Literary Dad: Shel Silverstein

When you lift the front-most flap of the glossy dustjacket on my copy of The Giving Tree, the first words you see are “To Baby Boylan, from Aunt Susan and Uncle Mark” written in faded and blotchy graphite. Less so my literary hero, and more so my literary godfather, Shel Silverstein was the author of the only book I owned coming out of the womb (he said, using a definite article as if there were only one ubiquitous womb that has cornered the market on turning out babies). Within two years of my birth, I owned every Shel Silverstein book and poetry collection in hardback, a testament to my parents’ resolute wish that if they should die in some tragic fire (you know, as opposed to dying in a rather droll fire), I should be left primarily in the custody of the Silverstinian doctrine with which they had imbued me.

            As I latently blossomed into the callous pre-teen boy with more plastic guns than paper books, however, I revoked my claim on ol’ man Silver and he gradually morphed from an accessible godfather to a clownish dad whom I couldn’t be caught dead speaking to. Even “Hungry Mungry,” the larger-than-life narrative poem about a boy who ate the tablecloth, his entire family, and then the entire earth, had lost its firm arrest on my imagination, now occupied by camouflage cargo pants and . . . well, pretty much just camouflage cargo pants.

            But like all superficially macho twerps, I came to love this enigmatic father of mine, albeit late in my youth. The day my small library of Silverstein hardbacks came tumbling off a closet shelf and full-force at my skull was one of bittersweet reconciliation. As I fingered through the thick cardstock leaves of “The Giving Tree” for the first time in almost a decade, I felt the stinging pressure at the corners of my eyes that accompanies only the most trenchant emotions experienced by any male between the ages of 14 and 32. Shel Silverstein was a riveting storyteller who knew the power of brevity better than I ever would. His narratives were simple and universal, yet so brilliant no one could have formulated them but him. Though it seems some have forgotten Silverstein as they age, I always am ready to turn to him for guidance and solace.

Trevell Cole: From Rapper to Rap Sheet

Sometimes we get so caught up with all the evil in the world that we can forget to stop and witness the good. Trevell Cole was a just a kid living on the wrong side of the tracks until one night, he made a life-altering mistake. He shot a man. The rest of his life was haunted with the memory of the shooting, forcing him to spiral into a deep morass and drugs and guilt. New York Magazine’s Jennifer Goodman reports on the achievements and tragedies of Cole’s life that all lead up to the moment when he turns himself in seventeen years later.  Some call him crazy, others call him a saint, but either way, “The Man Who Charged Himself with Murder” is definitely a story worth reading. 

One Character: Holden Caulfield

Walking in to Barnes & Noble a week before the start of my junior year, I felt the same, dark, familiar pit in my stomach hollowing out a home as my mind was forced to face the realization at hand; my summer reading was due in a week, and I hadn’t even started the book.  I walked out of the store, a copy of Catcher in the Rye in my hand and a look of pure disgust on my face, already convinced that this book that had stolen my last taste of freedom would indisputably be, at the risk of sounding like a four year old, the stupidest thing I would ever lay eyes on. I went home and procrastinated a few more days, but nearly a week later when asked why I didn’t just stop reading, I surprised myself by answering honestly, “I can’t”.

The thing is, it wasn't the magnificent writing style of J.D. Salinger, or the original yet complex coming of age plot that had me hooked, but rather the characterization and resulting narration of the protagonist, Holden Caulfield. Maybe it was because Salinger had used himself for the character’s mold, or maybe it was because I had spent my summer reading mind-numbing chick-lits, but somehow I had found a dynamic in the character of Holden that I had never found in a character before: desperation. The candidness of the narrator spoke to me in ways that no other novel ever had. Through the means of Holden Caulfield, Salinger puts on a page the words that so many are afraid to express themselves: the desire to run away, the distaste of everyone around you, the disturbance of feeling like a prisoner in your own body. It was so clear to me that Holden was trying so hard to grasp at some sense of happiness that he lost his footing all together. The display of his steady downfall was heartbreaking, humbling, and most of all, honest.

Once I read Holden's struggles  it was like all these other characters were insignificant,  like their simplicity and boldness were too outright and mainstream. I started to search for something that could give me a connection to, hope for, sympathy towards, anything like the experience that was mine while reading Catcher in the Rye. I found myself throwing down easy reads for something with more substance. In the most frustrating way, Holden Caulfield has taught me to desire good literature in ways that none of my English teachers ever could.

My peers can criticize the snobbishness of him all they want, and my English teacher can say that Holden’s “the biggest phony of them all” until he’s blue in the face, but one thing remains certain; in my mind, Holden Caulfield is the greatest flaw to have ever graced the pages of American literature. 

