BREAKING BAD: Measuring Up Walter White 01/15/2012
 I first discovered AMC’s BREAKING BAD when the show was already around halfway through its second season. I happened upon the episode by chance, but I knew immediately when I saw it that AMC had something exceptional. The premise seems mundane enough: After finding that he has stage three lung cancer, a high school chemistry teacher begins cooking methamphetamines with the hope of leaving behind a nest-egg for his growing family. What is far from mundane is everything else about the show: the writing; the directing; the acting. Combined, BREAKING BAD is arguably the most brilliant television show I’ve seen. AMC recently began showing the series from the beginning in anticipation of its upcoming season. While I have enjoyed viewing the episodes I missed and look forward to revisiting the ones I’ve already seen, watching tonight’s episode “Crazy Handful of Nothin’” was impossible to watch without feeling inspired to write about just how brilliant this show is. At this point in the series, chemist/teacher/cancer victim Walter White has just begun chemotherapy and is lying to his family about where he’s getting the money to pay for his $1,500.00-a-pop treatments (his HMO won't cover them). He wants to do the right thing by his family, but this has already begun to leave a wake of destruction in all other facets of his life. This duality within his character is further demonstrated by his choice in pseudonym: Heisenberg. Werner Heisenberg was a physicist who came up with the Uncertainty Principle, which basically states that one cannot accurately measure the position of a particle while also predicting that same particle’s path. This principle illustrates Walt’s character in profound ways. Like a particle identified in space, where his character is going—the certainty of his future and the direction his life is heading—is impossible to gauge. The Uncertainty Principle also covers the ambiguity of enigmas like light, which behave both like waves and particles. Walter is as if two men concurrently; he is the particle and the wave, the good family man and the ever-corrupting methamphetamine cook. This duality is skillfully demonstrated in a scene in which his hair begins to fall out from the chemotherapy. He stands in front of the mirror, looking at the image staring back at him as he takes the shaver from the bathroom counter, contemplating. The camera cuts to a shot of a crystal jar on the counter with a clear sphere as its handle. For that quick moment, we see Walt’s reflection in that as well, upside-down because of the curve of the sphere. Because of that moment, we understand that Walt’s life has been turned upside-down. He leaves the bathroom bald and transformed. What makes BREAKING BAD so exceptional is that every episode I’ve seen contains a similar level of layers, symbolism, and profound connections. It is like fine literature on a television screen, far from what one would expect from a storyline about a man who decides to become a methamphetamine cook … and that is most likely precisely the dichotomy AMC was looking to create. Go to http://www.amctv.com/shows/breaking-bad for more information on this mind-blowing series. Add Comment The 1984 Effect 12/21/2011
The dystopia is a dying art. Popularized by authors such as George Orwell (1984), Ray Bradbury (Fahrenheit 451), and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (Cat’s Cradle), dystopian literature sacrifices the popular feel-good storyline and happy ending for provocative commentary and an argument for social or political change. Works following the dystopian model make use of social outsiders, antiheroes, and intellectual misfits. They make examples of their characters. Good people die. The corrupt do their worst. The world as we know it comes to an end. These days, however, people don’t want to read anything depressing. They want good news. They want happy endings. They want to escape. And that is precisely the problem. We all have our individual tastes in fiction, and that’s fine. Just the same, we must take a closer look at the social complacency current trends reflect. More specifically, we must ask if these trends reveal simply a population looking for mindless entertainment, or if they might instead be an indication of something much more nefarious and telling. The 1984 Effect is the connection I see between social complacency and trends in literature, most notably, the virtual death of dystopia and similar genres. I argue that we as a society have been brainwashed into believing escapism is the key to a healthy, happy life, and with that we have sacrificed free, progressive thought and intellectual stimulation. Like the characters in Orwell’s 1984, society has been taught to go with the flow, do what it is told, and question issues just long enough perhaps to see the political backlash and fall back quickly into line. Occupy Wall Street is the perfect example. Many of us want change, but lack the initiative, the tools, or the backbone to manifest it. Moreover, our minds are in the wrong place. This is not the time for escapism, as tempting the bait may be. This is the time for assessment, reflection, and problem solving. This is the time to be reading the literature about the times. It is time we reject complacency and once again begin looking toward the future.
