culture. At least we have forward thinking leaders ready to lead Philadelphia back to the forefront of the days of Penn and Franklin, right? No, the entire city government even operates under this same cloud of pessimism. Philadelphia recently made a bid for the 2016 Summer Olympics, and of course, we were turned down by the USOC. It was fairly good bid, but Philly has some problems


that need to be fixed. We’re short on hotel rooms and SEPTA is, to put it lightly, a nightmare. So did we take the USOC’s recommendations and embark on a program of urban renewal to bring the city up to snuff? Did we even make plans to implement some of the much needed improvements to the city regardless of whether we could ever get the Olympics? Of course not. The city sits on its hands and hopes Harrisburg sends some more money to fix SEPTA.

And it goes far beyond just the bid. Plans to develop Penn’s Landing are circulated every few years, but nothing is ever actually done. Crime runs rampant and the city’s education system is in shambles, but so many people are already convinced that we won’t get a mayor this November who’s willing to fix it. The city just approved the construction of two slot casinos along the Delaware River; do Philadelphians talk about the revenues and renown this might bring to the city? No, we complain about how bad traffic will be on Delaware Avenue. We’re even building a new skyscraper in Center City, the Comcast Center, which will be the city’s tallest at 975 feet. Are we happy? Almost, but why can’t it just be 1000 feet tall. Does a city need a 1000 foot tower to truly be great? Probably not, but my friends have already speculated sneaking to the top to add a 25 foot pole, just so we can break that 1000 foot threshold. If that’s not an inferiority complex, I don’t know what is.

Why are Philadelphians like this? Even when we identify a problem, why can’t we bring ourselves together to seek a solution? Why must we always look at the downside and act like we will never be considered a great American city. Honestly, I can’t tell for sure. It’s just in our nature, I suppose, but I’m much too much a part of it to see a way out. Most likely, we will never be an optimistic city, but at least we can feign satisfaction and pretend some of the bad things (and bad teams) never happened. We just need to keep moving on. 10 days until pitchers and catchers.

Under the dim lights at Old City’s Cuba Libre Restaurant and Rum

Bar, Penn students and Philadelphia activists began to congregate over scrumptious appetizers and complimentary drinks. The mood was casual and light, like an ordinary Sunday-evening cocktail hour; friends chatted and newcomers looked around for familiar faces by the bar. But for a hefty volume and petition, already full of signatures, it would have been easy at first to miss the more solemn purpose of the evening. Tonight, the cause that brought almost 70 students to the other side of the Schuylkill was even more popular than the free mojitos they found when they got there: a free, democratic Cuba. Once attendees had chatted and snacked to their content, organizers began to usher the crowd into an adjoining room, which had been arranged for a screening of the PBS documentary, “American Experience: Fidel Castro.”

The event, which included a screening of a portion of the film as well as a Q & A with writer/director Adriana Bosch, was organized by a new organization on campus. Created only last fall, this fledgling chapter has hit the ground running, with three major events so far this semester, all in just over a week. Like its parent organization, the University Council of the Cuban American National Foundation (UC-CANF), PennCANF supports the realization of a free Cuba, using social and educational events to connect the university to the Cuban community and to inform students about the oppressive political, economic, and social situation in Cuba today. Screening “American Experience: Fidel Castro” was a small step toward each of these goals.

“I made this for you,” Bosch said to the young audience, by way of introduction. “I did not make this film for your parents--they know this

COCKTaILS FOR a deMOCRaTIC Cuba

mara horwiTz and mira esTin

penn Cuban-ameriCan national FounDation SCreenS neW DoCumentary

story.”Bosch’s film explores the roots of

the current state of affairs in Cuba - one many would say is too-often romanticized - through the figure of Fidel Castro. After almost eight years in production, the film first aired on PBS about five years ago. However, the historical focus of the film remains “timely,” according to PennCANF President Danny Lafuente, who points to Fidel Castro’s failing health and the many who wait in anticipation of a new window of opportunity for Cuba’s to transition to a free and democratic society.

