AUSB Odyssey - Fall 2012 by AUSB

THE AUSB ODYSSEY Fall 2012

The “Villains & Monsters” Edition Jamaica Horton on

Breast Cancer awareness Month Alex Richardson shares her

Guilty Pleasure foods Andrea Tate explores

the dark side of chocolate The villain in me by Richard Somdah

The Ultimate Terrorist by Stuart Light, MA

T he AU S B Odyssey Contributors STUDENTS

“Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Atty is a single Mom who plans on earning her masters degree in Public Administration, hopefully with an emphasis in Domestic Violence and International Policy, before she attempts a Juris Doctorate at law school. She wanted to be a social worker for many years, until she discovered they must follow rules instead of make them. She would like to work for the State Department Office of Global Women’s Issues and hopes to work with both governments and NGOs to assist in establishing domestic violence shelters and women’s medical and prenatal care centers throughout the world, but specifically in the Middle East/Eurasian areas.

Charity Hill

When I am not singing in the shower, putting on my face, or making people want to hurl from my driving, I am making sarcastic remarks to make people laugh. My greatest accomplishments are my children, Adrianna and Colby, who I love and cherish; there is nothing more precious than having children who support and love one another. I want to live the rest of my life helping youth and young adults overcome their obstacles, I want to stop bullying, and I want to make a difference globally. Antioch has helped me see that the world is bigger than my backyard.

FACULTY Stuart S. Light, M.A., M.Ed.

Stuart Light is an Affiliate Faculty member of the Masters Program in Clinical Psychology, an Adjunct Faculty member of the BA Program in Psychology, and an Adjunct Professor at Santa Barbara City College. He is also a local writer who has published many articles and columns over the years on social, political, and mental health issues. He has been a frequent contributor to AUSB Odyssey. He also works with individuals, couples and families and the Family Therapy Institute of Santa Barbara.

ALUMNI Andrea Tate

Andrea lives in Agoura Hills, CA, and graduated from AUSB with a B.A. in Liberal Studies in June of 2012. She has been accepted into one of the top five Low Residency M.F.A. Graduate Writing Programs in the country: Antioch University Los Angeles.

Brooke Robison

Brooke, jack-of-all-trades, world traveler, and free spirit, enjoys living in her native Santa Barbara. She is currently enrolled in the Liberal Arts B.A. program with plans to follow her passions wherever they might lead her. Brooke loves to involve herself in a wide array of causes that she describes as “bigger than herself.” Anyone who follows their own ambitions and stand up for what they believe in inspires her. When not studying at Antioch or teaching Pilates, you can find Brooke behind the camera, rolling in the sand at the beach, or promoting a cause. 2

Cover Photo: Brooke Robison

“This photo was shot in Barcelona, Spain. I was walking up to the famous Park Guell when I came across an underground tunnel fully covered with graffiti from one end to the other. It was very dark in the tunnel and this was just one of the horrifying images portrayed on the wall.”

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters Staff Jamaica Horton

Hailing from the valley, Jamaica enjoys roaring down the mountains on her way to school each day. A dedicated mother to the best kid ever, she relishes using her spare time to race that youngster from one activity to the next. Jamaica, a passionate scribbler can be found settled at a desk in the Writing Center most days, eagerly awaiting to help her next victim, err, um… fellow classmates, with their academic scrawls and jabbers. So, next time you perchance upon her in the learning commons, don’t be shy, rather grab some pen and paper and she will gladly help you doodle out your next research topic!

Jeffrey Lovelace (Editor)

Former entrepreneur and photographic artist, Jeffrey is now a semi-retired perpetual student with an anomalous distinction; he started at Antioch University Santa Barbara in 1987, but has yet to graduate. His writings and photographs have been published in Santa Barbara Magazine, and Sky & Telescope magazine, among others. He is currently fifty four years ancient, but expects that to change late next summer.

Alex Richardson

According to her horoscope, Alex is a compassionate, adaptable, and indecisive little fish. But she’ll let you determine if her astrological description is correct, since, you know, she can’t decide. With only one quarter left until she completes her B.A., she has a wicked case of Senioritis, a poorly understood condition for which there is little to no public concern. “Where’s my benefit concert?” Alex says of her troubling ailment, “Senioritis is a very terrible thing to live with. Someone should really do more to help those of us who are suffering from this, but not me because, I’m graduating soon.” You might be able to find Alex in the library this quarter. If she’s wearing sunglasses, check to make sure she’s not really asleep.

Richard Somdah

Richard is an outgoing, energetic yet calm, kool-collected, athlete/singer/writer enrolled in the B.A. program, majoring in Communication and Media. After growing up in Houston and living in Atlanta and Los Angeles, he has chosen to settle here in Santa Barbara and pursue his education and his passion as an entrepreneurial musician. Motivated by his mom, son, and spirituality, he is ready to take on the world one day at a time.

Meryl Peters - Faculty Advisor

Meryl earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing in 1999 as part of the inaugural M.F.A class of Antioch University Los Angeles. Her short fiction has appeared in various literary magazines, and her novel is currently under consideration. Meryl teaches a cross section of writing and literature classes in the B.A. program at AUSB and is a member of the SBCC English Department. Her personal heroes and first students are her two children from whom she continues to learn as she does from her AUSB writers. Rule #1 in Meryl’s creative classes is “There Are No Rules.” 3

T he A U S B Odyssey Ta b l e o f C o n t e n t s 10

Fiction Do the Ends Justify the Means?

“Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

18 Condemned

Jeffrey Lovelace

30 Birthday Parting Jeffrey Lovelace

Creative Nonfiction 24 The Villain in Me Richard Somdah

Poetry 16 Inside Her Room Jamaica Horton

17 Ghost Duster

Jamaica Horton

26 My Other Half Brooke Robison

35 Civilized

“Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

27 Light Fades Charity Hill 4

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters Ta b l e o f C o n t e n t s Columns 6 Letter From The Editor Jeffrey Lovelace

8 The Ultimate Terrorist

Faculty Voice: Stuart S. Light, M.A., M.Ed.

National Breast Cancer Awareness Month Staff Picks - Social Justice: Jamaica Horton

Faces of AUSB: Alex Richardson

13 Cat Cornejo 20 Madelaine Codecido 36 Charity Hill 14

Library Director Christine Forte

Guilty Pleasure Foods: The Best of the Worst

The Dark Side of Chocolate

AUSB Trustee Jerry Roberts

Antioch’s Own Jen Baron

Faculty Profile: Richard Somdah

Staff Picks - Food: Alexandra Richardson Alumni Voice: Andrea Tate

Trustee Profile: Jeffrey Lovelace

Staff Picks - Music: Richard Somdah

37 Antioch Quotes 38 Santa Barbara’s Sunday Tradition Staff Picks - The Arts: Jeffrey Lovelace 39 Calendar of Events

Alexandra Richardson 5

T he AU S B Odyssey A Letter from the Editor: Jeffrey Lovelace “A villain must be a thing of power, handled with delicacy and grace. He must be wicked enough to excite our aversion, strong enough to arouse our fear, human enough to awaken some transient gleam of sympathy. We must triumph in his downfall, yet not barbarously nor with contempt, and the close of his career must be in harmony with all its previous development.” -Agnes Repplier

Odd thing: while we find fictional villains delicious, real life villains are, well, not so much. In popular fiction and films the super villains often live in secret compounds where they plot the destruction of our society; and they always have an endless supply of henchmen willing to kill and die for their cause. Then the hero swaggers onto the scene, wades through the sea of evil side characters, and takes out the criminal

Welcome to the Fall, 2012 issue of The AUSB Odyssey, the “Villains & Monsters” edition. This is my first go-round as editor of this fine publication. I want to thank my esteemed predecessor, Chelsea Bets Christenson, for setting the bar so high I have exhausted myself trying to reach it; forget about topping it.

mastermind in an epic battle. After tying up loose ends, fade to black. That’s entertainment. We pay good money for it, and I love it as much as anyone. Osama Bin Laden lived in secret compounds where he plotted and orchestrated death to America,

The previous edition focused on the theme

i.e. you and me. He had an endless supply of henchmen

“Heroes.” The staff and I thought it fitting to follow

bent on killing and dying for the cause. And kill they

that up with the opposite extreme, “Villains.” Why?

did, real people too, thousands of them, soldiers and

In fiction, villains are fun. Erase the bad guy from any

civilians, men, women and children.

blockbuster book or movie and you have a bunch of

Not so entertaining, horrifying actually. We pay

latent heroes sleeping in, paying bills, and struggling

good money (taxes) to stop such real “evil doers,” and I

with relationships, just like everyone else; yawn.

hate them as much as anyone.

But then pencil the villain back into the scene.

It took about a decade for thousands of dedicated

Make him or her “empathy challenged,” and greedy for

people working around the clock just to find Bin Laden.

power, vengeance, or vanity. Only then can virtuous

Then a team of logistical specialists and elite Navy Seals

yet reluctant citizens rise to meet evil’s test, champions

finished the violent job, which makes them unnamed

whose heroics enable the surviving characters to return

heroes. We must also count as heroes the faceless

to their grateful lives of sleeping in, paying bills and

CIA agents in the field and analysts in their Langley,

struggling with relationships. Without villains and

Virginia, cubicles, despite our potential misgivings

monsters, what need have we for heroes?

about some of “The Comapny’s” past actions.