One Reader: 'Ol Daddio

I feel a little bad writing this, because my mom was the one who taught me to read. She bounced me on her knee for hours as I whined and complained about dogs picking up sticks and how much I hated that stupid semantics book. But, as late-night sitcoms and inspirational placards have taught me, I will never fully appreciate my mother until I have children of my own, haunting me with bad childhood karma. Moving on.

My dad was a total nerd as a kid. Growing up with three older sisters, he usually just retreated to his room and read comic books after school. He had a small group of close, intimate friends--he cared more about the people than the noise. Just like me.

Growing up, my dad and I bonded over weird, quirky things--the latest episode of Spongebob, trips to Menard's, our hatred of tomatoes--but most of all, books. It was the one toy I was almost never denied; it was the one thing I was never ordered to put down in lieu of chores.

When my second-cousin Harrison graduated from high school, my family drove to the outskirts of Chicago to wish him well. It was extended family--but family we held dearly, family that accompanied my cousins and I on our summer camping trips. I winced my way through cupcakes and streamers until the sun set and the people that mattered came inside. We laughed and talked and asked questions for hours until I dreamily stumbled downstairs. I picked up my waterlogged SOLO cup, and beneath, discovered a coffee table book: some arduous picture show about the history of Stonehenge or something. Two hours later, my mom came downstairs.

"Where were you? We've been looking for you everywhere."

I shrugged. "I dunno. Here."

She shook her head, smiled, pressed her lips together. "You're so much like your father."

It was a few years later when I was sitting in the dining room, trying, and failing, to come up with some sort of point about how Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman made me feel. I had liked the play, a lot, and there was some inchoate point I had in mind. And, as usual, I awkwardly danced around it for hours.

My dad walked to the refrigerator and saw me sitting there--chair tipped back, hands in my hair, casualties of rough drafts scattered on the floor.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to write this paper for Miller's class. I just can't write anything--I--I know what I want to say and I can't say it."

Having no knowledge of the plot, he patiently asked me a few questions, tapped the door frame, and left. He returned in a few minutes with a worn-out Bible, pages opened to a verse circled in pen.

"I don't know. Maybe this'll help you."

And there it was: a thesis statement in red letters.

There's something about books that fostered a natural rapport with my father--a mysterious, casual bond that always went without saying. I love that my dad has boxes of old books in our attic, even though he doesn't need them anymore. I love that my dad has forgiven me for slowly acquiring the Calvin and Hobbes collection I got him for Christmas. I love that my dad never forced reading on me, but willingly entertained my obsessions with Lemony Snicket and The Guardians of Gahoole. I love that my dad constantly chides about how I'll be sleeping in our basement, but still encourages me to write.

Because there's a natural curiosity and sense of discovery fathers and daughters share--learning how to ride a bike, watching someone shave--that's gentle, sacred, and hidden somewhere inconspicuous. And for me, it's nestled in the pages of a book.

Podcast Playlist: Condescension and Morality in the Radiolab

"Everybody knows that sometimes you feel something is right, sometimes you feel something is wrong--we want to know: where does that feeling begin? Where does it come from? How old is it?--"

"Can we get started please?" 

"OKAY, okay...just going on a bit..." 

It's an interesting way to begin a conversation about morality--the way our brains weigh decisions and grapple with what's wrong and right. Bypassing the easier question of friendliness and social etiquette, in the segment "Who Can You Save?", Radiolab hosts profile Mark Hauser, a Harvard scientist whose research is empirically plunging into the question of how humans differentiate between right and wrong.

Complete with hypothetical situations, public commentary, and vetted scientific studies, this segment explores the possibility that morality is, in fact, not a product of our social conditioning, but of our biological wiring.

Not sure I agree with Hauser's conclusion, but it does shed an interesting light on the mysterious origin of humanity's collective conscience. A conscience that, at times, is just as paradoxical as the people speculating about it.

But if that doesn't interest you, the chick's laugh at 8:56 is hilarious. I about died; it was so cute :)

the Perks of Being a Wallflower

I’m not one for staying quiet. Ask anyone who has ever been in the same room as me. My voice is loud and obnoxious in itself and my laugh is even worse (and by worse I mean better). I think that’s partially why I found a book about an introvert so interesting. The novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower depicts Charlie, the high school freshman whose best friend committed suicide, whose aunt died while driving to get his gift, whose only contact at the start of the year is with the unnamed recipient of his personal letters. Charlie falls into a group of seniors, who teach him what it means to let go by way of drinking, smoking, and ultimately loving. With the confusing surroundings of high school and his nerve wracking unbalanced home, Charlie makes mistakes and learns from them, only to make them again. The honesty Stephen Chbosky has creates a relatable, yet dark coming of age story.