I received a link this morning to an opinion piece titled, “The Harsh Bigotry of Twilight-Haters: Why is it that female fantasy is so derided and feared?” with a request to write a response on my blog. Given I had already said my piece about Twilight at the New Sensuality, I thought to discard the link. Unfortunately, the title already had me hooked. What irony that the article’s author, Erika Christakis, uses the very argument people make against Twilight to condemn them. She writes, The negative reactions fall in two camps: The dismissive camp simply mocks Twilight’s incorporation of silly, “moony” elements like undying love and the surprisingly authentic portrayal of wedding ritual, honeymoon jitters and the shock of unintended pregnancy; the topics are apparently too boring and unrelatable for most reviewers. The deluded camp, conversely, takes Twilight far too seriously, faulting it for leading young girls to mistake fantasy for reality in dangerous, disempowering ways. Here, the author suggests that those who disapprove of Twilight are either dismissive or deluded, offering a ridiculous list of “elements” we “haters” find too “moony.” (Could someone please define “moony” for me? My vocabulary is unsophisticated.) Apparently, I mock undying love, realistic weddings, honeymoon jitters, and the shock of unintended pregnancy. Ms. Christakis, if you would like to read about a truly shocking unintended pregnancy, please read my erotic horror, The Darkness and the Night: Blood and Coffee—and perhaps you might hold Karen’s hand at the abortion clinic while she contemplates terminating the monster she is sure to give birth to. Christakis describes those of us who disagree with the dynamics between Bella and Edward as “deluded,” adding, Maybe part of the reason critics deplore these movies is not only because they are so unfamiliar with kooky heterosexual female fantasies but also because they don’t really like what these fantasies say about men. What people like this author don’t seem to get is the problem is not with kooky heterosexual fantasies (fantasies are good); it’s about characters that are so despicably misogynistic that one can’t help but cringe when made to think about them. The problem isn’t with “undying love, realistic weddings, honeymoon jitters, and the shock of unintended pregnancy;” the problem is with Edward’s violent temper (very reminiscent of a spouse abuser), with Bella’s utter dependence upon a male figure in her life for safety and purpose. Author Kathryn Sirls wrote this thoughtful opinion piece on the references to spousal abuse in Twilight. In closing, I would like to make it clear for the last time: “Twilight-haters” have a problem with abusive Edward, defenseless and dependent Bella, and all of the other messed up dynamics Meyers somehow makes okay. That’s it. End of story. I was surprised today to read Yahoo News’ headline, “‘American Horror Story’ Goes Too Far’”. The gripe? Tate’s back-story.  For those who missed it, the episode offered every gory detail about his massacring several classmates before committing suicide by cop. What the article’s author found to be going too far, however, I found to be a thoughtful and creepy commentary on the dynamics involved in such heartbreaking and ghastly events. Any murder/suicide—let alone teenage murder/suicide—is a tragedy. It is horrific. That’s precisely why last week’s episode of American Horror Story was so powerful. It’s obvious why viewer response has been so strong. What makes the series so good is its willingness to take chances, to show the ugly along with the artful, and the mesh the fantastic with gritty realism. To me, that’s what makes good horror. What do you think? Is it still “too soon” to cover a Columbine-type storyline? Did AHS go too far? The Class Divide and Class Warfare 11/04/2011
The divide between the rich and the poor spans the length of history. Why both can sometimes treat the other as if enemies from foreign nations is difficult to dissect, but it is evident from current and historical events that humanity continuously seeks out ways to segregate. We’ve seen people divide over race, color, language, religion, gender, and wealth. No matter which side one is on, there exists rhetoric that dehumanizes, de-intellectualizes, and points angry blame at the other. Right now, the prevalent rhetoric is widening the class divide: the wealthy are soulless bastards who pathologically hoard money and material items; the working class is comprised of lazy freeloaders who feel entitled to regular handouts. Is either of these universally correct? Correct to any degree or not, does it justify the level of divide being felt right now between the upper and lower classes? In my new release World-Mart, the class divide among the majority is separated by those who work among the masses, those born to work in manual labor, and the 1% who own them all. The story follows one family’s struggle to hold together when the class boundaries between them suddenly change. Excerpt: There was still no sign of Shelley and Kurt. George wondered if perhaps he had been a little too hard on both of them as of late, and maybe they decided to stay out past dark to teach him a lesson. Maybe their plan was to make him worry just long enough for him to realize he wasn’t being as much of a team player as he could be. If that was the case, they were succeeding beyond their wildest dreams. Deciding that he had the scenario completely figured out, he went to his bedroom and packed an overnight bag. Noting the turning weather, he bundled up, putting on a heavy jacket, his warmest boots, and a protective hat. He found a good picture of Virginia and tucked it into his bag, then left a note in the kitchen, telling Shelley to keep an eye on Kurt for the weekend. He said nothing about Virginia in his note, not wanting to get their hopes up, telling them he would explain everything when he returned. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he felt that initiating a physical search would be a far better use of his time than staying idly where he was. He had the weekend to travel the district, and Shelley was old enough to watch Kurt for a couple of days. He knew that what he was doing was rash, but there was too much at stake for him to do nothing. He locked up the apartment and took off toward the shuttle garage, hoping that he wasn’t too late to get a quick lift closer to the heart of the district. He ran as a shuttle going northeast was getting ready to begin toward its final trip to the Food-Mart. He boarded the shuttle just in time, and it accelerated out of the garage just as Shelley’s shuttle came in. * * * * Shelley hurried to the apartment, positive that she would freeze to death if she didn’t get to a heated space soon. Half of her body felt numb, and everything that wasn’t numb burned from the cold. Her head was so cold she could barely think. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to tell her father about Kurt, as a huge confrontation the moment she stepped through the front door was most likely unavoidable. Still, she had nowhere else left to go but home. Much to her surprise, she opened the door to a cold, dark, empty apartment. She was relieved at first, but when she read George’s note and realized that Kurt was still unaccounted for, she became overtaken with another heavy surge of guilt and worry. She turned the wall heater back on and stood by it for a moment. Unwilling to face the cold again, Shelley decided to regain her bearings and get a good night’s rest before returning to her search for Kurt. She would get up early and start back at the Corp Education System’s garage, giving his picture to all of the security associates in the area. Hopefully, he just went home with a friend and she could track him down before George got back. Trying to convince herself that she had done the right thing by returning home, that there was nothing more she could have done for him, she tried to get comfortable on the hard kitchen chair. Not satisfied with how quickly the coils were heating, Shelley decided to take a quick, hot shower. She hurried to the bathroom and turned on the click-light. She looked at her battered face in the mirror, horrified at the sight of her bloodshot eye. Dark bruises were beginning to form all around it, and the swelling still had not let up. Forcing herself to look away, she turned on the shower as hot as her skin could take it. She turned on the water recycler, planning to stay in as long as it took to warm her body clear through. Standing under the heavy jets of water, relishing in finally being warm, she did not hear the telephone ring. Kurt stood, shaking and chattering, in a phone booth in the Corp Education System’s shuttle garage. He had hidden in the boys‟ bathroom earlier, when Shelley had been looking for him, and clearly he had stayed in there for a little too long. The game had ceased to be fun some time ago, and now he just wanted to go home. Shelley had his shuttle pass, and he had been denied passage even on the promise that he would pay later. Security sent him on another round of hide-and-go-seek, and by the time he emerged from his spot behind the garbage cans, the entire garage had been shut down for the evening. Heavy gates kept him from entering school grounds, and he had no idea as to where any of the pedestrian access halls led. He realized that his hands and fingers were turning shades of red and blue, and he rubbed them together in attempt to warm them. The motion was painful, despite the fact that most of both hands had gone numb. His face and ears had all gone numb too, and his toes felt like frozen rocks in his shoes. As the area became dark and quiet, he began to imagine monsters in the shadows, and as the time passed, he became increasingly certain that those stalking him were the same monsters that had taken away his mother. While he might have sought aid from the random security associate who passed through every hour or so, he dared not move, lest the Boogieman snatch him out of the darkness and send him into some hellish oblivion. He wished he were in his bedroom, near the dim light of the bathroom click-light, safe at home with his family. He knew running and hiding from Shelley had been a mistake, the repercussions having become far worse than a few harsh words or even a spank on the rear. He wondered if Shelley was now in trouble, too, for having lost him, and he genuinely regretted his childish behavior. His fingers and toes began to get worse, and he curled up behind the trashcans in attempt to get warm. To his relief he stopped shaking, although his teeth still chattered. He took quick, heavy breaths, the cold air stinging his lungs. His arms and legs became difficult to move, and he stretched periodically to check that his limbs were all still intact. Finally, he tried to get up, only to find that he could not. He stared ahead, watching his frozen