Eric Fox, an Animal Science major at UConn, is the only son of Cathy and Kenneth Fox of Milford, CT.  Though Kenneth never acted violently toward his wife and son, neighbors and friends alike remained suspicious of his behavior.  He was frequently seen engaging in arguments with Cathy and Eric, and police had intervened multiple times, often resulting in him being legally barred from entering their household.

However, nobody could have predicted that, on the morning of the 23rd, Kenneth would proceed to murder his wife before taking his own life.

As if this is not tragic enough, the life of another innocent individual was cast into the fray.  The family’s dog, a seven-year-old husky named Rocky, apparently attempted to defend Cathy during her desperate attempt to escape her husband.  Kenneth thus proceeded to attack the dog as well, stabbing him multiple times.  Rocky would become the sole survivor of the incident; though he suffered from countless injuries, including numerous slashes and a punctured lung, he managed to drag himself from the house, upon which he was rescued by Milford Animal Control and immediately brought to a veterinary clinic.

This leaves Eric with an unexpected, terrifying, and unimaginable burden on his shoulders.  Not only must he cope with the sudden, violent passing of both parents – he is left with thousands of dollars in veterinary bills, due to the numerous surgeries required to save Rocky’s life.  Furthermore, he no longer has a means of paying tuition.  Rocky is the only family member he has left.

Numerous UConn organizations have reached out to spread the word and raise money for Eric and Rocky, and people have been invited to donate to “The Eric and Rocky Fund” through Milford United Way.  It doesn’t matter how much people are willing to donate – every penny makes a difference.

If you have even the smallest amount of change to spare, please consider putting it toward Rocky’s recovery and Eric’s tuition.  Both of these individuals have had life as they knew it shattered in the blink of an eye, and they are the only two that remain to pick up the pieces.  But it doesn’t have to be this way – we can all pitch in and do our part to help start putting their lives back together.

Checks can be sent to the Milford United Way, 20 Evergreen Ave., Milford, CT 06460, in care of the “Eric Fox and Rocky Fund”.  Every contribution counts, and it will mean the world to Eric, Rocky, and all of his loving friends at the University of Connecticut.

Thank you, and keep them in your prayers and in your heart.

Out of all the annoyances at college, one of my biggest pet peeves has been – and most likely always will be – the constant texting.  Nowadays, you can’t swing a small mammal without hitting at least half a dozen girls and guys with their phones held out in front of them, thumbs tapping away with inhuman accuracy and speed.  Not that you’d actually have to swing said small mammal in order to hit them – most of them would probably walk straight into you, so absorbed are they in their conversations.  And if they’re not bumping into you, they’re sitting next to you in class, typing incessantly as the professor struggles to be overheard, even with the help of his low-quality clip-on microphone.

I don’t like it one bit.  I actually want to focus in class, damn it!  I want to have a conversation with someone without them looking away every ten seconds to check their phones for new messages.  Most of all, I want to live texting-free so that I can complain about it without coming across as a total hypocrite.

All was going quite well, of course, until AT&T politely informed me that I would need to purchase a messaging plan if I wished to update my contract with my new phone.

Well then.

I now have a phone with texting, and I find myself with a bit of a dilemma.  No, I’m not going to turn up my nose and refuse to text – I’m forking over an extra twenty bucks a month for it, so I might as well use it.  And no, I’m not going to whine about people texting now, because guess what…I actually enjoy it.

I’ve never had a phone with texting before, and now that I do, I see what the fuss is all about.  It’s quick.  It’s convenient.  It can be done quietly – not just in class when the professor’s looking the other way, but in a library or study lounge, or in the morning when your roomie’s sleeping and you don’t want to say anything out loud.  I’ve had it for a day, and I’ve already used it a number of times.  It’s pretty great, I have to say.

If (or when, I suppose, although I’d like to keep this in the realm of possibility only) I become addicted, I will never say a negative word about those who text constantly; as it is, however, I will continue to do so.  Because hey – I’m not obsessed with it yet.  I can’t type that quickly on a tiny keyboard, and most people I know still prefer the old-school verbal method of communication (rock on!).  But I promise that, if such a day arrives, I will sincerely apologize to all the girls I’ve complained about over the past year and a half.  If such a day arrives.  We’ll see.  I may be approaching the dark side, but they haven’t completely converted me yet.

Unless, of course, they really do have cookies.

Ahem.  I digress.