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs Yet this distributed, anonymous, real-life

In this edition Professor Stuart Light sets the

heroism feels murkier and less satisfying than when a

tone by describing the psychodynamics of fear. In his

ridiculous, catch-phrase spewing superhero reenacts

enlightening essay “The Ultimate Terrorist”, Professor

the event in the inevitable movie version. Our psyche

Light states that “there is a warrior inside the psyche

craves a face and a name to cheer; even if he’s some

that engages in endless battles, rationalizes the shrouds

Hollywood narcissist who’s only real talent is wearing

and scars, and craves some illusory victory.” Richard Somdah, in his entertaining essay “The

costumes and pretending to be somebody else. Villains need faces too. Bin Laden is gone but Al

Villain in Me,” describes the inner conflict between

Qaida henchmen continue to kill for their cause, most

positive action and negative thoughts that are like “…

recently murdering the U.S. Ambassador to Libya and

little bandits stealing the joy of my soul piece-by-piece,

members of his staff. Yet we felt that Osama’s death was

little piranha eating away at the exposed flesh of my

a major accomplishment because it came with a name

happiness.” Jamaica Horton gives us a laugh out loud piece

we all knew and that unmistakable gray beard. We humans share a deep need to personalize,

about a serious real-life monster, breast cancer, in a way

fictionalize and exaggerate events beyond reason.

that only Jamaica can pull-off. She also moves us with

Only then can episodes capture the imagination and

breathtaking, multilayered poems guaranteed to haunt

engage the whole brain. Consider the glorious legends,

your dreams.

and impossible myths passed down through the

Atty Garfinkel’s short story “Do the Ends Justify

generations of every ancient culture on the face of the

the Means?” carries us ever deeper into the moral gray

earth; consider the populatiry of silly superhero movies

area navigated by a wheel chair bound victim of violent

today. It’s what we humans do.

assault.

The previous Odyssey edition featured many

In “Guilty Pleasure Foods: The Best of the

names and faces of real heroes here in SB. I hope we

Worst,” Alexandra Richardson gives-in to a different

added to their “local legend” status. Good citizens need

kind of conflict, encouraging us to “take a load off…

to be lauded for their good work so they can inspire

and treat yourself... After all, you deserve it.”

more good work.

You will find plenty more informative and

We need to identify, personalize, and fictionalize

entertaining pieces by us AUSB students. So forget

villains as well. Only then can we morph them into

about real-life’s stresses and frustrations; put your feet

useful cautionary tales, and tangible targets for our ever

up and tuck into some delicious homegrown villainy.

simmering outrage and paranoia.

Ω 7

T he A U S B Odyssey Faculty Voice: Stuart S. Light, M.A., M.Ed.

T h e U l t i m a t e Te r r o r i s t We are in grave danger.

The enemy has

rationalizes the shrouds and scars, and craves some

penetrated our borders and lives among us. He strikes at

illusory victory. There is also a healer who kneels and

will, without remorse, knocking down our twin towers

relates to the leprous wounds carried within the heart,

of love and compassion. We are under siege as he eats

wants to bathe them clean with compassion, and smile

away at us like a cancer, destroying our humanity and

into the eyes of fear. In a healthy psyche the warrior

undermining the foundations of our lives. He eclipses

and healer coexist, allowing life to unfold with balance

our vision, turning the world into a dark, foreboding

and optimism. The warrior protects without destroying

place. He compels us to defend and attack rather than

others; wounds are exposed without destroying the self.

connect and embrace; to reject rather than accept; to

It is said, “The greatest warrior is one who never has

judge rather than understand. He is the most powerful

to use his sword.” Unless we rethink the nature of the

and deadly terrorist the world has ever known, and his

enemy and stop looking for him outside of ourselves,

name is Fear.

we will never be able to heal our wounds and find peace

within, or in the world.

We carry on wars within families, our

communities, among races, genders, nationalities,

Thomas Merton said, “At the root of all war is

nations, and ourselves. They are all a reflection of

fear.” More than fifty years ago, Carl Jung expressed his

the inner twisting of conflict and fear. We sit in our

concern that humans had come to a turning point. In

homes, in comfortable chairs, watching images unfold

the aftermath of World War II, he realized that never

on screens. Buildings erupt in smoke and flame, tanks

before in history had the extermination of so many

roll across desert landscapes, dead and mangled bodies

rested in the hands of so few. He was concerned, not

lay along side the road. How can they slaughter other

only about the bomb, but about overpopulation and

human beings?

the abuse of the environment. He believed that it was

It seems to be happening “out there” but, in

within the individual psyche to turn the course of this

some form, it exists within all of us. There is a warrior

malignant tide. We could survive if a sufficient number

inside the psyche that engages in endless battles,

of us could “maintain the tension of the opposites.” He

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs was referring to the parts of ourselves, which we hold in

It can’t be snuffed out by drones, or chased down and

the light of our awareness, and their opposites – those

killed. Nor can it be wished, prayed, or voted away. It

that lurk in what he called the shadow of our psyche.

will only be defeated when as many of us as possible can

We learn to disown this shadow in two

dare to look our own truth in the eyes without fear.

predominant ways – by projecting it up and out

Here in our campus community we have already

where it becomes an external enemy (splitting in

spent countless hours and tears agonizing over the

psychodynamic terms), or down and in to our muscles,

seemingly senseless and violent death of one of our own.

bones, and heart where it becomes toxic. On the one

Nobody saw it coming. What must be wrong with the

side we march off to war like lions, appearing to be afraid of nothing, ready to destroy and conquer. On the other, hidden deep within the shadow, we cower in fear. Only in embracing this shadow can we find the light. Longfellow once wrote, “If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each person’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.”

Every time we disassociate and turn

someone else into the enemy, we might consider how we are disowning aspects of our own suffering. There is usually a wound hidden deep within the shadow causing old fears to invade our experience and cloud our thinking. Beneath all of the perceived enemies we are facing today, is the imperative to change our own lives and the way we relate to the world. The hostility that drives the political discourse of our time, that drives people, families, communities and nations apart, must be overcome. Yet it can’t be tortured, bombed, or legislated out of existence. It can’t be contained or hidden behind huge concrete walls.

“There is a warrior inside the psyche that engages in endless battles, rationalizes the shrouds and scars, and craves some illusory victory.” young man that committed this horrific deed? In the wake of the seemingly senseless slaughter of innocent movie goers in Aurora Colorado, we will once again try to understand and explain by looking outward. Are the hyper-violent movies and video games to blame? Can we blame the politicians who shun gun control legislation in favor of votes? And again, what must be wrong with this young man that committed mass murder? Nobody saw it coming. We’ll agonize, analyze and search desperately for answers as we always do. Time will pass and the horror will fade. But the terrorist that poses the gravest threat to all of us living in this world will remain dangerous and hidden. Not in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, or Iran, but in the darkness of our own hearts. Ω 9

T he A U S B Odyssey Fiction: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Do the Ends Justify the Means? Maryam felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she heard the click of a gun and felt the cylinder against her back. Pure unadulterated terror gripped her as her breathing became panicked and rapid. She felt a jerk as her purse was yanked off of her arm. Her assailant’s instructions were simple “Get on the ground and don’t move until I tell you.” Yet she was frozen, unable to move. She never felt the first blow to the back of her head. She was just dizzy, and suddenly it felt as if the ground reached up and grabbed her. She turned her head and rolled over and in so doing caught a glimpse of her attacker. As the kicks and punches rained down upon her she heard a loud bang and began to cry out, then she heard the voice of her psychiatrist rousing her from her hypno-therapy. “Maryam, why don’t you sit up now? Do you want to talk about what you were able to remember?” Maryam was still in tears and shook her head in silence. “Did you remember more this time?” Maryam nodded as her therapist droned on about coming to terms with her trauma, facing her fears and finding a place where she felt safe again. The words were almost garbled as if being recited over a fast food drive through microphone. She slowly pulled herself together, dried her tears and glanced at the clock. Her appointment time was nearly over and she began to collect her things. “Can you call Ben in here to help me please?” Maryam finally spoke and her therapist complied. Ben was a strong burly man holding Maryam’s purse and pushing her wheelchair. Maryam thanked her doctor and Ben lifted her into the chair. As they reached the street Maryam’s anxiety 10

began to increase, she had to get away or do something! When they got next to the alley where Maryam had been mugged and shot, she was in tears and clung to Ben’s hand as he pushed her. Ben had been so supportive since that night. Perhaps it was guilt; after all, if he hadn’t wrecked the car the week before she wouldn’t have been walking down that ally that night, and were it not for his drinking she would not have been alone when she needed him the most. But these were not things that Maryam would have ever vocalized even if she had thought them. These were Ben’s demons to face and as they wheeled into the rear parking lot at the police station they were heavy on his mind. Maryam swiped her key card at the door and Ben wheeled her inside. “Good afternoon Maryam, good afternoon detective Steinbeck.” A voice rang out from the desk sergeant on duty. “Hi Bill, how’s the Camaro coming?” Ben called back, “Fine, just fine thanks. Maryam, are you working today?” Maryam looked up at the fat old sergeant and forced a smile “Yes, I’m ready to get back to my baby, or, um, computer.” A laugh floated down the hall after them as they headed towards Maryam’s office. The glass on the door read “Maryam Steinbeck, Records.” Ben bent over and gave Maryam a kiss before he headed up to the second floor and his own office. “I’ll see you a little after four, ok honey?” Maryam nodded and put a brave smile on her face. As Ben left the room Maryam locked the door and wheeled herself over to her computer. Ben thought she was locking herself in because she was afraid, but she just didn’t want anyone to see what she was working on.