Charlie bonds with Patrick and Sam, a quirky brother and sister duo. They get him involved in the acting of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, take him to his first party, and introduce him to their friends. Charlie meets these people, but falls in love with Sam. Throughout the novel, Charlie refers to “getting bad,” which means self-destructive. His aunt was his closest relative, and she was in a fatal car accident on her way to get his Christmas present; he blames himself for her death. His respect for his aunt and his relationship with Sam foreshadow a gloomy and realistic ending, which may come as a surprise.  

On the e-Shelf

People don’t often realize how much TV they watch, and how their life would change without it (due to more free time, changing your schedule, etc).  Going without cable was at first a struggle, but became an advantage, as described by Taffy Brodesser-Ankner in her New York Times article “My Life as a Television Throwback.” Brodesser-Ankner expresses the concerns she and her husband had when first losing cable, in order to afford the more important food and rent, in a sarcastic and snappy way. She compares her TV experiences before and after cable, saying: “The anxiety of a cliffhanger could have me reeling for days… shows are best watched with breaks between episodes to build suspense.” Being without cable myself for two years, I enjoyed the article because I know the feeling of going all day with my hands over my ears and shouting spoiler alert until I arrive home and catch up on my favorite shows via the internet.  

Having a mother as a German teacher is not always that easy, parents as teachers at all is hard because I get the feeling they force you to behave perfectly in school, that’s how my mother always is. I can talk with her about everything, girl fights , the new York fashion week couples breaking up , all the stars and my friends and just stuff in my head but poor me when I tell her that it was so loud in our class that the principle had to come and clam us down. “That’s not appropriate charlotte!” ,was all I got from her than and a mean and evil teacher look which she usually just uses for bad teenagers in her class. Anyways that my mom is a German teacher is also really beneficial. Starting when I wasn’t even born, she read stories to me form the newspaper, a historical book or science fiction or love stories and even thrillers. I listened with a lot of joy and pleasure to the poems she was telling me about, which her students in class had to learn, and once she started the poem she got really into it and ended sometimes up in tears especially for “John Maynard”. Fascinated through this I always end up reading books or poems she is talking about. My mother is first of all the best mother in the world but I also understand now why she always wants me to listen to everything what deals with literature because there are so many people out there who don’t even know who Shakespeare was and how his writing influenced the society, there are a lot of really talented writers out there and my mother brings the stories she reads to life just in the way she is presenting it in a gesticular manner.

Maz Jobrani: Did you hear the one about the Iranian-American?

“A founding member of the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour, standup comic Maz Jobrani riffs on the challenges and conflicts of being Iranian-American -- "like, part of me thinks I should have a nuclear program; the other part thinks I can't be trusted ..." Maz Jobrani was a founding member of the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour and is now doing solo comedy with the title “brown and friendly”. Basically he is talking about discrimination and racism against foreigners and he talks about xenophobia, which isn’t funny at all but the way he is talking makes you laugh because he can laugh about his self. He is often ponting out that just because he is from an Arabian country doesn’t mean he has mean and evil and destroying thoughts. Stereotypes that’s what it’s all about. I really appreciate this Ted talk because it kind of reflects my situation and exposes the prevalence of xenophobia and isolationism.

Pamela Meyer Lies about Lying

Pamela Meyer values objective truth. She uses big words like “marginalize” and “hotspots” to con you into thinking that by being able distinguish falsehoods from the concrete truth, your entire perception of reality will begin to shift and you will reach some internal zenith that transcends the blissful ignorance of our consumer culture where everything is public and nothing is sacred. Overall, this is one of the more utilitarian (Boylan, you dog) TED Talks I’ve patronized, but it’s an egregious disappointment that she tries to justify her lie-spotting talent with sentimental folderol about a better world. There’s no better world for me, Pamela Meyer. And if I can’t have a better world, no one can.

Middle School

People say high school is hell. But at least when you get there you know who your friends are, what kind of classes you’ll take, and you’re through puberty. In middle school, you may know 1/10 of the students, you’re classes are either boring or too difficult, and your body is in the midst of evolving. In Middle School, a podcast entry by This American Life, Ira Glass discusses why the formative years are so difficult while attending school. He interviews middle school students, teachers, and people who have studied on the subject matter, with a wide range of responses. He discusses dances, bullies, and the first time students realize the opposite gender may not have cooties. 

The Ideal Bookshelf

Catcher in the Rye: One of my favorite novels of all time. Part of that is due to the honesty Salinger incorporates through Holden Caufield. In real life (and in this novel) good and bad guys don't exist. There are just people who make decisions...some good, some bad. The realist nature of the novel is what makes it my favorite.