Did you know that the Kwakiutl of British Columbia believe that, when a person dies, their soul enters the body of a salmon?  Thus, when a salmon is caught and eaten later on, a soul is released and able to move on to the spirit world.  According to their faith, spirits can only be released from their bodies through consumption; this is why the salmon are considered a sacred and valued food, and it also explains why the Kwakiutl see nothing wrong with eating a deceased relative.  This is not the barbaric cannibalism that so disgusts members of our society, but a respectful ritual that enables the person’s spirit to enter a salmon and, eventually, the spirit world.

You may also be surprised to learn that human blood was once thought to be a cure for epilepsy.  It was most powerful if drunk immediately after the supplier passed away, and the blood of those who died violently was particularly effective.  This practice occurred in Europe as recently as 200 years ago.

Perhaps you’re a fan of statistics.  If so, consider this.  The top 358 billionaires in the world have a combined income equal to that of the 2.3 billion poorest people in the world.

Think about it.

I. Love. Sudoku.  I probably didn’t need to tell you this, because I’m nearly always working on one when I’m out in public – you know that girl in your anthropology lecture who carries the book of them around with her?  Yep, that’s me.  Whether I’m waiting in the dining hall for my friends or sitting in a classroom and killing time before the professor arrives, I can’t help but whip out a puzzle and fill in as many numbers as I can.

I’ve always liked sudoku, but I don’t think I’ve ever been as obsessed with them until this year.  Before, I’d pick them up on occasion in my spare time, and I have to admit that I was pretty damn good at solving them.  Well…pretty damn good at the easy ones, that is.  When it came to harder ones, I’d stress over them, peek at the answers, feel guilty about peeking, and then abandon the whole thing for the more leisurely option of fiction or video games.

However, my sophomore year of college, I began reading the campus newspaper and realized that a sudoku was offered every day.  As you can imagine, I was delighted…and as you can also imagine, once I realized that the editors chose the most diabolical Sudoku puzzles possible for the paper, I realized that it would only be yet another source of stress and discouragement.

Fortunately, I happened to be in a particularly determined mood the first time I tried one and realized it wasn’t easy, and thus, I forced myself to keep going and not give up on it.  And as a result…I solved it!

Ever since, I’ve been solving one a day, and I’ve never felt better.  I’ve read that your logic skills get better over time, and though that never seems likely when you start out, it’s so very true.  I’ve started thinking of the puzzles in different ways, and I’ve developed my own strategies to help me solve them.  Well, perhaps they’re not strategies of my own invention, but I discovered them without the help of a book or other outside instruction, and that’s really all that matters.

Give it a try!  Start with some easy ones and move on up in difficulty as you go, but make sure you solve them regularly.  The more you practice, the better you’ll get, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first.  You’ll find them challenging, but in a good way.  You might even find them fun.

Besides, out of all the obsessions and addictions you could possibly find yourself plagued with, number puzzles are probably among the best.

1. Go to Google Maps
2. Click on “Get Directions”
3. Put “Japan” as the starting point
4. Put “China” as the ending point
5. Go to #43 on the directions list

But wait – there’s more.  Try this – enter “Seattle, WA” instead of Japan and “Honolulu, HI” instead of China.  Change the method of transportation to “walking”.  Go to #10.

Remember those little awesome things I was talking about, the ones that add up and make life awesome in general?  Yeah, this is one of those things.

For those of you who think me stereotypical, bitter, or both, I urge you to consider the results of a recent scientific discovery that has shed light on this very phenomenon.  In essentials, as a result of male selection, women are evolving and becoming more beautiful with each passing generation.

Sounds crazy, but it’s true.  And here are some facts to prove it.

After studying a group of 1,244 women and 997 men over a period of forty years, researchers from the University of Helsinki observed that the more attractive women generally had 16% more children than those with plainer features.  Also, attractive parents were 26% less likely to have sons; thus, with attractive women passing on their genes and producing equally attractive daughters, it’s no surprise that attractiveness is becoming more and more common in the population.  The fact that these daughters are going on to have increased numbers of children only speeds up the process.

As is the case with runaway selection, there may not be a limit to female beauty.  As the population grows more attractive, males will still continue to select from among the most aesthetically pleasing women.  This process will repeat over and over again, and women will only continue to grow more and more beautiful.

What about men, you may ask?  Women are clearly after handsome guys as well, right?  So why aren’t men evolving and becoming more attractive as well?

