Blaze Wifi Rural Scholarship

Do you prefer living in the city or out in the country more? Why? What are some benefits and drawbacks to each? If possible, support your argument with real life experiences.

We sat, the ten of us, huddled around the sizzling campfire in what we considered the epitome of suburbia: the kid-friendly backyard of a colonial-styled house.

"So, New York, New York, your new home, huh?" chirped my friend Hannah in a sing-song voice.

Angela burst into a grin as her eyes radiated with pride and satisfaction, intensified by the flickering flames. She would be attending Columbia University in the fall, living in the heart of the city of dreams that never sleeps and so on and so forth with the cliches. Envious, I thought of my dream college life, set in a hubbub of exciting night life, culturally significant attractions, street bands and one dollar pizza.

I have only been to New York City three times.

The first time, my old school grandparents were visiting from China. Despite their technically-challenged capabilities, they surprisingly fit in as your local tourists more so than myself. Having grown up in the splendor of suburban sprawl my entire life,  I regarded New York City with disinterest and distaste. I inched across the city with the unfortunate impression of becoming a pinball bumped every which way around an overflowing assortment of people, attractions and bright neon signs.

That first trip to New York, there were no perks to the city, or even if there were, they were far overshadowed by the clinging smell of sewers and blaring taxi horns. Everywhere I looked, people were rushing. Tourists were rushing to huddle into Instagram photos, Upper East siders were rushing to the scene to #livetweet the latest NYC fashion developments, and even the homeless men were rushing to the next subway stop (I saw one man and his guitar at least three times that day). It was as if time intentionally sped up only to slow you down. The entire culture of New York seemed to reflect the fast food culture back home, only magnified in every aspect of the city. Everything was constantly growing, building and working towards the next goal, and if I couldn't even keep up with my grandparents, how could I keep up with the world?



The second time, I experienced the city alone: I had been invited to play at Carnegie Hall as a concert pianist. I paced anxiously outside the recital hall in preparation in a purple evening dress as snowflakes swirled and clung to my body, not unlike how my heart would begin to warm up and cling to the city. I collected a myriad of furrowed brows, blank faces and sweet smiles every which way in response to my questionable winter attire. This time, however, the mass of people did not cause me to wither into the bleak winter backdrop. A gutsy musician in the middle of the city, I felt a part of something bigger, a world where I knew no one else except the knowledge that everyone was here with a higher purpose, to achieve a personal goal. That night, that unspoken sense of comradeship invigorated me and carried a torch of adrenaline through my musical performance.

The third time I explored the city, I truly discovered the materialistic and cultural significance of the city. Alone in the city with my best friends, we perused local thrift shops and bakeries, attended morning yoga seminars and tracked down local halal street food. It hit me then, the realization that I longed to someday make this place my home. Nothing in my suburban world could beat the ongoing flux of information, the daily doses of spontaneity, the buzz and excitement surrounding the culture and diversity. But most of all, the city provided an opportunity to adapt and evolve my passions, my idiosyncrasies to reach their highest potentials.

And yet, this fall, it isn't me who must learn to survive in the concrete jungle we dubbed New York City. Between the choices of University of Michigan, New York University and Dartmouth College, I had chosen Dartmouth: Vox clamantis in deserto. The voice of crying out in the wilderness. That's what I read on the Wikipedia page right before I committed. "The rural college in the middle of nowhere": the words everyone seemed to silently hint at. Even I myself was surprised at my decision of choosing a sea of mountains and wilderness over downtown coffee hubs and shopping sprees.



My first visit to the Dartmouth campus was a gloomy two day drive from Michigan to Hanover, New Hampshire. As I stared out the foggy window, the desolate expanse of green and brown constantly reinforced the nagging question whether I had made the wrong decision. If New York was my step up from suburbia to the rich cultural extravagance of the world, the rural Hanover seemed to be a strip down into the simplest form of life.

Upon arriving at Dartmouth, I met up with my dorm leader Abhi, who expressed her sincerest apologies for the haphazard snowstorm in April. Looking around the barren landscape, except for the apparel shop and CVS, I saw nothing remotely similar to the downtown college campuses of Michigan and New York.

"Oh right, Hanover's doesn't allow chain stores, so you won't find any Chipotles or Taco Bells here."