breath as it exited his mouth in tiny puffs. Each breath disappeared nearly as soon as it came, and still he became fixated on the tiny clouds. He began to imagine them in fun and different shapes: a star; a heart; a teddy bear; endless ocean waves; his mother’s beautiful, sad, lonely face. . . . The desire to sleep came on slowly, and then suddenly he had no choice but to close his eyes and rest his heavy head. The chattering stopped and his cold body fell awkwardly limp. His mind slipped to a place where his mother could hold him in a tender, loving embrace, a place where there were no more worries . . . no more monsters, or freezing cold, or crushing despair, just him sitting in his mother’s arms beneath the warm, comforting glow of a slowly fading afternoon sun, lazily picking out the shapes in the drifting clouds. Are we slowly slipping into a real World-Mart . . . and is there anything we can do to stop it? 10/21/2011
Back when I was a child, not that long ago, small businesses were all over the place. There were grocery markets, department stores, and restaurant chains, but “Mom and Pop” were still everywhere. My first job was at a family owned, full-line pet store. My boss taught me the importance of treating the customer right, taking pride in my work, always doing right by the animals, and being educated about what I was selling. The bottom line was important, but not as important as customer loyalty and product quality. Fast-forward twenty years and one would find me working as a manager at a corporate pet store chain. I found the differences between the establishments to be profound—and that bigger does not always mean better. After an especially trying tangle against the corporate red tape on one side of me and low paid young adults slacking under my watch on the other, I remember deciding I was going to write a book that took place in a world where everyone was reduced to a nametag, khakis, and a polo shirt. In this world, no one took pride in what they did, so everything was of mediocre quality at best. The multiple levels of managers and associates made it impossible to accomplish anything efficiently. Everyone did all of their shopping at the Food-Mart, because that was the only place left for people to go. Churches were owned by Faith-Corp. People got all of their news from Info-Corp. And then the terrifying thought struck me that we were already well on our way there.  Excerpt from World-Mart: George glanced through the electronic file of a doctor charged with prescribing and selling antibiotics. The research associates who put the case together had been thorough. The evidence against the doctor was overwhelming, and one particular patient the doctor attempted to treat had strep throat. Of course, when top managers confirmed that the patient was indeed infected with strep, Police-Corp and Medical-Corp worked together to euthanize the man as quickly and humanely as possible. Antibiotics had been outlawed nearly twenty years ago, after scientists had determined that their use was no longer effective against most life-threatening disease-causing bacteria. Even worse, antibiotics affected certain bacteria’s evolutionary development, causing even some of the most benign of infections eventually to become untreatable and deadly. Antibiotic-immune strep, staph, and tuberculosis had became epidemic, and together the three had killed ten percent of the human population before Medical-Corp finally stepped in. Its top managers ordered the construction of quarantine camps, where hundreds of thousands of people eventually were corralled, killed, and cremated. All suspected cases of serious infectious diseases were now referred to a special committee within Medical-Corp. All whom they deemed infectious were removed for the greater good of society. George looked through the different studies that had been attached to the case. Everything looked straightforward, except for the doctor’s personal notes. Page after page, almost all of the doctor’s words were blacked out, all pertaining to an apparent case study he was conducting. The only reason the research associate had left in the scanned files was that every few pages had untouched text in which the doctor mentioned his prescribing illegal antibiotics. George agreed to keep the otherwise useless pages in the file, deciding that the prosecution managers would likely find some use for them. He read the pages of receipts, recorded telephone conversations, and photocopies of the doctor’s appointment logs. Everything appeared to be in order. Police-Corp already had a confession from the man, and therefore a guilty verdict from Law-Corps high management was already imminent. Still, it was George’s job to suggest formally that the doctor be charged and his file be sent to Sentencing. He entered the computer database in front of him, scanning the doctor’s charge sheet and bringing it to the monitor. Two virtual buttons bearing the words “Guilty” and “Not Guilty” appeared on the bottom right corner of the screen under the word “Recommendation.” George tapped the “Guilty” button, and a new screen appeared, asking him a series of questions: Did the Defendant confess to his/her crime(s)? (Research associate #00335-921 said “Yes.”) Click HERE to agree. Click HERE to disagree. Does the file work indicate that the Defendant showed remorse for said crime(s)? (Research associate #01002-486 said “No.”) Click HERE to agree. Click HERE to disagree. Does the file work