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs As she opened an encrypted file the photograph and full arrest record of her assailant filled the screen. “I have to come to terms with what you did to me. I have to face my fears and I have to make this world a place where I feel safe again.” Maryam hissed at the face on her computer screen. Her eyes were no longer the misty tear filled eyes of a terrorized woman, but filled with loathing and vengeance. She reached for a pen but it was out of her reach. Stiffly Maryam stood out of her wheel chair and grasped the pen before sitting back into her chair. She checked the door just to be safe. It wouldn’t do to have anyone knowing she could walk again. Maryam wrote down the home address listed in the file before she deleted the entire thing. Maryam wheeled herself over to a large locker in the corner of the room and took out a duffel bag, placed it on her lap and quietly wheeled herself down

Her eyes were no longer the misty tear filled eyes of a terrorized woman, but filled with loathing and vengeance. to the elevator in the hall, carefully avoiding any places within the view of on duty personnel. She took the elevator down to the garage and found the squad car she had the keys to. Maryam tossed the duffel into the front passenger seat and tossed her wheelchair in on top of it, and then she drove out of the garage. Maryam drove to a gas station where she changed into the uniform hidden in the duffel and put her wheel chair in the trunk. When she got back into the car she looked at the address she had written down, and then checked her gun’s silencer. Maryam drove with great precision and when she reached the address she got out of the car and walked into the house, gun in hand, without a knock. She found the man who had shot her in the

living room enjoying the company of his female companion. Maryam didn’t bat an eye as she raised the gun and shot him. The girl screamed in terror and Maryam shot her too. Maryam walked back to the car and dismantled the gun before she wiped it down and put it in its case. She drove back to the gas station where she changed out of the uniform, threw it into a dumpster full of cardboard and set it on fire. Maryam put the wheelchair back in the front seat and drove back to the police garage. After she snuck back into her office she went to her computer and began to work as it nothing had ever happened. When Ben walked in he noticed Maryam hadn’t locked the door. “Are you doing ok honey?” Maryam smiled “Yes. I think I’ve decided that I am going to come to terms with what happened and hiding in my office with the door locked isn’t coming to terms with it.” Ben bent over and gave Maryam a long kiss. As he stood up he commented “Do you smell that?” Maryam smiled “Smell what sweetie?” “I’m not sure; it’s like a faint smell of smoke.” Ben sniffed again “It must just be my nose. Are you ready to go?” Maryam smiled a sickeningly sweetie smile and crooned “I am now. You know I’m sure the doctors are wrong, I will walk again. I think I want to start physical therapy.” Ben smiled and as they walked past Bill the desk sergeant. A radio crackled softly “Dispatch, be advised we have a murder scene at 1693 Apple lane. We need Homicide and the Coroner’s office out here. Two vics, one male, one female, both appear to….” As the door closed Maryam smiled and Ben pushed her towards their house just a block away from the ally. Maryam closed her eyes and a look of satisfaction spread across her face. Ω 11

T he A U S B Odyssey Staff Picks - Social Justice: Jamaica Horton

National Breast Cancer Awareness Month Hurray! It’s October, a month of celebration. From the festive harvests of the fields to the macabre merriment of Halloween, October is definitely a month to highlight in your social calendar. So, while you are

Ask yourself one question “Is there really anything more worthy of celebration than breasts?”

busy planning all the get-togethers and parties you’ll

agencies “… working together to promote breast

attend, add one more event to that list; a mammogram,

cancer awareness, share information on the disease,

because it is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

and provide greater access to services.” Currently, they

(NBCAM), and healthy breasts are the best breasts.

are working on “educating and empowering women to

Ask yourself one question “Is there really

take charge of their own breast health” by connecting

anything more worthy of celebration than breasts?”

them with low to no-cost providers. To access this

No, of course not! Ok, one could make an argument for

service use the info provided below:

marriage equality or the ending of world poverty and starvation, but after that it’s got to be the boobs. What other part of the human body can be both soothing and exciting at the same time, simultaneously life-sustaining and pleasure-giving? Depending on whom they belong to and what they are being used for, (yes, that’s right, they are multi-functional), breasts are beautiful and sensuous, nourishing and comforting, or disturbing and strange (the images of my Aunt Susan’s will haunt me forever!) Regardless of what part they play in your life, breasts are definitely a firm, at least in their youth, member of our society; which is why they should be cared for and protected through preventative measures and cancer research and also, why in this month of festivity, you should take time to get the breasts in your life checked out. That’s where NBCAM comes in to help. NBCAM is a collection of national public service organizations, professional medical associations, and government 12

Information Line 1 (800) 511-2300 (in state) M-F: 9 am – 7 pm. In English, Spanish, Cantonese, Mandarin, Korean, and Vietnamese Even though this piece is written in humor and with a bit of jest, cancer is a serious, potentially devastating disease. So please, do your part, and keep our breasts healthy by scheduling that mammogram today! Reference: http://nbcam.org/

f a ll 2 0 1 2 Faces of AUSB: Alex Richardson

Cat Cornejo a little girl when she played “teacher” and her “[class] would be all my stuffed animals lined up in rows... and then my sister.”

A self described “Santa Barbara girl through and

through”, you can find Cat, “swimming/playing in the ocean, exploring by going on hikes in our mountains, window shopping while taking strolls down State Street, eating good food, going on bike rides, and going to concerts and listening to live music”. Some of her

You could say that Cat Cornejo is wise beyond

favorite music includes classics like Dean Martin and

her years and you’d be right. You’d also be correct in

Frank Sinatra, which remind her of her childhood with

saying that she is young at heart. With plans to become

her father, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Otis

an elementary school teacher, Cat adores spending time

Redding, John Mayer, and indie music. And of course,

with kids. She says, “I love kids, learning, and passing

Cat is a huge Johnny Cash fan, in fact her cat is named

on that learning to others.”

after him- Cash; and if you’ve seen him on Instagram,

Cat has used her passion of travel for good

you know he is quite the character. Cat also states,

through missions trips to Indonesia, Costa Rica, and

“Since I am a 90‘s kid, I am programmed to enjoy Pop

Belize. Cat says of her service, “I also love serving,

music.”

helping, and working for the benefit of others gaining

something valuable and precious.”

ahead of the gang, so to speak, married and working

Cat enjoys her time here at Antioch, especially

on her masters and teaching credential. And although

with her cohort, Oceana. Even though Cat hadn’t heard

people sometimes say to her, “You’re too young to be

of Antioch University until just before she applied, she

married”, Cat stays positive. “I just need to kick those

says it was an easy decision to come here after checking

thoughts out and reflect back on how good I have it. It’s

it out. Cat knew she wanted to be a teacher since she was

actually really fun to swim against the current.”

So while Cat is only 21 years old, she is already

Ω 13

T he A U S B Odyssey Faculty Profile: Richard Somdah

Library Director Christine Forte As students and staff are beginning to notice,

behind-the-scenes technologies that make all of the

Antioch University is making great strides towards

digital information products work better together.

unifying the Antioch community, as well as plugging

“For example, in the past year, if you were searching

them into the wide world of academic resources. A

a database and found an article that you wanted that

vital part of this surge is our own librarian, Christine

wasn’t immediately available in full text, it would be

Forte. Little known but very resourceful, she has a vast

necessary to find a link to We Deliver and manually enter

wealth of information, and is willing and capable of

the author, title, journal, and volume issue date. Now

helping anyone from any program at anytime.

the We Deliver request form is auto-populated from

She has worked in libraries across the world

the database. That seems so boring and uninteresting

from Austria to Bulgaria, all the way to Colorado, and

to talk about... and it doesn’t seem like it should be a

now here with us in Santa Barbara. She loves working

big deal... but it’s difficult to make a system where all

with students and faculty, helping them discover all the

information resources and tools play nicely with one

resources that are available to them. In her words she

another.” Although to some people that might sound a

keeps them “informationally empowered!”

little humdrum, just know that she is going above and

beyond to make research and accessing information a

Her mission as our Library Director is to

help people learn the skills they need to use the tools

lot easier than ever before.

available, and investigate anything they want to learn

about. “Knowing how to find relevant information

out to every student who has no clue where to begin.

about any topic and look at it critically is like a super

Come by the library or call in and she or her power

power - and it’s completely attainable,” says Forte.

team of library assistants will accommodate you in

Now more than ever the library is implementing

every way available. The library team wants you to

new programs, ordering more books, updating

start by finding any aspect of your research project that

computers, and accessing new databases. When asked

piques your curiosity. Ask yourself what interests you

her opinion on the future of the library Christine said,

about your topic? What are you curious about? What

“I think we will see more digital resources available

don’t you understand? If it’s a totally new topic, do

university wide.” She described how the biggest

some research and read Wikipedia articles. Afterwards

changes that have happened in the past few years are

bring any questions or confusion you have to the library

On the topic of research, Forte wants to reach

f a ll 2 0 1 2 and they will work with you. Two heads are always

better than one, especially when one has access to the

to service to the AU community. “In addition to me,

resources that our library provides.

there is a great team of work-study students and our

For those who have been with the Antioch

job is to support the community and help them learn

community since switching campuses, and for new

and accomplish whatever it is they come to the desk

students who haven’t become well acquainted, Forte

and ask us about. You have an information need? We

What hasn’t changed is the library’s commitment

want to help you figure it out!” says Christine.

Christine

also

wants

students

keep

their eyes peeled for opportunities to “Learn @ Lunch!” Periodically she hosts brown bag lunches, where the campus community can come together and learn together on a particular topic (eg. “APA Formatting, Getting the Most out of Google,” a session on iPads). She would love to do more of these, so submit any request you have to the library.

All in all, Forte would like students to be

curious, be passionate, and want to learn about wants to update you on some of the library and campus’s

something. Following one’s passions is the best way

new advancements. “Before, we were really short on

to learn about how knowledge is created, stored, and

public space for students, and there was no private

shared in a digital world. Today we have the ability not

study space. We now have some informal seating.”

only to connect with much more information than we

She described the new campus’s numerous places for

could have even 5 years ago; we also have the ability to

informal learning and socializing. These include the

share what we have learned, and connect with people

entire wifi-accessible patio area upstairs with a myriad

well beyond our geographic communities. We can talk,

of seating and lounging areas. There are a couple of

collaborate, and learn from one another.

conference rooms off the Sage Library and Learning

Commons, which students who need to spread out and

information world might not be on everyone’s radar,

work quietly, or groups that need privacy, are welcome

and it’s incredibly exciting. So we thank you Christine

to use, when they have not been scheduled for meetings

Forte for making our university proud and keeping us

or classes.

at the forefront of this digital age.