Castro seized power from the Batista regime in 1959, and has remained in rule for the past 48 years. He gained prominence on the international stage during the Cold War as a protector of the Third World, helping to overthrow governments in countries around the world, including Angola, Vietnam, Liberia, Syria, and Zanzibar. A continuous stream of aggressive government initiatives, such as his failed attempt in 1970 to double Cuba’s sugar output, kept Cuba on a dangerous economic roller-coaster. More than once, the Soviet Union pulled Castro’s Cuba out of total economic devastation. By 1979 Castro had managed to preserve his world image as revolutionary leader and savior, a maverick who stood up to America and her “stooges,” and he was elected President of the Non-Aligned Movement. Eventually, at the urging of the United States, the UN began to investigate charges of human rights abuses. These investigations, bolstered by the hard evidence collected by Ricardo Bofill, who had himself been imprisoned in Cuba for 12 years, began to bring Castro’s darker side to the world’s attention.

Equal parts idealist and pragmatist, charmer and militant, visionary and fool, it is easy to

Tim potens is a sophomore in engineering.you can write to him at potens@seas.

FC


understand why finding the “truth” about Fidel Castro and Cuba can be difficult today. Images of his compatriot and co-revolutionary, Che Guevera, are trendy on t-shirts. Cuban socialism is sometimes touted as a model system, most notably in light of its universal health care system. But CANF argues that there are harsh realities to balance these idealized portraits.

This conflict has already surfaced on campus. An event about the Cuban health care system, hosted last semester by a local organization, sparked a fiery debate about the quality of life in Cuba. Emotions ran high and as attendees began to filter out, the conversation descended into an almost ideological battle. This clash points to the need for a better-informed student body.

Despite its proximity, the view of

Cuba from the United States is still fuzzy. It’s time to bring our neighbor into focus. The coming years are likely to see the death of Castro and, with his passing, a dramatic change in Cuban government. Bosch will not extend the film to include these developments. After eight years producing and five years screening, she says that she is “Fideled-out. It’s time for other people to take over the story.”

For more information, check out these websites:

Penn CANF: www.penncanf.orgPBS: “American Experience: Fidel

Castro” www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/castro/filmmore/index.html

Cuba Libre (for future events): www.cubalibrerestaurant.com

mara horwitz and mira estin are juniors in the College. you can contact them

at marae@sas. and mestin@sas.

FC

frostbite:It is bitter cold

Outside my warm room today,I wish I wore pants.

phil suCks:Did the groundhog see

His shadow when he came out?Um, who the fuck cares?

philosophy:Super-Bowl Sunday

Was a sad day for me;I saw no boobies.

irony:I like to ride my

Bicycle, I like to rideMy bike. Oops, I fell.

i <3 fC:First Call takes seven

Hours to lay out per week,‘cuz genius takes time.

haIKuSediTors

geT YOuR daILY FIXOF FC aT

WWW.FIRSTCaLL

MagaZIne.COM


The ShOT heaRd ROund The hOSpITaLsudha meghan

a Short Story

So I woke up this morning. You know, it’s what you do in

the morning. Then, suddenly, I remembered and gasped. I quickly closed my eyes again. Very tightly. And then I slowly opened my eyes and peered around my room. It was Thursday. I couldn’t be as lucky to wish that November 2nd had just disappeared from the calendar. Nope. And yes, indeed, I went to bed last night praying to every higher power I knew (and some that I chose to create) to erase this Thursday from the calendar. Nope. Didn’t work.

Today was the big day. The day of The Shot. The day my cherished hopes and dreams were to be shattered by reality.

I woke up. As in, I got out of bed, since I was technically already awake. I stuffed my backpack and went downstairs for breakfast. The Cookie Crisp cereal lacked its usual sweetness, though: it beckoned the evil of the day to be born. I turned to my roomie and told her that I might skip school today. And when she questioned why, with a friendly reminder about the price tag on the glorious Penn education, I told her about The Shot. She laughed. Or maybe, I’ll just be absent during

The Shot, I suggested. She laughed some more. I wasn’t laughing, so she couldn’t be laughing with me, I reasoned. Then...she must be laughing at me. “They’re not going to come get you for that,” she told me, “you have to go on your own,” she reminded my freshman mind... “Goodness, it’s just a Shot!”

Just a Shot. Right... that’s what they’ve all been saying. They weren’t the victims-to-be of puncture. So I went to class, plotting on how I could navigate around this Shot situation, in order to remove my registration hold for spring semester. And eureka – I had the perfect solution! The one reason that seems to be able to justify any act in our world – religion!