The truth is that, while appearance is indeed a factor, the ability of a man to provide for and protect his wife is a much bigger one.  Women tend to favor men with secure jobs or a high income, not because they are greedy, but because they know they will be supported throughout the duration of their marriage.  Thus, while women feel an evolutionary pressure to be attractive, men feel a similar pressure to be successful.

Of course, men often choose women based on attributes other than their appearance, and women will choose men even if they aren’t rich.  This is just a general observation, and it’s not meant to apply to every single scenario out there.  It just makes you realize – selection is everywhere, and it’s happening all around us.  Even when we’re completely unaware of it, we’re the one’s making it happen.

Fascinating!

This particular story, titled “The End of the World As We Know It” and written by Dale Bailey, is not your typical at-world’s-end tale, full of rugged survivors who must fight for their lives in a bleak world devastated by war or plague.  This is a story centered around an average, unremarkable human being, no more prepared to face such a scenario than you or I.  It is this – his helpless, quiet acceptance of what has befallen the world – that makes the story so intriguing and incredibly heart wrenching.

Wyndham, our humble protagonist, is a man of routine.  Nearly every day for the past sixteen years, he’s woken up at the same time, showered, and eaten a quick breakfast before heading off to his job as a UPS deliveryman.  But right before he leaves, he always wakes his wife up for a quick goodbye, savoring her tender smile.

On one fateful day, however, she doesn’t wake up.  Nor does anyone else in the entire world.

At this point, I was scared for him; he was so easy to relate to that I could often picture myself in his place, and thus, I too felt the sickening shock of reality when he realizes he’s quite possibly the only man alive on Earth.  What is there to do?  What is the point of following normal routines or even living if everyone else has gone and there is no one to answer to?  These are questions that are not present in most post-apocalyptic stories.  Instead of action and fighting and brutality, there is naught but the slow passage of time as Wyndham figures out how to move on in a world entirely devoid of human life.  In the end, he does stumble across another person, but while she is focused on procreation and restoring the human race – a typical feature of most stories in this genre – he remains indifferent.  He wishes he could tell her that “the end of the world isn’t about any of that stuff.  The end of the world is about something else, he doesn’t have a word for it.”

It is the acknowledgement of stereotypes such as the “Adam and Eve” phenomenon that makes this story so fascinating.  Readers of post-apocalyptic fiction have seen the world come to an end in so many different ways, and they have seen equally many means of coping with such devastation.  Now…what would happen if the world were to suddenly come to an end at this very moment?  These people would probably reflect on the stereotypes of all the stories they’d read, and they’d probably be surprised to discover how many of the stereotypes were completely false.  Such is how Wyndham thinks as he continues to explore and make sense of what has happened.

For instance, he comments on the cars that people typically drive in post-apocalyptic stories – “the jaded sophisticates tend to drive souped-up sports cars, often racing them along the Australian coastline because what else to they have to live for; everyone else drives rugged SUVs.”  He then acknowledges his ordinary Volvo, deeming it “entirely adequate to his needs.”    When he drives to a town in search of liquor, no one shoots at him, nor is he attacked by wild animals or looters.  Everything is quiet and peaceful – just as you’d expect it to be if every human were to vanish off the face of the earth.  In a way, this makes the story all the more haunting, as well as terrifyingly realistic.

There are so many elements of this story that come together beautifully – the stream-of-consciousness thoughts that follow certain observations, which add a comfortable familiarity to the prose; the clarity and detail with which Wyndham describes what he sees and thinks along the way; the richly developed character of Wyndham himself.  These aspects combine to create a world that sucks you in with wide eyes – a world that both intrigues and terrifies you, for you realize that it could happen at any moment.  There is heartbreak and inexplicable sadness upon turning the final page, and it was at that moment that I realized that story would haunt me for quite some time.

I would recommend this to anyone and everyone, especially those who are fond of the post-apocalyptic genre and are looking for something a little closer to home.  It’s a profoundly deep, thoughtful story, and it proves an interesting point – the end of the world means something different to all of us.  It doesn’t necessarily have to be a legitimate apocalypse; it could be a natural disaster or the death of a beloved family member.

Devastation, really, is in the eye of the beholder.

As usual, it all started with the weather.

If you’re a college student who relies on naught but your own feet to get to and from your classes, then you are all too familiar with that sinking feeling you wake up to a roaring downpour.  Chances are you are also familiar with the uncomfortable chilliness of sitting in a lecture hall in soaking wet clothes for over an hour.  And if you go to UConn as well, you are probably extremely familiar with, and thus, entirely fed up with, the relentless wind that turns your umbrella inside out and drives the rain into your body with such horizontal force that you wonder why you brought an umbrella with you in the first place.