Helping people tap into that part of our

T he A U S B Odyssey Poetry: Jamaica Horton

Inside Her Room Across her covers, across her still room, The night scatters like dust on the moon, Tiny fractures of light and love. But the rumpled sheets of her bed lie still, empty, and discarded. Her bedroom, her prison, trapped-in for the night On the floor she lies, breathless, consumed with fright. Ear tucked to the door, waiting, heeding, listening for Sounds that echo the return of the uninvited. Down, down she drops, deeper into her despair Knowing soon that the reaper will be there. To rob her of her innocence, to take what he shouldn’t, Insistent that this love is gloriously given Seizing up, her figure stresses, tenses at the sounds Of his feet pound, pound, pounding down Along the corridor he stealthy makes his way now In a few frantic heart-beats he is there to consume Silently, he picks her up and tucks her in Whispering his words of tender confusion Desperately, she tries to hide, to climb somewhere far away inside To a place where she won’t feel the deeds being done Shaking, shivering, stolen, little body lies there open on display No longer need she pay attention, for tomorrow’s promise is at bay He’s done now, his doing is over She’s gone too, curled up in the corner, Off to dream of luminous beings She forgets the terror of her unanswered screams In her nighttime fantasy land she dwells Safe, hidden, protected from his harm Now, here comes the morning, it’s divine Momma’s back home, all sparkles and sunshine Lovely little dollies line around the brim In her room, childhood memory making is not always so grim 16

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters Poetry: Jamaica Horton

Ghost Duster

On misty, milky, covered nights, he comes out and stalks the graveyards. Looking for those creepy, crawly things, he stares intently into the dark. Swish, swish, swish, goes his dastardly broom, As he swipes and scatters the ghostly matter back into the hollow depths. See, he is the keeper of all that the reaper has deemed, doomed to die.

T he A U S B Odyssey Fiction: Jeffrey Lovelace

Condemned I’ve seen the old house from afar, of course, positioned up there on the hill for all to envy. Its two faux antebellum columns frame the fifteen-foot cherry wood doors like jowls around pursed lips. How could I, or anyone else in this little desert town, miss it? But until now I didn’t dare go near the place for all its memories. That house would have sucked down what’s left of my soul like so much vodka. I saw it every day from work. The grand structure loomed on the horizon above the parking lot. When the sinking sun caught the two arched third floor windows, those burning imperious eyes tracked me, mocked me, reminded me of our secrets whenever I pushed out into the heat to round up the shopping carts. So I learned to look down, always, because sometimes when our eyes met, I’d get sucked back again, inside that right eye, inside my father’s study. At eight years old I watched my father’s black patent leather wingtips reflect the light from the open window as they turned in the breeze, hanging below his limp pinstriped legs. The scraped leather soles swayed inches above Dad’s neat suicide note handwritten on a sheet

of powder blue letterhead that fluttered atop his vast mahogany veneer desk. Sometimes I’d fall back inside that left eye, into the master suite; my bare teenage feet on the flecked Berber carpet warmed by the afternoon sun. I tiptoed past my mother’s porcine snores erupting from that nose, that face, honed to surgical perfection; past the antique reproduction night stand crowded with tumblers, large bottles with fancy labels over cheap clear liquid, small amber bottles missing their childproof lids. I eased over to the fainting couch

V i l la i ns & Mo n sters

where I raided her purse for twenties and fifties to pay my dealer waiting outside the back door.

The next morning, when I hopped off the bus, I peeked east over the parking lot. My smile went flat.

Sometimes my mind would slide back inside

The house still stood, but the mouth looked different,

that mouth where my older sister called toddler me

agape, frozen in shock. The eyes appeared hollow,

“dirt” as she tied the blindfold tight, spun me around,

black, and lifeless, even at sunset. Victory? I needed

then sent me tumbling down the Brazilian walnut stairs,

to be sure, but stayed away from the house, lest people

my blood warming the travertine marble foyer floor; or

grow suspicious.

any of a thousand other memories of Sister jamming

But now I have to know. As I walk toward the

lit sparklers into my skin; waking in the dark to a loud

ruin I see that only the front wall still stands like an

unzip, the dead rat stink of “uncle’s” close breath, his

empty mask, balanced in the wind. I approach and face

oily skin; overdoses, ambulances, and psych wards.

it, free, jubilant. I reach out to smooth the blue sheet

Even after Mother died and Sister’s lawyers

of paper fluttering in the wind, stapled to the single

pounced on the property so the Hollywood diva, my

charred scrap of front door. The word “condemned” sits

sister dearest, could add the vacant building to her

above a paragraph of legalese; an obvious formality for

collection, I could never get nearer than the top of the

a building in this condition, but something about the

hill behind the house, back where those two arched eyes

word rattles in my brain, as though meant for me, the

couldn’t spy on me. And there I’d sit, every weekend,

home’s final judgment on my soul.

every evening after work, hiding amid the tall brown

The wind picks up; it howls through the debris,

weeds, wearing shoes several sizes too large, fidgeting

whistles in the cracks. At first it sounds like my mother

with the lighter in my pocket.

sleeping, then like my father’s death rattle, then my

One evening the hot wind blew hard at my

sister’s wailing laugh. A gust shoves me backwards a

back. With just enough dusk remaining to find my way

pace. I stumble, fall onto my back. I look up as the front

down the path, it was time. One flick and the flames

of the house begins to lean toward me in the wind. It

bounded down the hill, erasing horrors no child should

tips, falls, and I’m home.

ever know, and no adult should have to relive day after day.

Ω Photo by Brooke Robison

T he A U S B Odyssey Faces of AUSB: Alexandra Richardson

Madelaine Codecido

mental health profession fit in naturally.”

Much of the faculty and staff at Antioch have

been inspirational to Madelaine, but she says it is a fellow classmate who has inspired her the most. “Despite being a human being with flaws like the rest of us, Chelsea Cameron persists in being the embodiment of our profession in that she makes an effort everyday in personal growth, as well as helping others evolve.”

In keeping with this issue’s theme, Villains and

Monsters, Madelaine offers the following, “Yes, there are bad guys in life, such as thieves, murderers, rapists, pedophiles, etc. The things they do are horrible, but it’s usually because they were not able to handle life’s challenges. Instead of filling ourselves with hate, I think

Madelaine Codecido, daughter of Argentinean

it’s better to act with understanding and offer them a

immigrants, was born and raised in the Antelope

way out of their bad habits. Think of all the times you

Valley, California with her two sisters. She is currently

needed a second and third chance to change, and give it

studying in the doctoral program in clinical psychology

to someone who needs it. ‘Those who deserve love the

here at Antioch, having completed her undergrad at

least, need it the most.’ Author unknown.”

California State University Bakersfield-AV. She chose

AUSB because the program allows her to focus on

employee and student, so she spends a good amount of

the clinical aspect of her career rather than research,

time on campus. When she does have leisure time, she

while being relativley close to home. Madelaine says,

enjoys spending time “out with friends getting to know

“I’ve wanted to be a psychologist since I was 13. When

places in Santa Barbara.” When asked about her plans

thinking of potential careers I had an equation in mind;

after completing her studies at Antioch, Madelaine

any job I have has to be something that makes the world

quotes John Lennon, “Life is what happens when you

a better place, and I have to enjoy what I’m doing. I’ve

are busy making other plans.” She says, “I’m just going

loved talking to people my whole life, so working in the

to take things one quarter at a time.”

You can find Madelaine at Antioch both as an

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters Staff Picks - Food: Alexandra Richardson

Guilty Pleasure Foods: The Best of the Worst Whodelicious

Located a stone’s throw away from Nordstrom

at the Paseo Nuevo Mall is Whodelicious, a real cupcake kingdom, where frosting your own cupcake takes, well, the cake. With a wide array of cupcakes to choose from, anything from “Chocoholic” to “Snozzberry” to

you can top with soft serve ice cream, frosting, and an assortment of yummy goodies ranging from Willy Wonka Nerds to gummy bears to chocolate sauce.

treat yourself to a Whodelicious cupcake. After all, you deserve it.

“Bananarama”, there is sure to be something everyone will love. They even serve 100 calorie mini cupcakes in an assortment of flavors for the cupcake lover watching their waistband.

But the creme de la creme at Whodelicious is

the Frostinator, where guests are able to make their cupcake fantasies come to life. Choose your favorite flavor of cupcake- rainbow is this Odyssey staff member’s go to- and it is served warm in a bowl where Photo by Alexandra Richardson

So take a load off at the end of a busy day, and

The Blue Owl

Catering to the late night crowd, this fusion

Thai/ American eatery delivers great cuisine that’s sure to please even the pickiest of drunken diners. The Blue Owl is a real crowd pleaser offering tasty, a la carte dishes served up to eat in or to go. The menu, though small, boasts some creative dishes that’ll fill even the hungriest of grown men, with items from Tri Tip fried rice with a fried egg to the ever popular, and arguably the best dish on the menu, Thai Basil Cheeseburger. Be sure to get a fried egg on your next Thai Basil Cheeseburger, follow it with a dessert roti, which is sort of like a strawberry crepe, and you’ll be sleeping well that night.