Pride and Prejudice: I forget all my cynical thoughts and fall in love with Mr. Darcy when I read Pride and Prejudice. Every time I start it I think they’re too different! There’s no way! She might as well marry Mr. Collins! Why won’t she just kiss him already! But then I get goose bumps when they finally end up together (I’ve read this a few times and don’t get tired of it).I get furious when Mr. Wickham is revealed for what he truly is. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of Pride and Prejudice; it lets me take a break from my pessimistic attitude and enjoy a good love story. 

Hard Love: This novel is one of the few that makes me cry. It’s written by Ellen Wittlinger, and it describes the relationship and growing friendship of Marisol and Gino. It’s difficult to describe and it sounds stupid when you do, but I’ll try. Gino slowly falls in love with Marisol, but TWIST, she’s a lesbian. Gino knows it her sexual orientation from the start, but he can’t stop himself. I guess I like it because even though their relationship is impossible, I sympathize with both of them. The pursued and the pursuer.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Yes, I know it’s a step down as far as quality goes, but I’ll always love Harry.

A book I haven’t read yet: This is kind of cheating, but truth be told, I’ll always want a new book. So If I could have one book on my shelf that changed every few weeks to a new book, I’d be content. 

Read If You Like The Notebook: A Reader's Guide to All Things Sappy

I know your type: the lonely, hormonal teenage girl, the hopeless romantic, the boyfriend that claims to “only watch romantic comedies with his girlfriend”, but secretly watches Sandra Bullock marathons on ABC Family. You could at this very moment be buried in a box of tissues, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose as the end credits of The Last Song scroll across your television. Or, perhaps you’re blaring Taylor Swift’s new album while Googling pictures of Harry Styles and doodling your future wedding plans on what was supposed to be your math homework. The point is you’re out there, and this list is for you.

1. Any Lurlene McDaniel book

Lurlene McDaniel must live in a pretty incredible world, because she can craft some amazing love stories.  The thing that’s even more astonishing is the sheer number of these stories that she’s written. I literally don’t think that there’s a single person that could come up with a romance idea that she hasn’t written about. Want to read a book about someone falling in love in an African jungle? There’s a book about that. Want to read a book about a girl trying to reconnect with her brain damaged boyfriend post car crash? There’s a book about that too. Want to read a book about a teenager getting cancer then randomly connecting with her hospital roommate’s Amish brother? Like I said, there’s a Lurlene McDaniel book for everything.

2. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

If you’re in to the whole romantic tragedy type of thing, Wuthering Heights will probably be the book for you. There’s love, death, and of course, a love- and-nature-come-full-circle happy ending. Besides, saying you read Wuthering Heights will make you sound much more intelligent than saying you read Twilight.

3. Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (I said it wouldn’t make you sound intelligent, not that it wasn’t romantic)

It’s pretty much like any other teenage love story, but with vampires.

4. The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks

Yet another book made movie by The Notebook author himself. Sparks once again reverts back to his redundant yet effective recipe of romance, all the while making the movie industry millions in the process. Once you’ve read the book, make sure to watch the movie, because chances are if you like romance, you probably like Zac Efron as well.

5. John Mayer (I know he’s not a book, but variety’s the spice of life, right?)

The sultry sounds radiating from the dark confines of John Mayer’s well trained vocal cords are surely enough to make any heartfelt romantic swoon. He can do raspy, he can do smooth, but one thing is for sure, that man can do romance like no one else can.

Andrew Auernheimer: Conniving Convict or Harmless Troll?

With the advancement of technology comes the advancement of several other things: knowledge, efficiency, and… trolling? I’m as much of a fan of made up words as the next person, but the sheer ugliness of the word provoked a cautious sense of intrigue upon my research into all things “troll”.

During said research I stumbled upon a Gawker article about the master troll himself, Weev Auernheimer. Essentially, Auernheimer is nothing beyond your everyday super genius, government hating hacker.  He’s arrogant, witty, and very obviously abusing multiple kinds of drugs. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay hidden in the digitized confines of cyberspace forever.  Writer Nathan Adrian follows Auernheimer as he spends his last few hours as a free man before being locked away in prison for hacking in to, and obtaining customer information from, mobile service provider AT&T.

If for nothing else, read this article for your own safety. You never know, the computer whiz sitting next to you might just one day steal your identity. 

