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(09/18/08 4:00am)
Do you want to walk out of Otterbein as a changed person, or are you content to remain stagnant these four years? At age 22, will you be any different than you were at 19? If there's one feature at Otterbein that changed my life, it was the religion department. As an INST substitute, I took Introduction to Religion autumn quarter of my freshman year. The class blew my mind and I was hooked. Religion courses at Otterbein open up so many questions. You may be a religious person your entire life, but you'll quickly learn that you were only scratching the surface of your faith. I had grown up in the Christian tradition for 18 years, with two ordained pastors for parents, so I thought I knew plenty about Christianity. Not quite. Allow me to offer some examples of the eye-opening facts you'll learn, especially if you identify with the Christian faith:1. The four canonical gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) are not the only gospels in existence. There are actually over 30.2. Jesus' genealogy differs according to which gospel account you're reading (Matthew 1 or Luke 3).3. The gospel of John probably wasn't written until about a century after Jesus' birth.Did you already know all that? If you identify with Judaism, you may be interested to learn that there are two separate creation accounts found in Genesis (contrast 1:1 - 2:3 with 2:4 - 2:25). You'll also be surprised at the plural gods found in the first book of the Hebrew Bible, especially since Judaism gave birth to the concept of monotheism! Is your head spinning yet? I know mine couldn't digest all this new information at once. But I was intrigued. I had to take more classes. One particular religion professor, Dr. Glenna Jackson, became crucial in my development as a Christian, student, and individual. She specializes in the Christianity courses, and I was lucky enough to take the following courses from her: Women and Religion; Paul and His Letters; Judaism and the Hebrew Bible; The Life and Teachings of Jesus; and Religion in Popular Literature and Film. She, like so many professors at Otterbein, is passionate about the material she teaches. Her enthusiasm is contagious. Plus, she has funky platform shoes in every color. Class discussions provide the most stimulating experience you can have during your career at Otterbein-even more stimulating than a donut run. The best class I ever took was The Life and Teachings of Jesus, because my fellow classmates wrestled with their faith and were honest about their questions. Even if you don't consider yourself a religious person, these classes are still vital. Religion colors so much of society, especially politics, history, and international relations. You don't have to become a "believer" to enjoy these classes. They're just helpful in developing a global perspective and understanding people who are different from you...a skill we all have to learn eventually. So, are you prepared to get shaken up? By now you've already registered for classes, but it's not too late to make the best decision of your life. Take a religion class in winter or spring, or at least sometime during your years at Otterbein. I'm not talking about the standard INST religion classes that you're required to take. Go above that requirement to truly challenge yourself. And say hi to Dr. Jackson for me...I miss her like crazy.SARAH MARTINDELL IS A FORMER COLUMNIST FOR THE T&C.; SHE CURRENTLY WORKS AS A SOCIAL JUSTICE ADVOCATE IN SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
(05/28/08 4:00am)
In the great blizzard of '08, our campus banded together and bonded together. We filled Cowan Hall to watch a dress rehearsal of the Dance Concert. We packed into the Cardinal's Nest and wiped the tables after we were done eating. We slid down the hill at Alum Creek Park. We were together. We were together, we are together and we are not alone. The class sizes at this college make it impossible to be alone. Our professors know us by our first names. They know about our lives and we know about theirs. Dr. Shpancer remembers the first time he heard fireworks after coming to the U.S. from Israel. He was on a date, and when he heard the explosions, he ducked to the ground for cover (He did not have a second date). Dr. Jackson recalls traveling to Africa and being mistaken for a prostitute. Dr. Joshi tells us about the hush that falls on a crowd at a cricket game in India. We're connected together.We aren't alone in our rejoicing over any sports victory against Capital. We aren't alone when we ask for more breadsticks at the free spaghetti dinners from Church of the Master. We aren't alone when we