While the food speaks for itself, what really

makes The Blue Owl so impressive is the crowd it draws. Colleagues, friends, long lost lovers... The Blue Owl is a great place to catch up with the folks you may have not already seen on State Street and exchange tales of the night’s debauchery. So after a long night of dancing at your favorite clubs, head over to this local hot spot, take a load off, and sip some refreshing cucumber water while you wait for Heaven in a to-go container to arrive- you won’t be disappointed you did. Ω 21

T he A U S B Odyssey Alumni Voice: Andrea Tate

The Dark Side of Chocolate When a child bites into a chocolate bar she has a feeling of bliss, in fact one bar holds the namesake of Bliss. Unfortunately, positive emotions regarding chocolate do not ring true in every child. In 2011 the Hershey Corporation boasted $6.08 billion in sales. Forbes also ranked them #1 in ethical leadership, giving them the confidence to post their Corporate Responsibility Report (CSR) on their website. This report portrays Hershey’s as a corporation that aspires to, and achieves, the highest of standards in business ethics. There is, however, one small piece of information missing from the report. Hershey’s receives 70% of its cocoa form the West African nation Cote d’Ivoire, or “Ivory Coast,” where 200,000 children live in forced labor conditions, farming that highly profitable commodity. Simply put, a Hershey bar is made, in part, from the small hand of a child slave. Child Labor is an issue that Hershey’s has been well aware of for several years. In 2001 The Chocolate Manufacturers Association (CMA) created the HarkelEngel Protocol, an initiative concerning the prohibition of the worst forms of child labor in cocoa farming. Today, over twelve years after the Harkel Engel Protocol, forced child labor is still prominent in Ivory Coast. The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) reports that over 40% of the children in Ivory Coast do not attend school due to forced child labor. These children work long hours on the farm, along with being exposed to dangerous tools and hazardous chemicals. The children do not know how to read or write, and have actually never tasted a chocolate bar. Some of these children are trafficked, taken from their homes and sold into slavery. 22

Hershey’s is keenly aware of this horrific situation. The CSR report states they will invest ten million dollars over the next five years to help eradicate child labor. Sadly, this accounts for only a fraction of what is needed. Tulane University’s fourth annual report on Oversight of Public and Private Initiatives to Eliminate the Worst Forms of Child Labor in the Cocoa Sector in Cote d’Ivoire and Ghana stated that at least $8 million per year is needed from every supplier. This is a far cry from Hershey’s $2 million a year investment. Let’s not forget, Hershey’s makes over $6 billion each year as the largest chocolate manufacturer in North America. When Milton Hershey started the company in the late 1800’s, his code of conduct simply and specifically stated: “Make and sell a high-quality product at a fair price, provide meaningful work and fair wages to employees, give back to the communities where the company operates, and be a good steward of the land and its resources.” For the most part the Hershey Corporation stands true to this code of conduct. Their product is of high-quality and is sold at a fair price to the consumer. Hershey’s employees are treated fairly with wages and benefits. They have reduced green house gases, improved recycling, and decreased water consumption; so they have been a good steward to the land. However, their source of cocoa has exploited and endangered children. This is so unfortunate because Milton and his wife Catherine Hershey were dedicated to the well being of children. They founded the Milton Hershey School which remains in operation today. The school provides housing, education, and medical care at no cost to over 1,800 children in need, promising them an

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters outstanding education form pre-kindergarten to 12th grade. Milton Hershey put his personal fortune of $60 million into the school. The Hershey Trust remains the largest shareholder, and continues to administer to the school. Because Hershey’s buys the majority of the cocoa farmed in Ivory Coast, it is important that they take a stand. If they refused to purchase cocoa from the areas that use child labor, the farms would be forced to change their practices. Currently the organizations encouraging slavery-free chocolate are encouraging legislature to pass a certification law. The certification would bare the “No Slavery Here” stamp. The dairy industry has set a fine example with the rBGH Free stamp. This stamp assures consumers the dairy cow that produced their milk has not received any hormones. Surely as a nation we can demand a slavery-free stamp on our chocolate. Currently we can find chocolate manufacturers that have a “Fair Trade” stamp on their products. What does Fair Trade exactly mean? It means that the product, cocoa in this case, was bought from the farmer at a fair price. This helps to assure the consumer that each farmer receives a fair price for his cocoa, which can enable him and his family to live out of poverty. Fair Trade is a great first step in eliminating forced child labor, but it does not take care of the issue completely. The profit made from fair trading practices does not cover the costs of policing these farms to find enslaved children, nor does it pay for a return ticket home for the trafficked ones. Sadly, Hershey’s does not even have a Fair Trade chocolate bar. Surely if the smaller chocolate companies can achieve Fair Trade certification, Hershey’s, the largest and most profitable, can too. As consumers we can demand that all chocolate we purchase has the Fair Trade certification on it. We can demand that legislation

is passed to certify chocolate with the ‘No Slavery Here” stamp. We can demand that the Hershey Corporation invests more money into eradicating child labor in the growing and manufacturing of their prime resource, cocoa. In February of 2009 the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundations approved a five year grant for over $22 million to the World Cocoa Foundation (WCF). The purpose of this grant is to improve the livelihoods of West African small holder cocoa farmers, with a focus on marketing efficiency, production efficiency, and income security. In a letter from Hershey’s in January 2012, they stated that they have partnered with The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation as well as their industry peers in investing $40 million for the West Africa Livelihood Program organized by the WCF. This partnership is another step in the right direction. As consumers it is important for us to keep an eye on how this grant improves the conditions of child labor in the cocoa industry. We must also continue demanding proof that the chocolate we are purchasing is in fact produced without these inhumane practices. Ω References

Patil, Rahul, (2012),“Child slaves work on cocoa plantations,” Permalink Preston, Julie, (2011), “State Department Revises Foreign Student Job Program After Abuse Complaints,” NY Times Newcomb, Alyssa, (2011), “HIV Positive Child Denied Entry to Milton Hershey School;” ABC WORLD NEWS http://www.thehersheycompany.com/social-responsibility.aspx http://thecnnfreedomproject.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/31/hersheypledges-10-million-to-improve-west-african-cocoa-farmingfight-child-labor/ http://miltonhershey.attnhr.com/houseparents/ http://slavefreechocolate.org/how-you-can-help/create-agrassroots-campaign/ www.gatesfoundation.org

T he A U S B Odyssey Essay: Richard Somdah

The Villain in Me Sighhhh…. Where do all these villainous emotions come from I wonder? I never sat down and invited them into my mind but yet they are constantly inside my head and heart, like little bandits stealing the joy of my soul piece-by-piece, little piranha eating away at the exposed flesh of my happiness; or maybe they are big, very big. Yeah. I could continue crying inadvertently at movie theatres while everyone else is laughing, or I could continue peeing on the next door neighbor’s plants when my roommate hogs the I woke up this morning to my alarm clock blaring; I was thirty minutes late for work. Worry.

restroom in the morning. Eh, I’d still do that anyway; but honestly, what is happiness?

Anxiousness. Pressure. The pillow in my hand still smelled like my ex-girlfriend who left me two months

Hap-pi-ness

ago. Loneliness. Abandonment. Betrayal. Rushed to

A: a state of well-being and contentment

get ready to go to a job I’ve hated since I started, working

B: a pleasurable or satisfying experience

months. Dread. Impatience. Frustration. No gas in my

So again I ask what is happiness because

car and I don’t get paid for three days. Embarrassment.

Webster just told me a whole bunch of nothing. A

Hopelessness. Inadequacy. Walked into work already

wise woman once told me that, “Happiness is this

wishing I could be off. Boredom. Helplessness. Hate.

indefinable, unsustainable idea.

Annoying coworkers, office rumors, and snack machine

jacked on finding happiness people should try finding

lunches. Unappreciation. Rage. Humiliation. Driving

pleasure because it is something that can be attained

home stuck in traffic, deciding which crappy fast food

at any moment for any reason.” How true that is and

place I’m going to get my dinner from. Disgust. Grief.

at least pleasure is something that you know will end.

Concern. Got home to a dirty, empty house, porn or late

Pleasures are short and renewable; happiness is called

night talk shows, laying down knowing I’ll wake up to

“a state of...,” insinuating that this state should last,

the same thing tomorrow. Sadness. Dismay. Insecurity.

which is just not always how life works.

for a boss who has been avoiding my promotion for six

Instead of being

V i ll a i ns & Mo n sters What a world we live in. It forces me into a

from that annoying screech to some soothing classical

life cycle of such negativity where every bad emotion I

music so I can wake up in a more peaceful state of mind.

feel brings me down, and the uplifting emotions I seek

Serenity. Calm. Peace. When I wake up to the smell of

are too broad to attain; where sin and deception are at

something I don’t like I’ll put it on my to-do list to

my fingertips but joy and love can only be found in

wash my sheets. Gratitude. Relief. Freedom. When

the clouds. Who taught me these things? Why do I

my boss won’t give me my raise, I’ll start searching

feel the way I do? I would’ve never chosen to be this

for a new job. Options. Potential. New Beginnings.

way and yet it seems I can’t change it, why is that?

Instead of listening to office rumors and eating out

My grandma used to say, “It’s that damn TV box!”, my professor said it was the music, and I read online that it was the Internet’s fault. I think they all are right. Curse these billion dollar forms of media that subconsciously force these unattainable ideals into my brain keeping me on the edge of insanity. I’m going

Where do all these villainous emotions come from...like little bandits stealing the joy of my soul piece-by-piece, little piranha eating away at the exposed flesh of my happiness...

to write a letter to the head of every form of media that I feel is corrupting me. That’ll teach them. And

of the snack machine, I’ll pack my lunch and eat

I’ll pick one business everyday of the week and stand

outside. Delight. Optimism. Empowerment. Instead

outside all day and protest the injustice. They will be

of getting stuck in traffic, I’ll bring a book to read, and

so perturbed that they will want to change their ways

when roads are clearer I’ll take a different route home.

immediately. Or I will create a petition and go around

Intrigue. Carefree. Fresh. And instead of a dirty house

and get a billion signatures and “we the people”, with

I’ll schedule cleaning and stick to that schedule, and

me as the leader, will conquer these media villains and

after that I’ll go to bed so I can be refreshed the next

corporate monsters.

day. Accomplishment. Acceptance. Renewal.