A grin spread over my face. A really wide grin... It would simply be against my religious beliefs to have a Shot, I would claim. I could be like the Amish. Though I don’t think I could get away with that image, I wear too much pink. So I would create my own religion. The Sudh-o religion, pronounced pseud-o. So I told my friend about my bright idea. And my friend suggested that I might want to change the name of this religion for it to carry more weight and credibility to my argument. I

agreed. But my position remained. It would be against the

postulates of my beliefs, my will as a human being, and my basic rights to happiness and liberty, to have a needle plunged into my skin – to be vaccinated against chicken pox.

So I perused through the Penn Student Health website to see what was necessary for a religion-related waiver for a vaccine. Hey, if any other student could refuse to be vaccinated due to the implications of his religion, why couldn’t I? One cannot be refused to an institution, public or private, because of her personal beliefs, correct? (Oh, the beauty of America...)

So a waiver was needed. A sheet of paper, signed by an authority of said religion, such as a priest or a rabbi, to affirm that the student will not to be vaccinated due to religious beliefs. My, oh my, my eyes widened with surprise when I read this. I was shocked and appalled. Is this to say that an individual cannot follow a system of belief if it is not affirmed, or rather confirmed, by another person? Is this not infringing upon my rights as an individual, the right to religious freedom? Another must follow my individual belief for it

I love the beach, but I wish I was at

First Call...Come to our next meeting,Tuesday, February 6th at 8pmin the harrison (hrS) upper lobby.


jin Lee is a junior in the College. you can write to her at jinlee@sas.

phOTO SpOTLIghT: JIn LeeLIghT and MIRROR WaTeR ShadOW

to be deemed valid?! Is this not discrimination against a religiously-affiliated minority? (In this case, the Sudh-o religion followers...) Dear Dr. Andy Coopersmith, my academic advisor suggested that maybe, you know, just maybe, this policy was set up to impede the acts of other devious students like myself. Hmmm... I thought... maybe Penn could be sue-d (ha!) for religious persecution! Another grin flashed across my face.

So the time neared. I tried changing the time on my watch, but that really didn’t change the ticking of every other clock on campus, let alone the nation (or even my timezone). It was almost 2:30 p.m. The time of the Appointment. I really had no choice but to go, in

order to enroll for spring semester. I walked from the broken Button to the tall Penn Tower, crunching every dry leaf in my path.

I arrived at the immunization office, and I sat and waited, and then came the moment we’ve all not been waiting for: they called my name.

I considered claiming a name change for an instantaneous moment. Then I wouldn’t really be Sudha Meghan. So I wouldn’t have to go. Obviously, that didn’t click too well. I went into the little office. I don’t know how I got there from the seating area, but I’m thinking the movement of my legs had something to do with it. Four walls, no windows, barely a vent. I turned my head, I craned my neck, I widened my eyes to spot the possible exits in the small

room. The door was it. And it was slowly closed, creaking shut, as the assistant came in to accompany the Shot Giver. She was so mean. So mean. I don’t know why her name tag didn’t read Meanie Head. The assistant was much nicer. He was apparently a med student, helping out in the office in his spare time.

I turned toward them, and began my plea for freedom. If not for the spring registration hold, I would have insisted for hours on end. I told them about my recent conversion to a new religion. (It would have to be converting, because as a friend had kindly reminded me earlier, one would be forced to question how I had already had a bazillion other vaccines if it was unacceptable by my religion... ) Then I thought about it

1� FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

some more. I could simply not take classes spring semester . And re-matriculate into the university for fall, as a freshman again. And do this for 3 more years. Take classes during fall semesters only, when they don’t ensure that immunization requirements are met... And reapply for Penn admission each year... heh heh, it would be 8 years before I graduated with an undergrad

degree... All just to avoid one vaccine. I wasn’t sure how dear Dr. Andy the Advisor would feel about that, though... let alone having to put up with me for double the time... And then I heard the ring of my brother’s sweet voice... “opportunity cost of time!”