greet Jeff Sabo and he tells us he's "doin' pretty well" or "not tooooooo shabby." We aren't alone when we pile into the free theater late at night. We also aren't alone in our grieving. We lost classmates who were way too young. Josh Worthington. Caitlin Leasure. Gone because of someone else's bad decision. After those losses, I hope we will join together in our commitment not to go near the wheel of a car when we've had something to drink. The past has caught up with us, and now we're looking toward the future. But this theme-this togetherness, this idea that we're not alone-will carry over into the next phase of our lives. We began as freshmen in the Community Plunge, and many of us continued doing Community Service through the Center for Community Engagement, Greek life or Otterbein Christian Fellowship. Suddenly, we weren't just connected with each other-we were connected with the rest of the world. The same phenomenon happened when we got to vote in our first national election the fall of our freshman year. I believe we have a responsibility and a privilege to participate in community service, to vote and to continue this tradition we've developed at Otterbein: togetherness. That could mean greeting your future colleagues by name and knowing about their lives after the example set by Otterbein. It could also mean much more. I believe we're not alone because there's a God who loves us and is with us all the time, but not everyone believes that. Can we join together in spite of that difference? Even if we do cast our vote in November, what happens when our candidate doesn't win? Can we work alongside our so-called opponents in spite of that disappointment? If we go on to get married and we feel like we can't see eye to eye with that person, will we still be able to work together, and live together? Obi-Wan Kenobi has something to teach us about bringing people together. In "Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope," he says, "The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together." We are that Force. We are a big class, a driving Force, that binds the galaxy together. Or, if not the galaxy, at least our own little worlds and our own little realms. Whatever location we find ourselves in after graduation, that will be our galaxy, and we can be the Force that binds it together. Even if we leave this place and lose touch with each other, we can still be together in a common purpose. That purpose can unite us wherever we work, or wherever we continue our education. I believe that purpose is to seek justice for those who are oppressed, befriend those who are lonely, learn about those whose cultures are different, and even love those whom we consider our enemies. Can you join together in that purpose? I want to leave you with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s words: "We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools." To the class of 2008: It has been a privilege living together as brothers and sisters. And sometimes we did perish together, when we acted like fools. But we have a fresh start. Today. Let's join in our purpose. Let's be the driving Force. We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools. t&c;SARAH MARTINDELL IS A SENIOR ENGLISH MAJOR AND COLUMNIST FOR THE t&c.;
(05/14/08 4:00am)
Did you know that some people of Asian descent choose to have surgery to make their eyelids "double-fold" instead of "single-fold"? Did you know that there's a new plastic surgery where women can reshape the labia of their vagina? And I'm sure we've all heard of getting bum implants to resemble Jennifer Lopez's fine heinie. This is deplorable.I realize that the issue of plastic surgery doesn't seem to relate directly to Otterbein students-we barely have enough quarters for laundry, let alone liposuction. But just in case you take your degree, turn it into six figures a year, then decide to splurge on a nose job...let's consider the consequences. What could you do with the thousands of dollars you'd spend on Botox, implants, or "vaginal rejuvenation"? I have some ideas. Instead of getting breast implants, you could donate the money toward breast cancer research. Instead of getting your labia trimmed down, you could help women who are forced to have a similar surgery before they even reach puberty. The process of female genital mutilation still occurs in many countries all over the world; maybe you could donate your money to one of their safe houses. According to the January 2008 issue of "Marie Claire," approximately 140 million women throughout the world have endured this disgusting mutilation-a process much worse than our concept of "vaginal rejuvenation." Why would any woman do this