Such was my walk to my morning calculus lecture.

I suppose I won’t go into much more detail at this point, because anything containing the word “calculus” is, by definition, emotionally devastating, and to my disappointment, most of my classes that day followed that trend.  I’m a fairly tolerant person, but there is only so much incessant whispering, texting, whining, and factual information to remember that I can cope with in a single day.

This isn’t always the case, really.  On most days.  I’m energetic and eager to learn.  Once I overcome the massive obstacle of dragging myself out of my incredibly cozy bed and into an incredibly steamy shower, I find myself fully awake and ready to take on the challenges that life and calculus will inevitably throw in my way.  I suppose it’s just today’s special combination of the rain and the classes and the girls who chattered throughout the entire ecology lecture and the three exams coming up next week and the exam coming up tomorrow and the lack of sleep and the fact that today’s sudoku was too damn difficult.

As always, it’s a bunch of little things that pile up into something massive, something that makes you want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over your head and drop out of society for just a little while.

Unfortunately, there are more classes to go to.  There’s homework to do.  There are responsibilities that can’t be ignored.  But how to cope?  Putting things in a positive light didn’t exactly work; try as I might, I can’t really find the good in abstract math, save for the fact that it makes me feel like a genius when I actually know what I’m doing.

So I decided instead to focus on myself instead, on keeping my own mood heightened and my mind clear.  And considering I’m all about simple pleasures, it wasn’t all that hard to do.

I took a hot shower and put on my favorite jeans and a cozy sweatshirt.  I made myself some hot chocolate while finishing up the last of my anthropology homework.  When dinnertime came around, I avoided the crowds swarming the dining hall and stopped at a cafe instead for a sandwich and a wonderfully soft chocolate chip cookie.  After some searching, I found a cool, quiet space with a huge table and a comfy chair (one of the best combinations to look for when studying at college), set up my laptop, and just let myself relax.

Simple, yes.  But incredibly therapeutic as well.  A combination of negative little things can add up to something scary, but by that logic, a bunch of positive little things can add up to something awesome.

Nice try, higher power.  But you have been foiled again, and you might as well believe me the next time I say I’m an optimist.  I look forward to your next challenge.

Just not during finals week, if you wouldn’t mind.

Attitude is, in fact, everything.  Am I starting to sound like your high school track coach yet?  Good.  Seriously, though – you’d be surprised how, by changing your outlook on life, you can change everything.  It really is that simple.  Admittedly, the sources of your stresses and fears won’t vanish into thin air, but the stress and fear they cause can be radically diminished if you turn your back on all the negativity and embrace the good in things.

Don’t tell yourself that you’re going to fail the three exams your professors kindly threw at you with only a week’s notice.  Focus on how well your studying is going to go and how confident you will feel as a result when you sit in your seat with your number two pencil.  Don’t let yourself think that you’re not worthy of your significant other when they tell you that, in no uncertain terms, it’s over.  Lift your head up and understand that this is no reflection on you whatsoever, and know that there is someone for you out there, as long as you’re patient and open-minded.

Whether you’re stressed, depressed, broken-hearted, angry, or just overwhelmed by the world in general, optimism is always a solution.

Unfortunately, your problems will not magically disappear when you start looking on the bright side of life.  Break-ups will still hurt.  Exams will still lurk in the distance like threatening storm clouds.  But you’d be surprised how the symptoms of such things can be assuaged with just a little positive thinking.  You will have to put some effort into it, but the results are always worthwhile.

Try it, even if just for a day.  Next time you hear someone complain about something, respond with a positive outlook.  Next time you’re feeling as if your workload will never end, think about something awesome you can look forward to or reward yourself with.  It works for people, too.  If someone’s getting on your nerves, try and look for a quality or attribute that casts them in a positive light, like their admittedly clever sense of humor or their unique clothing style.

As always, you will face naysayers along the way, because some see optimists as annoyingly chipper and unrealistic.  Are we?  It’s possible.  But at least we’re living a far happier life than those who wallow in negativity at every waking moment.

Optimism (right) can frustrate others (left). Be strong! Remain undeterred!

