Stuck in the Times

A passage I am reading for one of my classes reminds me of my experience in a American Indian Studies course. I was one of the only white people in there, which did not bother me...at first.

We first start going over all the prejudices and racial slurs against American Indians, the class came into an uproar. The thirty-some American Indian students in the class each had their own stories about this...except, many of the stories happened in the past. And not even their own past. Their anger came from events that happened in the seventeenth century, to be exact.

In my class, White people were called "the white man" or, my own personal favorite: "Those Europeans who stole our land." I think I just about fell out of my seat. Really, in 2009, this is how white people were being referred to by my fellow classmates. How is that not racist and bitter? I didn't steal anyone's land, my family immigrated from Norway long after the United States became a country, my ancestors had nothing to do with the first Thanksgiving, or any other sort of pilgrimage or colonization in the New World.

I came into that class wanting to learn about the beautiful traditions of Native Americans, from which I have learned about and have respected my whole life, and left the class with a bad taste in my mouth for their culture. I had never known that I was being so harshly judged by Native Americans whom I passed on the street. I had always smiled at and passed by these people without worry. One woman in my class, about forty years old, said aloud how she hated Americans and wished we would "Go back where they came from."

I understand that many many years ago, there were wars and battles because landlines had not yet been set in place, and that, in fact, Native Americans were mistreated in most cases due to the greed of the "white man." But we have come a long way since then. It is as if to say, that it would be appropriate for me to hate all Germans, just because during the Holocaust, Nazi's invaded Norway tortured and killed many of my ancestors.

I also understand that there is the exception, I do not know enough Native Americans to figure out whether the exception is that only a small portion of them continue to hate white people for things that happened in the past, while the majority focus their energy on more important things, or the other way around.

I truly hope that it is the former.

I wish to be a sponge.

My neck is sore. Back aching. Hands shaking. Legs numb.

After that description of my body's current state, you would have thought I just carried a large camel across the Arizona desert. 

Hardly. I just spent nine hours making note cards for finals. Although the physical challenges do not match up, the mental ones do. For the past nine hours, my best friend has been a 005 Micron pen- you've got to minimize the pen point to maximize the facts you can cram on those 3x5's. 

I may be bitter that my roommates are off with their boyfriends, checking out the local art scene at First Friday and such, and I am stuck in our over-priced, poorly lit, humble abode with my nose in books. However, at the same time I feel accomplished. One more semester down. 

As I walk the pathways of ASU I either see disgruntled or peaceful faces. I imagine the distain is only with themselves, seeing that nights filled with keggers and bad pickup lines do not raise your GPA. I imagine the etherial smiles are from hard nights of studying, similar to the day I just had. 

If only the mass population of this institution of higher education could see the happiness that can be brought after passing a test. There would no longer be the 5th or 6th year senior, or the line, "Well I'm supposed to be a junior, but I'm still at the 100 level." Of course everyone goes that their own pace, but why not pick up that pace? 

I wonder what happened to the days of ambition. Walk into a Harvard classroom and the environment is 180 degrees different. People want to not only know what the teacher knows, but what you know, what your dad knows, what the person next to you knows, and so on. They are intellectual sponges fighting to get ahead. I wish to be a sponge.

(My actual 3x5 with four astronomy chapters crammed onto it)

The Big Bad BAC

Walking up to this six story brick building called the BAC, I wondered what I'd learn here. There is a Starbucks on the first floor, so far the best thing about it. Whatever I would learn here, I'd learn it with an excelled heart rate.

The building's at Arizona State all seem like they were taken from different places and periods of time. Lattie Coor and the Biodesign Institute could have come from a 22nd Century bustling city, the Interdisciplinary Science and Technology Building looks as if it came out of a Black & Decker commercial, the Hayden library above-ground stories came from a 70's acid trip and the below ground came from...something boring, I'm not sure what. 

The BAC, came from a suburban neighborhood where people love brick...and squareness. An unimpressive building, no doubt, but teaming with endless possibilities. 

I now finish my fourth overall college semester, and first semester at W.P. Carey.  While the BAC from the outside seems dull with it's lack luster appearance, once you find your way into one of the confusing entrances to the building, you will find bright minds. Wearing everything from suits & ties to high heels & blackberry's, they will run the world. Ok maybe not the world, but at least the companies that will run you. They are dressing for the job they want, doing anything and everything to get there. 

I may be a face among the crowd at W.P. Carey, but that's one crowd I am honored to be in.