voluntarily? OK, so that's an extreme example of plastic surgery. What about more ordinary procedures, like facelifts or collagen injections? I mean, Goldie Hawn's hot, right?At the risk of sounding whiny, I have to ask: Why can't we be happy with the way we are? My faith in a Creator God leads me to believe that each person was uniquely crafted. If God wanted to give me a flat chest (mission accomplished), I don't need to stuff myself with silicone. I don't need to tell God, "What you gave me wasn't good enough." Both of my parents have undergone health traumas that permanently changed their appearance. My mom had a pressure cooker explode on her, covering her body with second- and third-degree burns. My dad had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball, requiring a 24-hour surgery to remove. Mom's accident left her with scars on her arms and thighs due to skin grafting. Dad's surgery left half his face paralyzed. They must still find each other attractive, because they've been married almost 30 years. They must not have needed plastic surgery to deem each other valuable. My dad did try to have plastic surgery, though. But he only wanted it for the purpose of being able to smile with both sides of his mouth. His motivation wasn't fear of wrinkles, or fear of rejection, it was the desire to smile. That seems reasonable. The desire to please a partner with bigger boobs or plumper lips is not reasonable. The desire to stave off the process of aging/dying is not reasonable. And while I'm at it-going tanning is not reasonable. Try to be happy with how you naturally look. Don't spend your future income on efforts to look younger. Remember-flat-chested women can sleep on their stomachs, no problem. t&c; SARAH MARTINDELL IS A SENIOR ENGLISH MAJOR AND COLUMNIST FOR THE t&c.;
(04/30/08 4:00am)
Remember the good old days, when we could help ourselves to some SpaghettiO's and just throw the can away afterward? What's with this whole "recycling" fad? Aren't we overdoing it? What next-will we be using toilet paper once, then setting it aside to reuse the next time we have to tinkle?In my parents' house, we have a bag of old underwear that we reuse as dust rags. My mother thinks that, despite the holes and stains, the underwear is perfectly fine. When will it stop?With so many magazines and newspapers featuring ways to "go green," our consciences can no longer let it slide when we toss away an empty plastic water bottle. At least, mine can't. And if other people's consciences don't prick them, I'll do the pricking for them.I spend a great deal of time at my friends' house. Whenever I pass by the kitchen trash bins, I reach inside and retrieve aluminum cans or plastic bottles. "What's this?" I say, as if confronting a dog that just piddled on the carpet. "What did I tell you about this?" Then I march the offending cans outside to the recycling bin. I don't think my friends appreciate my help.But how can they live with themselves? Don't they have "green guilt"?The May 2008 issue of "O: The Oprah Magazine" introduces "green guilt," the new psychological problem facing Americans. Brooke K. Glassberg writes, "As if in-laws, bosses and religion didn't provide enough guilt to last a lifetime, these days we're beating ourselves up for formerly mindless infractions like pitching a soda can into the garbage."I have succumbed to green guilt, myself. It's reached the point where I can't take a 15-minute shower anymore, knowing how much water I'm wasting. I turn the water off when I'm lathering up my hair or myself, and only turn it on when I'm rinsing. I end up shivering in the shower stall without the steady stream of warm water, but I shiver self-righteously.What happens when "green guilt" morphs into "green judgment?" I know of a girl who refuses to drink out of the water fountains in residence halls, because the water comes out cloudy. Instead she buys water bottles by the case, and probably only uses them once. To she who shall remain nameless: I'm sorry I couldn't confront you about this in person, but your wastefulness means our friendship has to end.I was raised in a home where milk gallon jugs were rinsed and recycled. When I discovered that other families don't follow this rule, I felt sorry for them, almost as though they were sinners who weren't "saved." But I'm sure people look at me and shake their heads when they realize I leave my computer plugged in and turned on all night. I am now the sinner who needs saved. I am the one destroying the planet.I try. I really do. Last weekend, I chose to ride my bike a couple miles to a friend's apartment. I was saving money, gas and the Earth. I rode back to campus in the black of night, which led me to ride over some broken glass, which led me to get a flat tire, which led me to walk my bike the rest of the way home.See? This is what happens when you go green, when you get green guilt. Let this be a lesson. Don't ride your bike when you can drive. Don't recycle when you can throw away. And don't reuse when you can use something once...especially if that "something" is toilet paper. t&c;SARAH MARTINDELL IS A SENIOR ENGLISH MAJOR AND COLUMNIST FOR THE t&c.;