Whew! I’m tired just thinking about it. I know

Now I have the appropriate amount of

something has to be done, but it’s just me. If I can’t

awareness to govern what media streams through

change them, how can things change?

my mind. Hopefully the joy and calm I feel will be

Charles R. Swindoll said, “Life is 10% what

infectious to others and instead of fighting the fight, I

happens to you and 90% how you react to it.” Maybe

will just promote the peace. Realizing that those who

if I can’t change the villains and conquer the monsters

allow negativity to control them are not the kind of

I can start with helping myself. I’ll change my alarm

people I want to be around.

T he A U S B Odyssey Poetry: Brooke Robison

My Other Half

My other half She’s to my right, Bearing braids, Red hair that curls in perfect circles Upon her shoulders. The queen of hearts, Oppositely matching my spades, We’re stuck inside a costume parade, Where everyone is mirrored to see Their opposites the same. Her power is my death, The center of attention In every conversation. How can I show emotion Without lashing out? If love is a devotion, I might turn it upside down, But if devotion was a love, Then hers I will forever miss. A mourning to discover, A time apart with doubt, That before each can be trusted, Red and black bleeds, Blood: that’s life. And the truth must pour From each one’s mouth. Until then the swords are sharp, Held in defense in forward march, And our decks behind prepare for war, Lining up to top one another, But both must win for honor, Or one might fall apart. But if neither one initiates the battle’s rage, This game will never start.

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs Poetry: Charity Hill

Light Fades

The dark creeps The light splits The evil strikes without a hint rain pours lightening hits Sending shivs threw the skin thunder roles flash occurs fires start from these destroyers burn burn flames occurred fright in your eyes pain will die shadows awake death arrives now say good bye life will end lights shut off now say your prayers hell begins Photo By Colby Hill Poem By Charity Hill

T he A U S B Odyssey Trustee Profile: Jeffrey Lovelace

Jerry Roberts

Take a moment to consider the kind of person you would want guiding our fine school. Antioch University Santa Barbara, like most nonprofit organizations, has a board of trustees who advise the University president on everything from improving operations to broadening the school’s reputation and support throughout the area. These trustees volunteer their time, expertise, and hard-earned wisdom with the sole aim of making the Institution a better place. Who better to help guide our growing University into the future than AUSB Trustee Jerry Roberts.

Roberts was born near Cleveland, Ohio.

His father was a machinist and his mother worked in a drugstore. Though half a state away from Antioch’s founding campus in Yellow Springs, Ohio, Roberts understood Antioch’s significance. “Growing up in Ohio in the 50s and 60s, I knew about Antioch as a center of progressive education, civil rights and student activism,” said Roberts in a recent email.

Photo courtesy of Jerry Roberts

Throughout his childhood Jerry loved baseball, but he also worked hard enough in high school to

“hippie van trip” across the country and eventually

earn admission to Harvard, where his fellow students

landed in San Francisco where he began his long and

included luminaries such as Al and Tipper Gore, and

distinguished career in journalism.

actor Tommy Lee Jones. After graduating in 1970,

By 1977 Roberts had become a full time reporter

Roberts temporarily worked as a Cape Cod Hospital

for the San Francisco Chronicle, one of the nation’s most

emergency room orderly, “…taking care of drunk

prestigious newspapers. He worked his way up through

Kennedys,” as he told local interviewer Fred Klein.

the organization from general assignment reporter, to

Roberts and his future wife Linda Kiefer then took a

covering city hall, to reporting on state government,

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs to editor of the city desk, and eventually to managing editor.

Roberts moved to Santa Barbara in 2002 to serve as the editor of the Santa Barbara News-Press. Under

Roberts covered many notorious stories,

his management the California Newspaper Publishers

such as San Francisco Supervisor Dan White fatally

Association cited the News-Press three times for general

shooting the city’s mayor, George Moscone, and fellow

excellence. In 2006, Roberts resigned in protest over

Supervisor Harvey Milk, the first openly gay politician

alleged violations of established journalistic ethics by

elected in California. Sean Penn reenacted the story in

the paper’s new owner. The documentary film “Citizen

the 2008 movie “Milk.”

McCaw” recounts the well-publicized battle.

According to Roberts, Dan White “…always

If anyone understands ethics in journalism,

seemed intense and high strung, and would get over-

it’s Jerry Roberts. He has accumulated PEN’s First

wrought at routine political defeats or setbacks; I

Amendment Award, an Ethics in Journalism Award

certainly saw no sign that there was a sociopathic killer

from the Society for Professional Journalists, and the

lurking behind his traditional family man-fireman

University of Oregon School of Journalism’s Payne

façade.”

Award for journalistic ethics.

Roberts also reported on the Bay area’s infamous

In Roberts’ post News-Press career he founded

cult leader Jim Jones, who convinced hundreds of

and runs www.calbuzz.com, a non-partisan site that

followers to give up their possessions, move with him

follows California politics, and he advises UCSB’s Daily

to the wilds of Guyana, and ultimately to commit mass

Nexus newspaper. You can find articles by him in the

suicide. “For pure evil, no one comes close to Jones, for

“Santa Barbara Independent,” and occasionally hear his

whom the word ‘diabolical’ could have been coined.”

political commentary on public radio. He even hosted

Roberts also pointed out a sad irony about

a local TV political talk show. Roberts is also well

the case. “The liberal political establishment in San

known for his biography of California Senator Dianne

Francisco nurtured, empowered and enabled (Jones) in

Feinstein, “Never Let Them See You Cry.”

the years before the Jonestown mass murder suicides,

The culture here at AUSB has always focused on

allowing him to build a power base in exchange for the

ethics, integrity, and the pursuit of social justice. Jerry

political support of his flock.”

Roberts has enjoyed a successful career informing and

Roberts spent 25 years at the Chronicle. Over

educating the public, exposing villains, and fighting

that period his work and the paper won many awards

the good fight. In other words, he’s the perfect AUSB

for journalism and other honors, including selection as

trustee.

a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize for Explanatory Journalism.

Ω 29

T he A U S B Odyssey Fiction: Jeffrey Lovelace

Birthday Parting “Put your shoes on and get in the car, hon,” said Susan. She breezed across the terra cotta floor with her usual catch me if you can pace, then disappeared into the elevator. “What? Why?” “We’re going to dinner.” The elevator door closed, clipping the end of her last word. Ted touched a red square on the remote’s LCD screen. The swelling music died and the video projector went dark as Ryan Reynolds’ lips touched Sandra Bullock’s. The screen slid into the ceiling, and the drapes parted revealing a vast amber sky above city lights sparking to life. The vista always reminded him of something he couldn’t quite nail down. Ted slipped-on the brandy Ferragamo loafers she bought him; they gave him blisters, but he pretended to love them. On his way to the stairs, he passed the floor to ceiling windows. A glance at the canyon floor a hundred feet below produced the usual surge of vertigo. God, what keeps this monstrous place from tumbling off this cliff? When he arrived panting in the garage three floors above, Ted scanned the array of luxury vehicles for some sign of his wife, but the glare from the white walls and recessed lighting made the tinted windows difficult to penetrate. At the far end of the building the Firenze red Range Rover’s engine started and the door behind it lifted with a grinding hum. Ted jogged toward the Rover, but stumbled as she leaned on the horn. Its blare didn’t stop until he popped the passenger door. “Sometime tonight would be nice.” Ted forced a weak “I’m sorry” smile. The aroma of new leather mingled with her rosy perfume. The scent’s thorny undertone prickled his sinuses. Ted pinched a sneeze. “So what brought you back from the office early enough to hustle me off…?” 30

Susan cut him off, “It’s your birthday, silly.” “You remembered?” Ted’s eyebrows lifted, then compressed. “Lexi called to wish me happy birthday. She called to remind you, didn’t she? Did she tell you, she’s having a really hard time adjusting to life at Harvard, and…” Susan smacked her lips. “You spoil her with you tenderness. And no, Alexis didn’t call; well she tried but I couldn’t take the call. If you must know, Siri reminded me. Honestly, she’s the only person in this world I can’t live without.” They sat in silence as the Rover floated down Bel Air’s winding sycamore lined canyons toward Sunset Boulevard. From Ted’s cushy perch, the world passed like a movie on mute. He closed his eyes and envisioned his mind as a dry erase board, a technique he learned from a successful contestant on Donald Trump’s latest reality show. Ted wiped away the black hurt from Susan’s attitude and his red anger from the horn blast until they disappeared, leaving his mind as vacant as his face. The speakers bleated as the info screen displayed, “Incoming Call: Office.” Susan pushed a button on the screen and the strong male voice of her assistant filled the car. “Hi Ms. Moore, I just wanted to let you know that the judge has ruled in your favor on the Ability Shop case. Congratulations, you won again.” “Of course I won. And when were you going to tell me? That decision must have come down an hour ago…” Something about the sky’s orange glow mixed with the instrument panel’s under-lighting to make Susan’s features appear manufactured, nonhuman. In some ways she looked like their 19 year old daughter, thanks to implants, injections, and quarterly “tuneups.” But her lips had accumulated so much collagen they resembled two glossy mauve slugs standing guard