Besides, it’s worth the compliments you will most likely receive from people who are impressed and intrigued by your open-mindedness.  I have had multiple friends and acquaintances tell me that they admire my ability “to always find the good in everyone and everything”.  I was incredibly honored to hear I possessed such a quality, and it has only increased my desire to think positively whenever I can.  I encourage you to do the same.

So…half full?  Or half empty?  The scenario at hand doesn’t change, really – either way, you’re swallowing the same amount of water.  But it’s the way you perceive it that counts, my friend, and believe me, it makes all the difference.

From the moment you walk through the door, you are swept up in a current of pleasant chatter and offbeat music and the subtle yet utterly delightful aroma of warm coffee that still lingers on your jacket even after you’ve left.  There are seating arrangements to suit every need, from laptop-sized tables to cozy velvet chairs that are nearly impossible to climb out of once you’ve settled in with a hot drink and a book.  The fare, though on the pricey side, is nothing short of divine; even the most stubborn of skeptics need only swallow a mouthful of chai and a bite of lemon pound cake before they’re hooked.

Unfortunately, every utopia has its flaws.  There are screaming children.  There are roving packs of middle schoolers who buy nothing but chocolate chip cookies and take up eight tables.  There are adults who, instead of waiting patiently for their order to be called out, stand with their elbows on the counter, ready to spring as soon as their drink has been prepared.

My frustration lies with not only these elements (though I could probably devote an entire article to griping about them), but with something more personal.  And that something is this – my mom’s typical drink order.  Which, as I have so painstakingly memorized, is this – a grande, no-water, no-foam, extra-hot, non-fat chai.  More specifically, it requires an extra pump of chai mix, and “extra-hot” implies that it be heated to precisely 180 degrees – no more, no less.

You may say that this is no big deal, that this is a perfectly normal drink order, and that I really need to stop making mountains out of molehills.  However, I urge you to consider the effect that such an order might possibly have had on a small, painfully shy preteen girl, who often resorted to writing the description on a small scrap of paper so as not to forget it (which, as you can imagine, made the recitation of the order all the more embarrassing).  I assure you that, when I describe the antics that would so often ensue, I am not in any way exaggerating.

“What can I get for you today?”

“Uh…yes…can I have a grande…no-water…non-fat…extra-hot…no-foam chai?”

“Wait…sorry, can you repeat that?  You said grande, right?  No water, skim milk…”

“Yeah.  And also – sorry – can you make that extra-hot?  And with no foam?”

“Okay, so…let me make sure I’ve got this.  A grande, no-water, non-fat chai?  With no foam?

Yes.  And extra-hot, if you wouldn’t mind.

*Writes on cup*  No…foam…extra…hot…  Gotcha.  Anything else?

Uh, yeah…is there any way you can make it really hot?  Like, 180 degrees?

Yeah, sure, we can do that.  Okay, that’ll be three-eighty.

Oh – sorry – one more thing.

Yeah?

Can you put an extra pump of the chai stuff in it?

Because I have already gone on for much too long, and considering that I will most likely continue to do so, I have provided you with the absolute best-case scenario.  In most cases, the experience is far worse.  I have repeated key ingredients multiple times.  I have been asked if I could simply hand over the scrap of paper and let them read it for themselves.  I have returned the drink to my mom with an internal sigh of relief, only to turn and head back into the store due to the thin layer of foam that somehow made it to the surface of the otherwise impeccably-crafted chai.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the actual calling out of the order upon completion of the drink, which the barista would always do in the most theatrical fashion possible.  My face would burn under the heat of a hundred stares as I shuffled up to the counter in response to the almighty bellow, “I’ve got a grande, NON fat, NO water, NO foam, EXTRA hot, 180-degree chai!  There you go, miss.  Have an EXCELLENT day!”

I must say though, to my mom’s credit, this has certainly helped me grow as a person.  It sounds corny, turning such an experience into a life lesson, but it’s true.  I’ve learned to overcome my self-consciousness, and I’ve come to realize that not everyone is actually staring at me when my drink is called.  I’ve gained the confidence to march right back in there when they do, in fact, put foam on my drink – not because I’m inherently obnoxious, but because I’m a paying customer and I deserve nothing less.

Despite this, it remains some consolation that this mainly occurs in the fall and winter months.  Thankfully, when the weather’s warm, my mom favors a humble iced coffee instead.  Made with half regular coffee, half decaf.  With four – count ‘em – pumps of mocha sauce.  And no room for milk, of course, because you get less coffee that way.

And don’t forget – no ice.