(04/17/08 4:00am)
In my four years as a faithful attendee of Otterbein Christian Fellowship (OCF), I've learned a lot. I've learned that God loves me. I've learned that Christians shouldn't isolate themselves in their own little bubble. I've learned that there's a pretty sexy book of the Bible (Song of Songs...plus, I already knew from my own studying that Ezekiel 23 is quite naughty). All good things.I've also learned that women can refer to themselves as men. And they're not even transgendered.There's a worship song by Delirious called "Majesty," and part of the lyrics are "knowing I'm a sinful man..." I've watched as all the attendees of OCF have lifted their voices in unison to this song. OCF (like the rest of Otterbein) is probably 70 percent female. Thus, I've watched as my female comrades have sung "knowing I'm a sinful man."I can't speak for all women, but last time I looked down in the shower, I didn't see a penis. Maybe I should look harder next time?I can't sing "knowing I'm a sinful man" if I'm not a man. Why should we be expected to? It would be just as crazy to sing "knowing I'm a sinful redhead," or "knowing I'm a sinful Filipino," or "knowing I'm a sinful basketball player." It excludes so many people. Not everyone's a redhead. Not everyone's Filipino. Not everyone plays basketball. And not everyone has a penis.Dr. Glenna Jackson, a superb professor in our religion department, tackles the problem of exclusive language on the syllabus in every class she teaches. She devotes an entire page to "The Use of Inclusive Language" and reprints this quotation from Thomas Groome: "The historical evidence is that gender exclusive language originated and was intended to maintain the connection that men are superior to women and are the natural norms of humanity." For a few quarters, I helped develop the weekly slide show for OCF's song lyrics. So, I changed the slide reading "knowing I'm a sinful man" to "knowing I'm a sinful (wo)man." It didn't even mess up the rhyme.But I can't be around to change every sexist lyric on every slide at every OCF meeting. Who will carry the torch after me? Will any of my sisters stand up? Or will they get annoyed with me for kicking up such a fuss? Often we are our own worst enemy.My dad, an ordained pastor for over 20 years, has tried to reassure me on the issue of exclusive language in the church. He has witnessed inclusive language in his congregations; it is possible that the status quo will change. But in his words; "Change, however, always seems to come either too quickly or too slowly."What a brilliant man. (And I can refer to him as a brilliant man because he does indeed have a...actually, I don't want to think about that.) My dad's point is that my little lyric-changing may plant the seed of change, but that seed may take a long time to grow. How discouraging...or eventually encouraging?Dr. Suzanne Ashworth, a professor in our English department, offered me this advice to keep up the fight: "The alternative-stasis or apathy-is more uncomfortable for me than whatever frustrations attach to that effort."She's right. I definitely don't like the alternative to "kicking up a fuss."I ask you fellow Otters to please watch your language. Unless you can relate to my dad, who claims, "I once knew a Filipino redhead who played basketball. No matter what was said, it applied to him. Or her." t&c;SARAH MARTINDELL IS A SENIOR ENGLISH MAJOR AND COLUMNIST FOR THE t&c.;
(04/04/08 4:00am)
Burping. Farting. Pooping. There comes a time in every romantic relationship when these actions are brought out into the open...no longer swept under the rug, or in this case, flushed down the toilet. The couple must decide whether they can move forward...whether they can push past these seeming setbacks.My boyfriend has instituted a rule. For every time he hears me burp, he refuses to shave another day. (He knows how much I hate prickly cheeks, so this is great blackmail.) I do my best to stifle a belch, but even with my mouth closed, he claims he can still hear a noise and adds another day.Now is that fair? Is there a double standard here? I have record of my lover boy sending me the following text message on February 12 at 4:58 p.m.:"I am pooping right now :-)!"You'll