As <a href="http://www.blazewifi.com/">Blaze Wifi</a> notes, the more rural areas are evidently more at risk economically than larger cities (There's no Chipotle). Yet, in the case of Hanover, is it due to the law or lack of people and interest that these rural towns are not given the chance to prosper? Furthermore, towns like Hanover strive to preserve their heritage and culture; if we encouraged rural towns to use technology in the same manner as cities, would we destroy part of their culture along the way?

Later that night, I couldn't help but ask Abhi the one question that had been plaguing my mind all day: What is it like living in the middle of nowhere?

Surprisingly, I received the most humble opinion of a college yet. Safe. Community-Driven. Quaint. And that's how I would describe the good-natured people living at Dartmouth, in Hanover, in rural New Hampshire. Humble.

I soon realized that Hanover wasn't stripping away everything that had been a part of my life in suburban Michigan. Instead, it was giving me the gift of simplicity, a chance to get down to the nitty gritty of my identity and explore my passions in the midst of Mother Nature. How could I strive to survive in the concrete jungle when I haven't even discovered the nature of my life yet? Observing the differences of human nature between the city and the country, I also discovered that living in the "middle of nowhere" fosters a greater sense of camaraderie within the community and ingrains in each a deeper appreciation for the precious gift of life.

It's now that I realize that living in a rural community is beneficial for every individual. It doesn't have to be long nor does it have to be permanent, but it is an invaluable experience that strips us down to our most vulnerable simplistic and teaches us to build our walls back up again. The peace and quiet of the world around us stimulates us to focus on our influence upon our environment and teaches us to become more self-sufficient, independent, creative. I remember once asking my grandmother where she enjoyed living the best, and to this, she replied, "I can't pick a favorite place because I lived in different locations during different points of my life. The memories I associate with each home are vastly diverse and thus unable to be measured on your spectrum." And perhaps that's the answer to those who ask, "Why do you choose to live in the middle of nowhere?" Because though I still desire to be surrounded by the buzz and excitement of an urban city, at this point in my life, what I need the most is the opportunity to discover and evolve my passions before setting them loose in the opportunistic concrete jungle we call New York City.

Reading Pictures

Photography cannot show true pictures viewed from the naked eye. Fish eye lens distort our perspectives into funky, wide angles while filters add shadows and colors that are not only inaccurate, also deceitful. Though photography has twisted itself into a medium for propaganda, it is still useful through its ability to relay ideas stimulate emotion. In our fast-moving world, it is often difficult to get our message across through just words since people hardly have the time to sit still and process what they just read. Thus, a photo not only relays the message clearer--it is also easier to remember and associate feelings with pictures. Furthermore, a stronger emotional connection with a picture leads to an increased motivation to take action. Photographs are credited as "eye openers" with its ability to convince the public that just because its not happening here doesn't mean it's not happening. This video is extremely powerful in demonstrating how visuals have the power to stimulate otherwise dormant emotions in an effort to generate public awareness and action.

A Modest Proposal

For Preventing the People Diagnosed with HIV/AIDS 

from Being a Burden to their Country

and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public

It is a wretched object to those who prowl through night clubs looking for a few hours of fun, who are virgins in Africa, or who have been bitten by vampires and are in desperate need to refill their blood supply, when they walk out dumbfounded from a doctor's office weeks later after discovering that they are HIV positive with no aid or cure in sight. These people, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in depression and desperately mull over how to relay the unfortunate news of their discriminated virus to unsuspecting parents and their soon to be ex-girlfriend and boyfriends.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number of infected people who unfortunately took their lovemaking too far or picked the wrong needle to poke into their arms is, in the present discriminating state of the world, a very great additional grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair and easy method of making the unlucky infected sound and useful members of the common-wealth, would deserve so well of the public, as to have her statue set up for a preserver of the nation.