The Meanie Head lady just stared at me. I think her face was stuck in a frown, but even so, I’m

pretty sure I saw the crease of a smile forming during some point of my speech. The assistant, on the other hand, was quite amused. So after 20 minutes of my religion plea, it was decided that I was to be poked. Shot. With a Shot. She gave me a piece of paper to write my name on and sign. And she waited. I was silent. I wrote my name but didn’t sign. She waited. “I said you have to sign here,”

1�FIRST CALL FEBRUARY 5, 2007

she ordered. “I know,” I answered. “Well...?” She said, obviously un-amused, and losing whatever little patience she had allotted for me. “Well...” I continued... “It says here that I sign after I have read the terms, conditions, and have been informed of the immunization I am about to receive... so I’m waiting to be informed...” She stared at me some more. Then after a moment, I think she had finished observing, that I too, like most other humans, had two eyes, a nose and a mouth on my face, and she opened her drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper about chicken pox and the vaccine. So I read it. Oh, I took my merry time, all right. I carefully allowed my mind to imbibe every syllable written on that two-sided, 9-point-font sheet. I must admit I learned quite a lot about varicella (chicken pox) and the immunization. There was a point when I had to refrain from pulling out a highlighter and a pen from my bag and take notes. I am obviously not only the Queen of Procrastination, but the Queen of Time Killing. I finally signed my name, slowly, perfectly etching each letter of my name with the pen onto the paper on the clipboard...dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s... Funny, because I don’t have any i’s or t’s in my name.

This was it. My heart skipped a beat; the adrenaline surged through my body. “ALERT ALERT!!!” the adrenaline cried, signaling all nerves in my body. It was like how the US has terrorist alert levels. My body went from the blue calm degree of no danger, to the crimson red, elevated risk level.

I saw the needle surface from within a container on the Meanie Head’s desk. The tiny bottle of the vaccine was removed from the case and she stuck the needle into the bottle. Then she requested that I expose an arm to be victimized. Right or left? I considered tossing a coin. But would heads be left or heads be right? I chose my left.

The left arm began to revolt! It was drafting a declaration to gain independence from my body for being subject to cruel and unusual treatment. But as is true in many

cases, the bureaucracy involved in drafting this declaration led to a failure to meet the deadline. The Left Arm Army was too slow to mobilize and commence a revolution.

My left bicep was wiped with a cold tissue soaked in isopropyl alcohol. The sharp odor pervaded through my nose, into my mind, evoking the traumatic memories of past needles. Of being Shot. With a Shot. Those glorious childhood days, the days of kindergarten, adulterated by the infusion of forced doctor visits. To be poked. And the sad attempt on the part of the nurses to appease me with dull stickers and a lack of orange-flavored lollipops.

I turned to see Meanie Head preparing the needle. It was just like in Beethoven, when the vet squirts some of the vaccine in the needle into the air to see that it is working before attacking the innocent, bewildered dog. I saw the needle glint in the light. I squinched my eyes and turned away. This act made my body all the more frozen with fright. My fear gobbled away every ounce of bravery that struggled to survive.

I felt her hand touch my arm and brace it. I flinched in reflex. This only led the assistant to hold onto my shoulders to ensure that I didn’t move. I felt the bloody prick of the needle piercing the surface of my skin, surging through the tissue. And then the syringe was pressed, releasing the vaccine into my bloodstream. The fluids diffused into me. I had forgotten to breathe. I wanted to scream in pain, but only a whimper escaped from my mouth. The needle was removed. The pain was numbing.

And I got ready to leave. To flee. Tears would have formed in the corners of my eyes but not in the presence of Meanie Head. She was nice enough to inform me that a second dose of the vaccine was needed, and I should schedule an appointment in 4 to 8 weeks. I’m sorry, but I can only schedule torture in two month intervals.

sudha meghan is a freshman in wharton.you can write to her at sudha@sas.

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215.482.4889www.theglenapartments.com/shawmont

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FC

IT’S COMING...FEBRUARY 18 - 24

www.witnessweek.info

Awareness is the first step towards making a

difference.

Check out the website for a

complete schedule of Human Rights-

related events over Witness Week 2007.

Human Rights Week


FC dISpaTCh: gReeCeChrisTen paras

Wine-taSting, the aCropoliS, anD Sea urChinS

The Mediterranean breeze through the apartments near the top

of Mount Lycabettus, the tallest point in Athens, allowed for all the American students in my program to wear flip-flops all semester long. The 150 stairs to the base of the hill was the only deterrent to such footwear – that, and the fact that everyone in the Kolonaki district looked like they had popped out of a page in Vogue. This was not the Athens in which I thought I would spend my semester. It was not the same dirty Athens I had visited in 2000, filled with the noise of jackhammers and bulldozers as Greeks desperately readied their city for the Olympic Games. Instead of scrambling around the city, locals strolled between storefronts and sat outside at cafes all day (and night) long.