V il l a in s & Mon ste rs around the machine’s taut voice hole. As Susan berated her servant, most of her face remained flat and unexpressive, as though cast in alabaster. A living, breathing terminator, thought Ted. More machine than human. He shivered, then closed his eyes and started wiping again. The assistant’s voice cracked, “I, I just found out myself, I’m sorry, I thought you…ear…ews… nything I…” The screen displayed, “Call dropped.” “Dammit!” Susan leaned to her right. She drove her right hand between Ted’s legs and into her purse on the passenger side floor. When she retracted the beloved iPhone, the swift movement caused Ted a momentary stab of pain, which repeated when she dropped the fuchsia cased unit in his lap. “I’ve had it with that pile of iCrap. Ted, throw it out the window.” He opened his mouth to perform a typical verbal calming maneuver, but he closed it. He knew Susan’s potent higher brain already understood that the phone wworked fine, the call dropped because the canyon’s steep walls blocked the signal. She didn’t want calming; she didn’t need to be informed. Her command originated in a deeper, more reptilian center of her brain, one immune to reason. A wiring diagram of his wife’s brain appeared on the whiteboard, inspired by a Science Channel show about the biology of the criminal mind. Susan’s signals flowed upside-down. The primitive lower, reptilian brain, the part that only understands “eat or be eaten,” commanded all higher functions including reason, empathy, even love. Words written in angry neon letters materialized on the white board; words he wiped clean a million times. He tried wiping it all away, but the eraser didn’t seem to work anymore. Anger rose unabated and strong enough to catch his breath in fear, but only for a minute. “It’s your phone, you throw it…” “Stop being such an idiot for just an instant. I

can’t, I’m driving. And besides, it’s littering. You know I never break the law.” “Oh, but it’s okay if I do your dirty…” “Just do it!” Ted turned away and lowered his window. When the fresh air hit his face, it brought a long forgotten relief. He hung his arm out the window, but his hand wouldn’t let go. The cool air that roared over his arm made his pink shirt sleeve flutter, and imparted a primal calm. His mouth tightened. He palmed the phone, and closed the window. While Susan focused on traffic, he peaked at the iPhone screen. The Recorder app started accidentally during the faked disposal. For the first time in years, Ted had an idea. He smiled without effort and slipped the unit into his shirt pocket. “Jesus Ted, you know better than to talk back to me. What’s gotten into you?” “It’s my birthday, indulge me. Speaking of that, where are we going for dinner?” Susan accelerated the Rover up the steep ramp and merged onto the swift moving northbound 405. Lane by lane she shifted left until she reached the fast lane where she set the cruise control at 54 miles per hour. Cars and trucks flew by on the right. “We’re going to Asanebo of course. I’m in the mood for raw fish.” “But I hate Japanese food,” said Ted. Moreover, he dreaded the usual dining experience. Susan would demand to change tables until the staff became suitably annoyed. She would send back each dish accompanied by an insult. While she adds a fifty cent tip to the credit card slip he would hide a twenty under one of the dishes. Tomorrow morning one or both of them would endure some form of intestinal distress due to whatever measure of revenge the servers would lace into their dishes. “It’s my birthday, and I just want take-out.” “Well I want to celebrate my victory, and my victory trumps your birthday.” Ted saw a segment on a cable news show about the case his wife just won. A paraplegic woman and Cont’d Page 32

T he AU S B Odyssey Birthday Parting - Cont’d her family scraped together their life savings to open the Ability Store. They sold equipment and supplies that help ease the lives of the disabled. Susan sued them for violating the Americans with Disabilities Act. Considering the store’s square footage, the law indicated that the parking lot should have four handicapped parking spaces, but it had three. The reporter pointed out that the tiny parking lot only had room for three handicapped spaces total, and called the person sitting next to him, “…the worst example of legal opportunism run-amok.” “And now that you have righted this injustice, what do you plan to do with the store?” “Liquidate it, level it, and sell the land, it’s a prime location. I’ll net a fortune.” A wall of brake lights ahead turned their faces red. Susan glanced into the rearview mirror. The corners of her mouth flicked up a quarter of an inch, as wide a grin as her botoxed cheeks would allow. The Rover maintained its speed. The side mirror showed a black Escalade riding just inches off their rear bumper, too close for its driver to see the stopped traffic ahead. The headlights behind the Escalade silhouetted several people inside. “Susan? Why aren’t you slowing down? Susan!” At the last possible moment Ted’s wife slammed on the brakes. His head snapped forward and his torso jerked against the shoulder strap. *** During that split second, Ted’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw himself at four years old, his three older sisters alternately ignoring him, calling him “retard”, and beating the blood out of his nose whenever he showed signs of individuality. To get any positive attention, he learned how to appease and serve. “Oh Teddy, don’t you look cute in Daddy’s giant shirt and shoes. Everyone, come look at monkey 32

boy! Okay, you play Daddy and I’ll be Mommy on the day she always talks about when she kicked his sorry bee-hind out of the house…” Ted flashed forward to the first time he saw Susan, at the orientation lecture in law school. She sat where everyone could view her, the center aisle seat of the amphitheater’s front row. That perfect face, deep green eyes (contacts) and long blond hair (bleached), her slightly too short pencil skirt, her sheer, low-cut white blouse, the black spike-heeled pump that dangled from one toe on her crossed and gently bobbing leg. Few of the men paid any attention to the lecture, including the gray bearded professor delivering it. Susan scanned the men in the room; her eyes stopped when they locked with his. When he later asked why she chose him, she said, “You have the look I always envisioned for the man on my arm.” For Ted, Susan’s beauty, chauvinism, and naked ambition felt like home. He’d played dress-up for her ever since. *** Ted’s head rebounded against the headrest. The Rover’s front bumper stopped less than a foot from the vehicle in front of them. An explosive pop and the crunch of glass on twisting metal erupted to their right as the Escalade swerved into the next lane, caved-in the right rear-end of a blue minivan, then rolled over on top of a yellow Smart Car that disappeared beneath the black Cadillac’s collapsing roof. Ted heard screams. “Damnit, damnit, damnit!” said Susan. “Seriously! We gotta go help those people.” “No you moron. I wanted that bastard to hit us so I could sue him for every last tailgating penny. Oh well, next time.” The car lurched forward as the fast lane traffic eased. Ted’s white board filled with a chaotic mess. “What the hell, Susan! Is that how your last two

V i l la i ns & Mo n sters accidents started?” She giggled at his anger. “Of course hon, that’s how I do everything. And don’t you complain. That last accident paid for the Jag, and the Bentley, oh and your prissy little Prius.” “Right and it sent three people to the hospital.” “Whatever.” Ted felt the weight of the iPhone sitting in his shirt pocket, recording every word. “Sue, do you ever consider yourself evil?” “Me? What do you mean? I always obey the law. I wasn’t speeding, I wasn’t tailgating. Those people got what they deserved.” “First of all, most of the people in that horrific wreck you just caused weren’t driving that SUV…” Susan shrugged, “So?” “…Second, don’t you have a legal obligation to make a report as a witness?” “Me? Why, I didn’t see a thing, Officer.” She giggled again. “What about the spirit of the law? What about the trail of broken lives you leave everywhere you go? What about ethics?” “Ha! Ethics, the word suckers cry when separated from their money. I know the rules and I outplay everyone. That makes me a winner and everyone else a loser. Ayn Rand would say that people should worship me.” “Does that include me?” She paused, cocked her head, and that same slight smile appeared. “Of course, hon.” “So I’m just another loser to you?” “Well, yes, but you’re my loser. For instance, you know those estate-planning papers I had you sign last week. You didn’t even read them, now did you?” Ted could see what was coming. “Of course I didn’t Sue, you’re my wife and my attorney, two relationships founded on partnership and trust, right?” Sue barked a laugh, then continued, “Those papers said that if we ever separate you would walk away without a cent. But money aside, you could never walk away from this…” Susan pressed her

chest outward toward Ted, exposing her aggressive, gravity-defying cleavage. She flashed her best comehither look, and gave her body a slight jiggle before turning back toward the steering wheel as their vehicle decelerated down the Ventura Boulevard off ramp. When the Land Rover stopped at the red light Ted kicked off the brandy loafers, unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door. “What are you doing, Ted?” “I need to feel the real world beneath my feet, and rejoin the human race. Good bye Susan.” He climbed out of the womb-like interior and into the bright commotion of a busy boulevard at sun down. He closed the door with a casual push. The window rolled open and her voice emerged from the dark hole, “Don’t walk away from me. Get back in here, now!” He kept walking, his toes savoring the warm concrete. “That’s it Ted, you’re fired! And I’ll have you know I will never be alone!” “Sure you will, you’ve always been alone, you always will be. Susan, the light’s green, you’re obstructing traffic.” Blasting horns buried the screaming tirade that followed. Ted sauntered away shoeless, and maybe penniless, or maybe not, thanks to the iPhone; but happier and lighter than he could ever remember. Ω

Photo by Brooke Robison

T he A U S B Odyssey Staff Picks - Music: Richard Somdah

Antioch’s Own Jen Baron

In such a small and scattered populace as the Antioch community it can be hard to connect with others on anything more than a surface level; everyone is so driven and occupied that they don’t allow time for anything more. Well sometimes, whether we know it or not, some things and some people are worth the time, like our very own Jen Baron. This student of the BA program, mother, and musician has graced us with her time and talent. Jen has been singing since before she could walk. She inherited her harmoniousness from her father, who was also a talented musician. She learned to play by ear starting with the piano and eventually picking up the guitar when she was around ten. She would take her guitar and whatever new song she liked to her father, and ask him to show her how to play it. When she was about 15 years old music took over her life. She would stay up all night playing music and singing. Now she can pretty much hear anything and figure out how to play it. Thanks to a friend who worked at the Santa Barbara County Bowl, Jen was able to make it her sanctuary, accumulating the most absences in her junior high school class to sneak out 34

and play on stage. When asked what influences her music Jen simply answered, “People.” She went on to say she listens to the stories of friends, peers, and people in general, to find inspiration. “I feel a song is like a photograph, a frozen moment in time that you have the chance to capture forever.” For example, “Little Indian Girl,” one of Jen’s favorite songs from her upcoming debut album, was written from an amazing story she was told by a friend at a wilderness skills workshop. She learned that her friend grew up on a farm in rural New Hampshire. They didn’t even have electricity; but, the girl’s parents allowed her to ride horses at all hours of the night. It painted such a vivid picture in Jen’s mind that it inspired her to create the song. Some of Jen’s favorite artists are Gillian Welch, Radiohead, Florence and the Machine, Fiona Apple, Jill Scott, The Beatles, The Kinds, Adele, Nina Simone, and many more. Jen will release her debut album “Beautiful Mistake,” on her birthday, December 2. She has been recording for over a year now and is excited about bringing her music to the world. She would love the Antioch community’s support. When she releases the album in December it will coincide with a small West Coast tour.