Simon Sinek Salvages the Broken Shards of Your Weary Heart

Very seldom do I stumble upon a genuinely inspiring or novel concept whilst completing any task even tangentially related to schoolwork. I am cognizant that in saying this I run the risk of sounding like a bombastic prick whose hubris will someday prove itself his hamartia, but since high school Tumblr has really supplemented my education with topics usually dismissed in the classroom as either taboo or extraneous. In a recent TED Talk “How great leaders inspire action,” however, Simon Sinek codifies the marketing model responsible for success in business, engineering, and social movements. Rather than appealing to their audiences via logistic dogma, these leading persons and corporations (which are persons, too) foster a more visceral connection by connecting with the populace on an ideological level. On several occasions throughout the video, he returns to the central point that “people don’t buy what you do; they buy why you do it.” In short, Sinek wraps up a captivating psychology lesson and a poignant motivational speech in a matter of 18 minutes and some change, which is cheaper, quicker, and far less painful than both a) taking AP Psychology and b) growing into that 40-year-old (my mother) who exclusively reads the dust-jacket summaries of self-help books. ¡Que suerte para todos!
--Gavin McInnes II

Read if You Can Tolerate Ostensibly (Ouch): Alison Mansfield

Though few and far between, true disciples of Homestead’s most ornately clad philanthropist are a breed all their own. They know what they like, and what they like is Alison Mansfield. But what happens when all the Alison is dried up, when they’re forced to turn to the fringes of culture to supplement their rampant voracity? I’ll tell you what; you get one emotionally detached boy/man writing a god-forsaken field guide on books for these servile wannabes to read while they vicariously live out fantasies of unrequited public service and more posh and verve than Andrew Eigner can shake a stick at (especially if the aforementioned stick is ornamented with 90 lbs. of disc weights on each end). Let’s get started.

1984 by George Orwell: If you’re more than a fair-weather fan of ol’ Alison “Malison” Mansfield, then you more than likely have some backward affinity for that eerie feeling of being distantly watched that can keep any sane person awake at night. This, of course, is because whenever Alison is not adamantly lucubrating over her sundry service projects and other panaceas for human sickness, death, famine, etc., she is standing tall above the crowd—no specific crowd, for she has the same dwarfing effect on whichever crowd she happens to be in at the time and, to be honest, there are seldom crowds that she cannot monitor from the turret eyes on her reared head. And surely enough, if you’re into this creepily voyeuristic ruse of hers, you’ll have  a field day with the watchful eye of Big Brother in 1984, which keenly examines every successive actions of every individual in this miserable dystopian society.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer: Though it rings true that Mans’ (which I will refer to Ms. Mansfield as for the rest of this resplendent article) does get intimately close when she accosts you to start a conversation, this is not the reason for this addition to the docket. You see, if you would read beyond the title, you would find that Extremely Loud is about an adolescent boy inflicted by Asperger’s Syndrome who becomes obsessed with a key after his father’s death in the 9/11 (or 11/9, if you fancy that) terrorist attacks. The kid is kind of a whirling dervish, but occasionally the author throws him a bone by placing some pretty introspective dialogue in his know-it-all little mouth. If you know Alison, you know she was pretty much reading Nietzsche and saying really profound stuff before you and your snotty friends even began to ponder your mortality (so . . .  like 6 years old, right?), so this one should be a no-brainer!

The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein: Well folks, it’s probably about time we stop kidding ourselves and admit that this article has long-since breached any dimension of normalcy into the vast abyss of the abnormally creepy, which is exactly why I can say unashamedly that we ineffectual Alison-chasers relate to the incomplete circle in Silverstein’s modern classic than perhaps to any other literary archetype. It seems as if every time we think we have found our missing piece, we are cruelly disappointed by unexpected adversity and Alison’s elusive nature. Maybe in another life, my compadres. 
--Anonymous

Valentine's Day: Cornered

The words “Chuck” and “Klosterman” have always held a certain mystique for me. Waiting for the bell back in freshman Intro to 2D, I used to stare at these words peeking out of supercuteHHSartgod Michael Buchanan’s backpack and think to myself “Man, I am totally diggin’ that typeface,” “is eating a dinosaur actually feasible...?” and “what does sex and drugs have to do with Cocoa Puffs anyway?”

So, I was extremely excited to learn that Klosterman is among the “famouses” who have graced This American Life with their contributions.

In his radio segment “Bolt of Lightning, Pro and Con,” Klosterman bemusedly recounts the one time in college he confronted his first girlfriend empty-handed on Valentine’s Day. Beginning his story, Klosterman bashfully admits he somehow managed to pass the majority of his young life unaware of the fact that Valentine’s Day gifts are, indeed, given post-third grade. Smooth, Chuckie. Real smooth.

I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say the solution Klosterman conjures up is enough to make even MacGyver blush. Valentine’s Day is awkward enough, but this quippy, coming-of-age story brings the awkwardness to a whole new level. Definitely worth a listen.

--Alison Mansfield

Before I die I want to...

Candy Chang: Before I die I want to...