I was the only one running: my program’s academic center was located a solid twenty-five minutes from my apartment. Only in times of tardiness did I turn heads in this Mediterranean metropolis. Running to class in my sweatpants-sneaker combination –the sloppy American stereotype – I made my rapid descent into the clusters of Lego-like buildings that fill the valleys and hills of Greece. I grew accustomed to the locals’ stares and customs, but I never adapted to the oddities of the kids in my program.

Meeting someone from Kalamazoo College who did not believe in global warming was worse than having every cab driver refuse to take me where I asked them to go merely because it was their prerogative to drive around Greece picking and choosing where to go. Getting yelled

at in Greek by a shriveled old woman after my housemates and I spent the better part of an hour clacking around in high heels before going out did not throw me into a heap of homesickness. Talking to some prepubescent dweeb from Oklahoma about EpiPens, however, sent me deep into my wallet for a ten-euro call home to Mom. After learning to consider these awkward interactions as a bonus of the whole abroad experience, I was able to apply my attitude to the Greeks as well.

There is nothing like taking the bus to the boondocks in Kanza for a little wine-tasting with the locals…who turned out to be pack of rip-roaring anti-Americans. Fortunately, I could rely on my Greek heritage (or imaginary Greek heritage, as my friends Shari and Rachel quickly came to embrace) to back me up. Try defending America to a drunken woman who does not speak a word of English and has all her insults translated by her male partner/brother/uncle. As she swilled more wine by the quarter-glass (or plastic cup), she began to pull each one of us up to dance to the bouzouki band, inviting us to match her traditional drunken Greek style and sway. By the end of the day, I was flaunting my broken Greek and she was asking me to marry one of her sons at her summer home on the island of Corfu the following summer. I accepted, fondly remembering my last weekend trip to the islands.

Super Paradise beach in Mykonos provides great views of turquoise waters framed by jutting cliffs dotted with charming white houses – along with a wide array of naked people.

Visit our online home at

WWW.FIRSTCaLLMagaZIne.COMand post your comments. So we feel popular.


Fully stocked bars line the beaches in order to ease tourist anxiety about nudity and appease the Greek local custom of drinking ouzo all day on the beach. After a mojito or two, I decide I’m comfortable with the scene and take a dip. I was wading around in the water for a mere ten minutes when Holy Zeus with a lightning bolt, I stepped on a ball of spikes. The spikes lodged in my foot turned out to be a sea urchin – which made me happy about the mojitos lodged in my liver. After hobbling back to my beach chair and refusing many offers from Speedo-clad Euro hunks to pee on my foot, Stavros came to my aid. He was no shipping heir, but he was a certified lifeguard with a pocket needle and a knack for plucking out shards of urchin.

That night we headed for Club Space. Think of every nightclub you’ve ever seen and think of the way they were decorated; now think of all of those elements in one place. Whoever designed Space must have been out there. The Saturday Night Fever light-up floor was nearly as

dizzying as the strobe lights and lasers that sporadically highlighted the walls of TVs showing random images and tacky posters. After ten minutes inside, I sought refuge in the bathroom. This is where I found the gaudiest poster of the all: huge pouting, iridescent lips stuck to and blocking the full-length mirror I needed to use to impress the Aussies we met. There was only one solution: rip down the lips and check myself out. Little did I know that the large unassuming woman to emerge from the stall was Space’s head bouncer. Unfortunately for me, her uncanny resemblance to Shrek was not accompanied by the kind ogre’s attitude. She proceeded to chase me throughout the entire club before cornering me to tell the owner what I had done. As she yelled about me in Greek to the club’s owner, I geared up to deploy a universal defense: puppy dog eyes and shrugging shoulders.

Many hours of dancing later, we decided to celebrate my victory with late-night lamb gyro binging at a nearby eatery. As a group of us stood around outside with our snacks in the

narrow streets of the island, a Nissan rolled through and crushed my bad foot. I started screaming, my friends taking videos, but I remembered my gyro and got over it…until a Mercedes with tinted windows rolled through and stopped on top of my good foot. I yelled and pounded on the window and the driver did not understand or see (nice tints, man) the commotion. Finally, he got it, laughed and continued into town.