As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years, upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of our projectors, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their computation. It is true, reverse transcriptase is the culprit in the AIDS virus that causes such embarrassment and shame, so spending millions of our hard-earned money to research the virus is perfectly sound. However, once infected, those who are HIV positive are perceived as precarious time bombs as they await the next opportunistic infection that may end their uncertain lives--they play their odds against the fatal game of infection roulette and lose. Researching this virus does nothing to improve our lives now. We must help those who have been discriminated for ironically being a positive by advocating their acceptance in society: this requires a powerful mass medium. Thus, I propose that the government help protect the lives of both the superior and the inferior. Yet know that for what I am about to propose, I am not clinically deranged; I am assured by others, such as my good friend David Sedaris, who is a "very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose virtues I highly esteem" (678), that "Having protection suggests that you are important. Having that protection paid for by the government is even better, as it suggests your safety is of interest to someone other than yourself" (252). 

The number of souls in the world infected with HIV is approximately 35 million. I subtract an extremely large number from that and thus the number of souls in this country ages 13 years and older infected by the HIV virus is around 1.1 million, about 1 in every 6 people. Of these 1.1 million people living with HIV/AIDS, more than 20% were woman, which leads to the logical conclusion that more than 70% of the 1.1 million are men. Evidently, these men are unrestrained in their control of suppressing hormones, and accordingly the millions of dollars we so generously contribute to HIV research should be used to stop these wild impulses.

I shall now therefore propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by two companions I have acquainted in America, by the names of Chet Raymo and Jessica Cohen, that a new era is abound, a time filled with discoveries of genetic manipulation at breakneck speeds. Soon, I have been guaranteed, our children will be produced via in vitro fertilization. Baby making will happen right in our own underground laboratories, and thus, the unruly desire to have too much fun will be eradicated completely. For mothers who unknowingly transmit HIV to their infant children, I refer thee to a piece my good friend Jonathan Swift has written, in which he describes the lavish feasting of children to benefit his country. I employ the similar tactic of feast to rid our country of HIV positive children who probably do not even make it past the age of five. Finally, for those who are in dire need of blood transfusions and in their panic use a dirty needle, I reassure them that it is ok, for lack of a better word. I humbly propose that everyone in this country also use dirty needles, transforming HIV positives from minorities to the majority, abolishing any sort of discrimination to the infected population.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by purifying our nation and its wild desires, alleviating mental trauma associated with the virus, relieving the poor infants from years of pain, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I unfortunately will be unable to join the festivities of this grand proposal for I will soon be considered a minority, the HIV negative.

Raymo's Friends: Back From The Dead

Over 99% of all species have gone extinct. In the 19th century, the population of Pyrenean ibex, also known as a bucardo, began to decline precipitously. These mountain goats became the victims of human hunting and competition and in 1999, the last bucardo, named Ceila died when a tree fell on her. However, before Celia perished, scientists preserved tissue samples to clone her living twin in 2003. Similarily, in 2013, the Lazurus Project of Australia successfully created a living embryo of the extinct gastric-brooding frog from non-living preserved genetic material. These experiments mark the beginning of the "fruitful promise of genetic engineering" (215).  Through backbreeding [scientists using a living species genetically similar to the extinct species and selectively breed for old traits], genetic engineering and cloning, scientists plan to reassurect extinct species straight from their evolutionary graves. Some of the most vouched revivals include the wooly mammoth, Tasmanian tigers, passenger pigeons and  Steller's sea cows. In fact, http://longnow.org/revive/species/ provides a checklist for which species may be able to make it back to life. In addition, scientists of the website have already developed a response to those who oppose de-extinction: "We're not playing. We're coming to terms with our own powers, as well as the unexpected results of our actions." However, as Raymo argues, how do we know when we have crossed the line? When Janus turns to reveal his other face, full of "potential danger", it will be far too late to reverse the effects of genetic manipulation.  Furthermore, these scientists declare that they will deal with the "unexpected results" when the time comes; yet it is the unknown that engenders the source of "uneasiness" Raymo feels. If genetic engineers are able to dethaw "purloined genes" and revive ancient animals, let us all take a moment to imagine the look on Raymo's face as he embraces his new friends.