Candy Chang is an artist designer and urban planner. She creates art that make people actually think about themselves and der wishes and hopes and about others. In her New Orleans neighborhood, artist and TED Fellow Candy Chang turned an forsake house into a giant chalkboard asking a fill-in-the-blank question: “Before I die I want to ___.” Her neighbors' answers -- surprising, poignant, funny -- became an unexpected mirror for the community. The talk is less than 6 minutes and so easy to listen that it seems like less than 3. Whether in the car or in the classroom Candy Changs TED talk is like hot brownies and ice cream for the soul.

Charlotte Neuber

My literary Hero

“Joanne "Jo" Rowling, OBE FRSL, pen name J. K. Rowling, is a British novelist, best known as the author of the Harry Potter fantasy series. The Potter books have gained worldwide attention, won multiple awards, and sold more than 400 million copies.” Wikipedia

My literary hero…the headline itself sounds fascinating, impressive, strong and interesting for me. My hero is  J.K Rowling just because she was always there since I was little. My mom read the first book to me every night before I went to sleep because I was about 6 years old and she didn’t had any trouble  to get me to bed anymore because I was so spellbound about the magic story of Harry Potter and his friends. The next day in school my peers and I just talked about how far we got in the book and which character we liked the most ( for me Severus Snape, I always thought he was the “good guy” and in the end I was right!). I loved it and I couldn’t wait for the movie to come out. As such a fan of course I had to go to the midnight premiere of every single Harry Potter movie, not even Twilight got me that far and the movie was more than I could ever imagine in those young days. The hype kept on and I started to read the second book on my own, which took away hours of sleep because the way Rowling writes is the best and most interesting way to read. These stories get into your mind and stay there forever. However, I’ve read every single book and the last one in English and I saw every movie and I have all of them as a dvd in my shelf next to my bed. I am still amazed, that because of J.k Rowlings books a lot of people shared the same interest and actually started reading again, which is for me the best part. Thanks J.K Rowling

Charlotte Neuber

 

My Ideal Bookshelf: Alison Mansfield

1) Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the 90's, following an absurd fascination with Franklin Mint collectibles, my dad managed to amass three-bookshelves-worth of leather-bound classics. As a kid ardently devoted to Amelia Bedelia, the reapportionment of play space for "old-people" books had me ticked. But, years later, I mellowed out and gave them a chance.

One of the first I tried was Treasure Island, a trusty title from the realm of VHS. I trudged through Stevenson's seaside world until, for a second, I was the briny sailor echoing "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum." The black spot was corroding my palm. And I loved it. I'm not a die-hard pirate fan, and I probably couldn't tell you the plot now. But it was the book that taught me to love reading. I'd say that merits a spot on the shelf.

2) The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman

The Imperfectionists is a book I actually discovered in the dregs of Mrs. Adair's garage sale box. (We're neighbors, so it's not creepy.) I paid a whopping 75¢ for it, and ironically, it has become one of my favorite books of all-time.

This book is written as a series of profiles, chronicling the zany private (and professional) lives of staff members working for an English-language newspaper in Rome. It's inventive, it's hilarious, and it always makes me laugh thinking about yellow room antics and Spartana staff drama.

3) Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand *cue people cringing*

Say what you want about that crazy gal Ayn Rand, but I seriously love this book. I've read it twice now, and every time I'm amazed by my fascination with this allegorical neo-capitalistic manifesto. Granted, Rand can get nutzo at times. But I've found a lot of truth in her fiscal philosophy, and I find myself thinking back on the board rooms of Taggart Transcontinental every time I watch the news.

But, at risk of sounding like an economics nerd, (which I'm seriously not; check my grades), I am absolutely in love with Rand's style. I always get sucked into this story, and repeatedly find myself in a cold sweat, gripping the pages and screaming WHO IS JOHN GALT?!?!? in despair. Kidding. But actually.

4) Selected Poems by John Ashbery

I'm actually just starting to get into this book, but I have a feeling it's here to stay. A few weeks ago, "My Philosophy of Life" landed a spot in my top-ten favorite poems, so I decided to give Ashbery a try. I won't say his poetry really "sings to my soul" or whatever--sometimes it's way too cryptic and uncomfortable. But his verses are fascinating; I could just pick them apart for hours.

5) The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald 

I really don't have any personal connections to this book; it's just one of the greatest stories and finest pieces of writing I've ever read. It's inspiring and it's devastating--one I'd read over and over again. Plus, it's a classic, so, as I learned in AP Composition today, that makes me "culturally literate." So pumped to name-drop books.

6) Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

I'm one of those people who really hates answering the question "what is your favorite book," but I'd say Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is a pretty strong contender for the number-one spot. As a kid growing up in the post-9/11 era, I guess this book made me feel emotions I didn't even know I had about that day in 2001. It's an incredibly beautiful piece of writing and a story that's very dear to my heart.