“I feel a song is like a photograph, a frozen moment in time that you have the chance to capture forever.” Like her page on Facebook with a chance to win a free download before the album release (http:// www.facebook.com/brokendresses). Also listen via SoundCloud at (http://www.soundcloud.com/ jenbaron). As all entrepreneurs of business, music, and life in general know, it is hard work getting out there and following your dreams. So let’s show our support Antioch and give all we can to show Jen that AUSB has her back! Ω

V i l la i ns & Mo n sters Poetry: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Civilized

Civilized, Dignified, Wrapped up in historic lies. How can a war be civil When war is far from civilized? Brother killing brother, Father versus mother. This is not civilized, There is no way to justify The blood and pain as children cry. War conventions, And your treaties; Only serve to prove us needing, Of your attention, And intervention. We fight these wars for others; The battles against lovers; The acid rain falls down; And we poison the ground; Yet let’s fight for our neighbors lies; Because man, we are civilized. Is there no other way No other price we can pay? Must our youth die, For the sake of being civilized?

Brother-father-sister-mother, I beg you stop us before we make another Person civilized. Listening to lies; Ignoring the widows cries; Lusting for victory’s prize; Cutting familial ties; So we can pretend to be civilized. Never dancing to the drum, Never teaching our own young; Eating food that kills; Bouncing checks to pay bills. We will cut off our hair; And wear the clothes they tell us to wear. We will deny our past; And learn all too fast, How to tell lies; As we become Civilized. The elders cry As the old ways die. We don’t know why We would want to be Civilized?

What makes us think we are civilized? The way we rape our land; With eco sticker in hand? The way we teach the youth; And deprive them of the truth? The way we accept all we meet; As we throw them out on the street? The might of our fearless gun; As kids kill each other for fun?

T he A U S B Odyssey Faces of AUSB: Alexandra Richardson

Charity Hill

“If not careful we can be our own monster,

childhood has given me the drive to help others living

we can destroy ourselves when we are not

in similar situations, sharing that we have a choice to

paying attention.”

change our paths, we do not have to be a product of our parents.” She now enjoys spending time bowling,

B.A. student, Charity Hill is passionate about

playing games with her family at home, and tutoring

helping others, “whether that be opening a door for

children at CALM.

someone, or listening to someone’s problems and

finding a solution.” She is currently studying Psychology

we can be our own monster, we can destroy ourselves

here at Antioch University Santa Barbara with plans to

when we are not paying attention. Live in the Now and

continue in the M.A.C.P. program. A mother at age 19,

accept the good and the bad, there is a lesson to be

she didn’t start college until she was 34 years old, but

learned in everything.”

she knew that working with youth was her calling since her time as a youth leader at a church.

“Antioch has been inspirational in following my

dreams further with the emphasis of social justice. I don’t only want to help young people locally but globally in order to brighten their future and society’s future”, Charity says of how AUSB is helping her reach her calling.

Charity grew up in an abusive household and

has been able to move on by sending her father to jail and pursuing her own passions. Charity says, “My

Charity’s final thoughts are this: “If not careful

V i l la i ns & Mo n sters From the Antioch Community

Quotes on Villainy

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains. – Lord Byron (Contributed by Jamaica Horton, B.A. student) Political extremism involves two prime ingredients: an excessively simple diagnosis of the world’s ills, and a conviction that there are identifiable villains [in] back of it all. – John W. Gardner (Contributed by Jeffrey Lovelace, B.A. student) Villains...I see fangs, I see cowboys, I see all shapes and sizes, a costume that anyone can wear. -Hannah Hollbrook AUSB professor

When I think of a “villain,” I think of a scary, selfish person swinging from building to building, it’s very comic book to me. -Shonna Berk B.A. student Photo by Brooke Robison

For me, a villain would be somebody who has a closed mind. – Jacquline Oliveria, M.A., Adjunct Faculty You look at the greatest villains in human history, the fascists, the autocrats, they all wanted people to kneel before them because they don’t love themselves enough. -Tom Hiddleston (Contributed by Jeffrey Lovelace, B.A. student) As there is a use in medicine for poisons, so the world cannot move without rogues. - Ralph Waldo Emerson (Contributed by Jeffrey Lovelace, B.A. student)

T he A U S B Odyssey Staff Picks - The Arts: Jeffrey Lovelace

Santa Barbara’s Sunday Tradition

Photo by Jeffrey Lovelace

When you think of the arts in Santa Barbara, your brain can overload with opportunity. The Santa Barbara Museum of Art and the Contemporary Arts Forum feature inspirational exhibitions of visual art. UCSB’s Arts & Lectures series bring us everything from Shakespeare, to Brazilian jazz, to readings by best-selling authors. Top tier musicians flock to the Arlington, Lobero, Granada, and County Bowl. The Center Stage Theater puts on quality local stage productions. The list goes on. With all of these world class options, what have I chosen to highlight for you? How about our humble, weekly arts and crafts institution for 46 years, the Santa Barbara Arts and Crafts Show, better known as the “Sunday Beach Show?” Before you roll your eyes and turn the page, consider that not just anyone can pitch a white canopy and sell whatever. Artists and their works must conform

to a long list of standards. The artist must hand make, or at least customize, the arts and crafts they sell. The artists must also live in our general area. Consider this our local farmer’s market for art and craft. The Sunday Beach Show is also huge. Over 200 artisans show their wares along Cabrillo Boulevard from State Street almost all the way to Milpas. The variety of mediums and styles staggers the imagination, as does the inventiveness of many artists. I doubt art historians will ever consider these works “important,” and none will sell at Sotheby’s for enough money to feed the world’s poor for a year. However, I guarantee that everyone, except the snootiest, will find something that makes them say, “Wow, that’s very cool.” Add to that free admission and a stroll along the beach on a Sunday afternoon, and you are bound to have a pleasant, inspirational time. You might even take something home with you. Ω

T he AU S B Odyssey Calendar of Events: Alexandra Richardson

Fall Calendar

Date:

Event:

Time:

Admission:

Varies

Free

Location:

Oct 5-7, 2012

26th Annual California Avocado Festival

Oct 13, 2012

Harbor & Seafood Festival

10AM-5PM

Free

Oct 20, 2012

Snow Patrol

7:00 PM

Varies

Oct 20, 2012

The SB Beer Festival

12PM-4PM

$45-$55; $12 for Designated Drivers

Elings Park

Museum admission

Santa Barbara Museum of Art

Oct 20, 2012 -Jan 20, 2013 Oct 26-28, 2012

The Artful Recluse: Painting, Poetry, and Museum Hours Politics in 17th-Century China Boo at the Zoo

Downtown Carpinteria

Santa Barbara Harbor Santa Barbara Bowl

Times vary

$14/adults $10/ children Santa Barbara Zoo

7AM-8PM

Free Must be U.S. citizen, 18 and over, registered by October 22, 2012

Contact Info: www.avofest.com www.harborfestival.org www.sbbowl.com www.sbbeerfestival.com

www.sbma.net

www.sbzoo.org

Polling locations vary

www.sos.ca.gov/elections

See website

Arlington Theater

www.thearlingotntheatre. com

Times vary

See website

Locations vary

www.newnoisesb.org

Santa Barbara International Marathon

See website

Starts at Dos Pueblos Senior High School

www.sbimarathon.com

Nov 22, 2012

Thanksgiving Day Pumpkin Smash

10AM-3:30PM

Free with admission

Santa Barbara Zoo

www.sbzoo.org

Nov 28, 2012

18th Annual La Arcada Christmas Walk

See website

Free

La Arcada Plaza

www.laarcadasantabarbara. com

Nov 30, 2012

60th Annual Downtown Holiday Parade

6:30 PM

Free

Lower State Street

www. santabarbaradowntown.com

Dec 2, 2012

Sledding at the Zoo

10AM-3PM

Free with admission

Santa Barbara Zoo

www.sbzoo.org

Dec 9, 2012

27th Annual Holiday Parade of Lights at the Harbor

3PM

Free

Santa Barbara Harbor

805-564-5530

Nov 6, 2012

Election Day

Nov 9, 2012

The Monkees

8:00 PM

Nov 8-11, 2012

New Noise Music Festival

Nov 10, 2012

The AUSB Odyssey - Villains & Monsters

Tuesday, November 6, 2012, a date that will live in...

☑ Glory? ☐ Infamy?

✓

YOU DECIDE - O T E

WE WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU…… The AUSB Odyssey provides a unique opportunity for students, faculty, staff and alumni of AUSB to share their written work. We are always accepting theme-based submissions for current and future issues. Submissions can include: current news, literary works, photography, artwork, reviews, or pieces on social justice, business, health, or human interest. Whether you are a student in one of our various programs, faculty, staff member, or alumni, we would love to hear from you. Please email Odyssey.ausb@antioch.edu with comments, questions, and/or submissions. We appreciate your continued support of our humble publication. The AUSB Odyssey is a student driven production designed to provide an opportunity for members of the AUSB community to share their critical and creative voices. The views represented are those of the authors, not necessarily Antioch University Santa Barbara.