indicate that the Defendant could have made a profit by committing said crime(s)? (Research associate #00335-921 said “Yes.”) Click HERE to agree. Click HERE to disagree. Has the Defendant ever been convicted of any previous crimes? (Research associate #00257-851 said “Yes.”) Click HERE to agree. Click HERE to disagree. Does the Defendant have anything to say in his/her defense, for having committed said crime(s)? (Research associate #01014-002 said “Yes.”) Click HERE to agree. Click HERE to disagree. George used another application to search for his answers. He went through each relevant section of file work, double-checking himself before punching in the same answers as given by the other research associates. The computer then prompted, “State Defendant’s argument (limit 140 characters),” and George navigated through the file. He found the transcripts from the doctor’s police interview. He frowned as he found the lines in which the doctor said he could explain himself, but the explanation was blacked out. He studied the few words that remained between the thick swatches of black ink, trying to see if even a gist of the man’s argument remained. Knowing that files were blacked out when a suspect’s text referred to illegal or misleading concepts, he knew nothing else could be done but type, “Defendant’s argument invalid.” The computer asked him if he was sure, and George tapped a round button with a “Yes” stretched across it. The printer spat out a few sheets of new paperwork. It was an old, loud, outdated machine, and the paper it used was thick and pulpy, like most paper these days, recycled countless times through hand-powered paper recycling machines, only to be recycled again once another case officially closed. It was an archaic practice, one that few agencies still employed, but the pages gave the final review files a sense of credibility that only tradition could produce. George looked the over pages, and then stapled them together and stamped his personal seal in red ink, in a box printed on the front page. He signed on a line within the seal, added it to the top of the file, and then slid the file into a narrow, locked bin at the side of his cubicle. Bells chimed through a loud speaker. “Your work day is now over,” a soothing, cheerful female voice announced. “Corporate appreciates your productivity. Thank you for working at Law-Corp.” 9 Facts about MYTHS 06/10/2011
When writing Myths of Gods, the delicate nature of the plot and theme created the need for me to work for a balance between respect and boldness as well as didacticism and entertaining prose. One might think that writing a fictitious god might straddle between blasphemous and insane, given the world's current religious climates, but I would argue instead that it is a call to reason, tolerance, and discussion. Myths of Gods 1. was written by an agnostic, 2. is not an attempt to add to any religion's texts, 3. is an attempt at raising critical thought about religion as a whole, 4. is purposefully disturbing, 5. presents a fallible infant god that merely happens upon creation, 6. blurs the lines between good and evil in religion, mankind, and even in God, 7. does not bash religion, 8. has a point to make, 9. will haunt you, no matter what you personally believe. I invite the religious, agnostic, and atheist alike to read Myths of Gods as a personal challenge--or perhaps you will offer me a challenge by sharing your thoughts on it. I would love to discuss the themes with you. I'm so eager for the discourse, I'm giving away a signed paperback to one random poster. Thanks for stopping by! Making MYTHS 06/05/2011
My inspiration for Myths of Gods came one warm northern California day, when I went out into my yard to admire the year’s first real day of spring. The yard was lush from the recent heavy rains, birds flew overhead, and fragrant pollen filled the air. Like all transcendentalists, I couldn’t help but relate the scene to God finally waking from the slumber of winter. Like any writer, ideas began to spin through my mind about a character that might embody that sentiment. When I first wrote Myths of Gods, nearly fifteen years ago, it was in screenplay format. The storyline was crude, there were twelve prophets instead of five, and the theme covered vague abuses of religious power. It hadn’t known what it wanted to be back then, so I filed away the manuscript and set it aside for several years. During that time, I worked on my craft, writing numerous screenplays and short stories, taking classes, and exposing myself to books of all genres. I knew there would be a time when I would revisit Myths of Gods, but only when I was genuinely ready to take on the feat.  