7) Clarence the Cranberry Who Couldn't Bounce by Jim Coogan. 

I picked this baby up on my way back from Fargo, North Dakota. It's kind of a big deal.

Cut your Bangs Responsibly: A Guide

Bangs are a big decision.  Cut too short they become unmanageable for weeks, and too long they cover your eyes. I trust myself to cut my bangs, but I take hours to work myself up. Before I start cutting, I go through several steps:

1. I make sure my scissors are sharp. If I have to open and close the scissors more than once for one chunk, odds are I’m going to screw up.

2. I test it. I hold up my hair to the length I think I want it, just to check it out. It won’t look the identical when I’m done, but it gives me an idea.

3. I get my hair wet, especially because my hair dries all over the place, and so cutting wouldn’t really be accurate.

4.  I don’t go chopping willy-nilly. I cut them to twice the length I actually want them, and then trim off more, millimeter by millimeter.

5. My OCD takes over, and I pick out individual hairs, trimming my obstinate bangs slowly and deliberately.

6. Accept the fact that I am not a hairstylist, and should never do this again (except maybe once…or twice more).

Bangs are a good way to change the style of your hair without doing something drastic, which is why I change mine all the time. I cut them straight across, then maybe let them grow out, and maybe push them to the side for a while. For someone who is growing their hair out, bangs are the perfect substitute for a haircut. 

What We're Hating: Awkward Questions from the Stylist

We've all had the experience of sitting in the uncomfortable chair and having a stranger run their fingers through our hair; the uncomfortableness of the situation is only elevated by the endless list of personal questions most hairdressers feel obligated to vocalize. On the awkward scale, Angela (my hairdresser) is notch below my dentist questioning me with his fingers in my mouth. She’s asked me the same questions since I began visiting her in seventh grade, determined to get to know me in thirty minute’s time. I appreciate the gesture, but would prefer knowing she’s paying attention to my long, unmanageable hair.

--Jennifer Ricke 

What We're Loving: Hair Art

What would the life be without art? Or, even more so, what would the life be without hair art? It would be bare, bald, as some may say. But, luckily we'll never have to imagine such a barren world. There are whole museums dedicated to such art. That's right, museums. Look closely at the picture above. See all of that beautiful artwork? It's made of hair.

--Priscilla Lin

What We're Hating: Untidy Hair Salons

If there's one thing I hate, it's hair. Now, I know you're probably thinking, "Hey Priscilla, if you hate hair so much, then why would you ever contribute to a magazine that is solely based off of and relating to everything hair?" Well, my dear little virtual readers, I don't mind hair as long as it's on your head. When it really bothers me is when it's found in places hair should not be found, like say, floors for instance. When it really really bothers is when it's in one of the afore mentioned places, but in a gargantuan clump of hundreds of hairs all strewn together. This atrocity is exactly what I witnessed last Friday.

I was working the closing shift at our neighborhood frozen yogurt shop, and, being the good little worker bee I am, decided to take the trash out. When I opened the dumpster, I saw it. In this case, it happened to be a massive, overflowing, pile of hair. Considering the shop is right next to a Great Clips, it's not surprising that there was hair in the dumpster. What was surprising is that nobody bothered to put it in a bag, which leads me to my next question, how would someone even transport that enormous amount of hair in order to get it to the dumpster in the first place? Needless to say, my stomach churned, my gag reflex kicked in, and I sprinted back to the safe, sanitary confines of Menchie's frozen yogurt.

--Priscilla Lin

The Hairy Truth: The Do's and Don'ts of Growing Facial Hair

It’s a curious thing, facial hair. Sometimes it looks good, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you see forty year old men that can’t grow anything past peach fuzz, and sometimes you see eighth graders with a full blown mustache and inevitable five o’clock shadow. The only thing is, there are very few types of men that can truly pull off facial hair.

When you think about it, facial hair is pretty multifarious. Like an abundant species of the animal kingdom, it cannot be categorized as a single, monolithic, mass, but must instead be appreciated for the diversity it harbors on each manly (and at times womanly) face of which it graces. The following is list comprised of the do’s and don’ts of growing facial hair, signed, sealed, and delivered by yours truly.

1.  Never grow a mustache. It doesn’t look good...ever. You’ll either end up looking like the Monopoly man or Tom Selleck, neither of which would I assume anyone would strive to resemble. (see video for image of future self with mustache)

2.  Unless you’re an extremely attractive middle aged man, don’t try to grow stubble if it’s a different color than your actual hair. You’ll look creepy. I guarantee it.

3. If it takes longer than two days to grow a significant amount of stubble, don’t grow it. Period. Because chances are, it’s just peach fuzz that you’re foolishly classifying as stubble to make yourself feel like a man. Delusion is the worst disease.