A Migration of Ideas: From Thinking to Doing

Speaking at the National American Woman Suffrage Association, Florence Kelley uses the inhumanity of child labor to recruit and incite women into a call for action. She elicits a revolutionary response for enfranchisement by using emotional appeals, vigorous repetition and an inclusive tone to enhance her rhetoric and strengthen her argument. Kelley does not dawdle with a dolled-up fairy tale; there is no "Once upon a time" for "two million children", for the word time would suggest that there is both day and night. Instead, these dehumanized "little beasts of burden" live forever in the night "while we sleep". Even in our drunkest hallucinations, we see "blue mice and pink elephants" or little elves riding on donkeys--never our children slaving away. Kelley uses vivid imagery to sarcastically illustrate the "pitiful privilege" children are granted and lists the common objects they "spin,..weave,..braid..[and] carry" each night. This commonality links everyone in the audience together: mothers, wives, daughters. Thus, she ends her speech comprehensively and advocates the goal everyone can work towards: for the sake of the "children" of today and the "Republic" of tomorrow. Only praying will not write the laws, free the children or permit female voting. No, it is the responsibility of the adults (like Jesus) to sacrifice their time, minds and body "in this task of freeing the children from toil": only then will an advance in equality be noticeable.

The Fear Before Paranoia

On February 27th, the same day that I read Black Men and Public Space by Brent Staples, the TSD released an email regarding a suspicious vehicle in the area of Square Lake and John R. Road. The email reported that a TSD parent had seen an older white full-sized station wagon sitting on the street for several consecutive days. A black male in his 20's was sitting in the driver's seat and wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out. He reportedly drove up to the parent's daughter as she was walking to school and demanded her to "Come here." Reading this email sparked tension and a queasiness that fluttered in my stomach, for I walk home alone after school. This incident will permanently alter the public space in that neighborhood, as parents set up higher precautions for safety. Yet this news is also enough to alter my own public space. As I walked home that day, I unconsciously "picked up my pace" (205) and "forge[d] ahead" (206) as I wished to reach the safe perimeter of my house as soon as possible. The description of the black male reminded me of Staples' observation, that the "fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to [him] in public places" (207) was because "young black males are drastically overrepresented among the perpetrators of that violence" (206). My natural "fight or flight" response is usually triggered when I perceive suspicious looking strangers on my walk home. Yet the description of the man and his white car increased my alertness as I glimpsed at the passing white cars, determined to "screen out troublesome individuals before there is any nastiness" (206). Staples' piece, though, convinced me through his misunderstood anecdotes that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet how am I to know if the strangers that I encounter are to be feared or not? There are too many if's and maybe's when meeting strangers in public spaces, since it's difficult to view their true personalities. Here, Staples' provides a solution. Body language. The "excellent tension-reducing measure" of whistling classical melodies is something "virtually everybody" relaxes too because music is a universal language (207).

A Petri Dish Dystopia

The idea of manipulating life is not news to the public. Our imaginations have expanded with stories of Prometheus, Golem, Frankenstein, Dolly, and the most successful, in vitro fertilization. This process combines DNA from an egg and sperm, both isolated from the human body, and incubates the fetus into a human womb. IVF revives the dream for couples who desire children yet are unable to conceive. In their hands, in vitro fertilization becomes an appreciated miracle, an end to the wave of disappointments. Yet what happens when this unnatural process falls into greedy hands? Parents who scroll through Surrogate Mothers Online, "an eBay for genetic material" (Cohen 117) and fix upon the sole purpose of creating a"chef d'oeuvre" (Cohen 119) are no better than picky readers who meander through libraries, a massive pool of knowledge, and only gravitate towards one perspective of books. In both cases, this limited perspective may snowball into detrimental effects, such as eugenics or a prejudiced, intolerant individual. A perfect child is strikingly similar to Frankenstein's monster: both are created by independently chosen body parts to construct an ideal human. However, the success rate of a perfect child is far greater than Victor Frankenstein's monster. Technology, developing at a fiery rate, enables parents to choose which DNA samples to use through a process called genetic mapping. Essentially, we can create humans by selecting desired characteristics and even prevent genetic disorders "if [we] can afford it" (Cohen 119). Perhaps the best representation of the dire ends parents will go to to create a masterpiece is Graham's Repository for Germinal Choice, better known as the Nobel Prize sperm bank. In vitro fertilization is not criticized for its unnatural production of life; rather, people argue against its "$2-billion-a-year infertility industry" (Cohen 116). If left unchecked, there may come a day where no child is born naturally, but is instead chosen based on his traits, perhaps creating an in vivo Brave New World.