I continued on my trip to see the Acropolis, the oldest road in Europe, the agora, and the “Navel of the Earth” in Delphi – all impressive artifacts of the ambitious ancients. But I made sure to have enough interactions with the modern inhabitants in my four-month stay. It is difficult to tell a story about the remnants of an archaic drainage system – unless, that is, you’ve seen a tourist stab a German flag into it before falling into the precarious well…

Christen paras is a junior studying abroad in greece. you can write to her at cparas@sas.

FC

phOTO SpOTLIghT: WInTeR SeaT, bY RIChaRd LIebOWITZ

richard Liebowitz is a freshman in the College. you can write to him at liebowit@sas.


WORST pLedge eVenTS eVeR

OVeRheaRd ) ) ) ) ) )

aCroSS2. Glue a picture of your face on every centerfold of every _______ mag in the Bookstore.5. See 6 Down.9. K-Y _________ wrestling in the middle of the baby quad at 2 a.m.13. Tip over the cart run by this friendly Egyptian man and reap all of the special sauce goodness.14. Ditch the Tabard girls; steal this from school children instead.15. Take a photo of yourself standing naked next to this Philly Landmark that ain’t all it’s “cracked” up to be.19. Row, row, row your boat using this Fraternity hazing tool.20. See how many burgers, that share a nickname with this home-run hitter, you can eat. DoWn1. Run up the ________ steps with Bullwinkle on your back. What the hell, do it naked.3. Eat five of these “fishes ‘cause their so delicious.” Still alive.4. Go to the zoo to really learn how to do this type of walk.6. With 5 Across, learn the Greek Alphabet from ______ to _____. Hey, we had to have one real one right?7. Learn something from this Pitt/Norton movie, and beat the hell out of your pledge brother.8. Drink a gallon of water from this Philly river. And spell it right, bitch!10. Break into Amy Guttman’s dresser and steal her black lacy _______.

11. Who needs alcohol? Eat at this prohibition-era dining hall until you puke.12. Drink a 24-pack of this favorite Pennsylvania brewed beer.16. Somehow, some way, steal this

University statue, a favorite sex shelter. Also seen on coats.17. Bungee from the top of these Bloody Statues.18. Eat 500 Queso Burritos from this finely established Tex-Mex restaurant.

She’S probably a legaCyIn Pottruck:Girl 1: Why are none of these treadmills moving? Are they all broken?Girl 2: You have to press start.Girl 1: Oh, I see.

hell, Why not beForeIn Van Pelt:Guy: It is your pre-med right to get shitfaced after the MCATs.

iguanaS have more FunOn Locust Walk:Boy 1: I heard iguanas have two vaginas and two penises.Boy 2: Iguanas are awesome. You can cut off their tails and it doesn’t matter. You can cut off their penises and it doesn’t matter. Boy 1: Getting your penis cut off would suck either way.Boy 2: Yeah, but it’s still pretty sweet. For Iguanas, I mean.

Well, She DiD Come out oF it In Houston:Girl: You’re telling me your mom’s vagina is the biggest one you’ve ever seen?

you haD to be thereDuring a game of Apples to Apples:Girl: You got AIDS!! You’re SO lucky!Boy: Yeah, AIDS always wins.

Worst Pledge Events Ever 1

2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11

12

13 14

15 16 17

18 19

20

ACROSS2 Glue a picture of your face on

every centerfold of every _______ mag in the Bookstore.

5 See 14 Across. 9 K-Y _________ wrestling in

the middle of the baby quad at 2 a.m.

13 Tip over the cart run by this friendly Egyptian man and reap all of the special sauce goodness.

14 Ditch the Tabard girls; steal this

DOWN1 Run up the ________ steps with

Bullwinkle on your back. What the hell, do it naked.

3 Eat five of these "fishes 'cause their so delicious." Still alive.

4 Go to the zoo to really learn how to do this type of walk.

6 With 18 down, learn the Greek Alphabet from ___________ to __________. Hey, we had to have one real one right?

7 Learn something from this

Page 1 of 2Custom Crossword Puzzle

2/3/2007http://www.variety-games.com/CW/Puzzles/731117940-puzzle.htm

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