4. Going off of the above comment, never grow peach fuzz. It is, was, and always will be unattractive. The only time when such a furry intrusion of the face is ever acceptable is in the case of confused pre-teen boys still trying to figure out how to shave without missing a spot.

5. Never grow hair on your face that’s longer than the hair on your head. Or, if you happen to be a man with a longer than average head of hair, just don’t grow it out at all. It’s obvious you can’t control yourself when it comes to hair and/or personal grooming.

Well, that came out a bit more harsh than intended, but what can I say? It’s the hairy truth, and it’s what we do. 

--Priscilla Lin

What We're Loving: Chris Pine's Stubble

Chris Pine definitely won the genetic lottery. Even before the age of designer babies, this Hollywood star's cookie-cutter good looks have been turning heads. Especially mine.

With his dreamy, crystal-blue eyes, coy, boyish grin, and rugged jawline, Chris is, well, pretty much the hottest guy ever. However his hotness is elevated to a new level by the fact that he can tastefully rock some facial hair.

In the picture above, we see Pine, looking dapper as ever with a touch of masculine stubble. This look airs more on the "I'm-just-a-little-scrufty" end of the spectrum. Pine knows better than to channel his inner lumberjack, and the result is GLORIOUS.

Let all men take a lesson from our good friend, Mr. Pine: Facial hair is your friend. The only rule is keep it classy.

Now let's sing: Beard Lust by NPSH

And one more picture for good measure. You're welcome, ladies.

--Alison Mansfield

Beards: An American Love Affair

Our nation has a rich history of great bearded and mustachioed leaders. This week, Handlebar counts off some of our favorite Civil War styles. From the original Burnside sideburns to the extreme soul patch, enjoy the best our nation's hairiest internecine conflict has to offer.

--Alison Mansfield

1) Ambrose Burnside 

2) Adelbert Ames 

3) Alpheus Williams 

4) John Haskell King 

5) Samuel Carroll

What We're Loving: Dollar Shave Club

Dollar Shave Club is a website and small business. It is a very cool website/small business that has managed to sustain a cerebral chicness through its viral promotional video and minimalist attitude. It sells a month's supply of dual blade razors (five, to be exact) for $1 + S&H.

Hair Color: A Checkered Past

I was always impressed how good people look with different type of color in their hair or when they change their color every 2 weeks, but it is another thing when you talk about your own hair! I really liked the color and length and even how thick my volumes locks are and said I would never ever change something! However last summer when I prepared myself for going to a different country for a whole year my best friend and I went into a supermarket and talked about what is going to change in future when I am not there anymore and we can’t see each other like always, while we were floating in melancholy, Verena (that’s the name of my best friend) stopped and screamed out loud “WE ARE GOING TO DYE YOUR HAIR !”At this point I thought she was joking but she picked a lot of different boxes with women’s faces + hair color next to my face to see which fits best. During that I really liked the idea to try it and look totally different after that procedure so I called my mother and of course first she was pretty against it but didn’t want to show it, instead of yelling  she said :” You are not allowed to ruin our towels and make a mass with my bathroom and don’t ruin your close and you are going to look so different and you are going to America and in summer I stay normally with my natural hair and I don’t know what your dad is going to say and..and..and..” I replied that I am old enough and I can do it in America to and that my dad loves me anyways so my mum , who always dyes her hair finally told me I am allowed to. Verena and I started directly when we were back at my house, and nobody had a clue how to do it. We ended up laughing and struggling with my locks. Following the direction is a good plan! Otherwise you end up with uneven hair color.

--Charlotte Neuber

Culture Review: James Bond Cuts Deep

                Daniel Craig may not do his own stunts, but when he put his own chiseled jaw-line and mangy countenance in the delicate hands of new Bond girl Naomie Harris and a trusty straight-edge (which I imagine was actually a dull, acrylic-painted shard of plastic. But hey, I guess that is the money maker, so who am I to judge?) in this weekend's box-office hit Skyfall, he put all of my former reservations about his masculinity to rest.

            The scene, however, illuminates the importance of a question that affects us all. You see, deeply ensconced beneath the thick layers of hot sexual tension (which itself is hidden behind Craig’s wall of withdrawn staidness) lies the underlying theme of the whole movie, evident from Bond’s physical shortcoming in the title sequence to Judy Dench’s death in the final scene: the dichotomy between old and new, then and now, cut-throat and Gillette, etc.

            But whatever your preference may be, it’s nice to know that the men and womyn in Hollywood still appreciate the art of the shave and its significance that transcends the few minutes we think about it every (or not) morning; kudos to you from the Handlebar staff.
--Ryan Boylan