notice he sent it just in time for Valentine's Day.Is he allowed that particular bodily function, but I am not allowed the other? Is it because burping isn't graceful or feminine? Just as our culture encourages women to shave their underarms and legs, they encourage us to daintily refrain from loud emissions. Guys, however, don't have the same expectations. They can grow hair any old place they want to, and they can burp while doing it.Aside from exploring the sexism implications, I use the subjects of burping and farting to raise other questions. Does it take away some of the "mystery," some of the romance, when we let our guards down and let 'em rip? Should we be worried that a burp or toot will make our partner hit the road?I believe a new level of intimacy is formed when we break that barrier. I embrace the freedom, and aside from the burping issue, I think my gentleman embraces it too. (Texting while pooping is a great way to pass the time...it is one of our favorite "dates.")Once this newfound freedom hits, your relationship is strengthened; your intimacy can go deeper. You can discuss your symptoms when you're ill, to get your lover's sympathy and advice. ("Well, when it came out, it was kind of green...a lime green, if you will, and is that because I ate the broccoli cheddar soup? Has that happened to you before? Is it serious?") Your lover can also be there for you in lieu of your mother when you're throwing up puke or hacking up phlegm. There's no more shame about how it looks or smells, because you've reached a new level of openness and vulnerability with each other....And it all began with farting out loud.Maybe more of us should embrace the earthly level at which we're all connected. Maybe we should tell more fart jokes. (Here's a great Jack Handey one: "I once met an assassin whose nickname was 'Fart.' I asked him why, and he said, 'Because I'm silent but deadly.'")So as spring quarter begins and stress levels escalate once again, I invite this campus to release the tension in a very particular way. But please don't tell my boyfriend you heard it from me. Sarah Martindell is a senior English major and Columnist for the t&c;t&c;
(02/21/08 5:00am)
I feel like I'm constantly going through puberty.I opted to take a modern dance class this quarter, and so far it's been seven weeks of mortification, the kind you feel throughout middle school.I felt embarrassed the first day when I worried about having gas during the run-run-leap-run combo. (You know the kind. Machine-gun firing.)I felt embarrassed the second day when we had to do partner stretching, and some of our positions-I think-should be reserved for marriage. I felt embarrassed the third day when the professor said we would improvise dancing.She started the music. "Okay! The floor is a magnet! You are either repelled by it or attracted to it! Go!" I snapped to the floor and scooted along, trying to pry my limbs from its pull."Now every time you pass someone, you have to switch directions." I scooted beside another dancer, then sprang up on my tip-toes."Okay! Now other people are magnets, and you're either repelled by them or attracted to them! Go!"Crash! A freshman collided with me and bounced away.(How is it that the freshmen in class are more comfortable looking like idiots than I am, a senior? It really does feel like middle school, and I am always the youngest ... always embarrassed ... always waiting for my breasts to come in. [Still waiting, by the way.])"Okay! Now the ceiling is a magnet, and you're either repelled by it or attracted to it! Go!"Enough!"Okay! Now pretend you have a piece of chalk sticking out the top of your head. Write the alphabet." I began my curling cursive."Okay! Now pretend the chalk is sticking out of your ear. Write your name." S-a-r- ..."Okay! Now the chalk is sticking out of your butt! Write the alphabet!" I gyrated, attempting to look sultry-a, b, c, yeah baby ...Everyone else in the room seemed to instinctively know how to wind their hips in a sensual way. I probably just looked constipated.My only consolation is that I'm in college, not high school. People won't be making fun of me if I look like an idiot. (And I'm not the only one looking like an idiot. In class, one guy likes to twirl in circles and watch himself in the mirror. You know who you are. I don't judge.)I noticed something when I arrived at Otterbein: While we may be the size of a high school, we are more mature than a high school. There isn't necessarily a "popular crowd." You can sit with different groups in the Cardinals' Nest. You can introduce yourself to new people and not be met with weird looks.I'm grateful for this community ... so thanks for tolerating my unsexiness.