About seven years ago, I finally decided to adapt my old Myth of Gods screenplay into a novel. I ended up scrapping over half the characters and rebuilding the story from the ground-up with a stronger sense of theme and satire. I condensed the “gods” to five people embodying five condensed properties: Mind, Matter, Time, Life, and Death. I purposefully blurred the lines between good and evil, inviting the reader to redefine the two, as one character determines, “she of all people knew better than to divide the values of gods and devils.” The good and bad in people can be just as difficult to define. Myths of Gods takes place in a society where religious leaders govern with great wealth and power over the people. They are opposed to the prophecy that states five virgins will give birth collectively to God, mainly because it discredits their longstanding theocracy. This results in religion, in effect, waging war against God. The aspect I had the most fun with was balancing the mind of God, Jeza Khess, with her fallible human mind: Jeza thought back to when she was the unbodied consciousness, and how God had not considered the possibility that the manifested beings would be so wholly human and unforeseeably flawed. Jeza’s struggles between her human mind and the universal consciousness it struggles to process were ideal for speculating her limits and attributes, which allowed me to take a close, critical look at faith, belief, and consciousness. Myths of Gods has come a long way since its first incarnation, and I can say with great enthusiasm that the years have done it well. My thanks to all who helped to make it what it is today. It’s been a long and treacherous road, but the journey has been well worth it. Myths of Gods is now available at Amazon in Paperback and eBook. Rapture 05/21/2011
When I first heard about a fringe Christian radio host’s rapture prediction, which claimed that the end of the world was to come on May 21, 2011, my initial response was to laugh it off. There have been numerous predicted doomsdays in my time, and this was just one more. However, the more I thought about it, the more it upset me. This was real to the people who believed it—and that was no laughing matter. Good people with great faith, even faith misplaced, do not deserve our ridicule. They deserve our compassion—and they deserve a society that would not take advantage of their willingness to believe. People have given up their life savings, their personal belongings, and their pride over this most recent religious debacle. One must question not only the personal impact this is going to have on people, but the moral one. One must question how much money Harold Camping was able to make off desperate, scared believers through his supposed doomsday awareness campaign. According to CNN, he has received over eighty million dollars in “donations” since beginning the campaign. One must consider what is going to become of all those who gave up all they had, only to learn that they had been misled. I think of the people who will struggle financially now, while Camping is off living the good life with their money, and I shudder. My upcoming release, Myths of Gods, takes a critical look at those who use religion as a means of controlling the masses or accruing wealth. I respect people who practice religious beliefs, but I also think it is important for all religious people, no matter who they are or what they believe, to take a closer look at their dogma—and their leaders. Faith is not a bad thing, but faith used as an excuse to commit wrongs against others is immoral on so many levels. There are too many examples for me to choose one or two (and I don’t want this thread to turn into a religious bashing party), but they exist on every religious front. No exceptions. I know atheists who put down religious thought, saying that belief in anything so farfetched as any dogma warrants their scorn. I say belief is personal, individual, and an aspect to being human. I think it is something that should be respected—as long as no one is getting hurt. Of course, that’s just my personal belief. Language 05/13/2011
Having taken on the task of learning Italian over these past two years, I've found language has taken on even deeper meaning foo me. For any writer, words are like air or water; they are a vital component to one's daily life. Words represent communication, art, emotion, intelligence, and release. Learning a new language adds a whole new set of words to one's palate, but it also adds a greater dimension to the way one thinks about coloquial speach, word choice, and even grammar. Learning to speak a foreign language forces one to slow down and really think about what s/he wants to say--and why one chooses to say it one way, and not another. As a writer, one with a whirlwind of words dancing around in my head at any given time, I think I took for granted the ease in which I could find just the right word. I found that, when speaking in Italian, I had to search for that word a little longer. I had to think about my use of tense. It makes me think even more about the words I use more regularly. Learning a foreign language has also offered some fun insight on the use of coloquial language and swear words. One sees one'e coloquial language change over the years, with old words going obsolite and new words taking their place (when I was little, "totally," "rad," and "gag me" were common in coloquial speech in California, but more recently, words like "phat" and "dope" would be better received). When I think about the language cautions I learned regarding Italian swear words, I couldn't help but think about what makes a swear word; I concluded that social acceptance of a word's symbolic value is all that makes any word what it is. Strange, though, how we decide some words are dirty and others are sophisticated--and they are because we agree they are. I wish the U.S. had more dual emersion gradeschools, as I consider how differently I would view words now, had I learned a second language back when I was a child. I find it amazing that we don't teach our young multiple languages, as great as the benefits would be. | ArchivesFebruary 2012 CategoriesAll |
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