The Lumberjack



Students Serving The Cal Poly Humboldt Campus and Community Since 1929

Category: Opinion

  • Schizophrenia, bipolar and anxiety, oh my!

    Schizophrenia, bipolar and anxiety, oh my!

    by Savana Robinson

    What is schizophrenia? According to the American Psychiatric Association, schizophrenia affects less than 1% of the population. It is a chronic brain disorder with symptoms such as delusions, hallucinations and disorganized speech.

    I got lucky. I got my diagnosis at the young age of 22, and the mental health system worked in my favor. This is not the case for most, and I want to raise awareness of that. Oftentimes, people suffer from symptoms for years without a diagnosis. Often they are gaslit or belittled. Being called crazy isn’t fun. That’s what I heard the lady next to me in the psych ward at Mad River Hospital say. She was right. It’s not fun, but getting help when you’re not in the right headspace is important. The stigma around mental health, schizophrenia specifically, needs to change. We should be treating those in distress with compassion because mental health can be a difficult topic to approach, especially if it’s regarding a loved one.

    The first time I was put on a 5150 hold was because Sergeant Martin of the university police noticed that I wasn’t acting like myself. I misplaced my phone at the Student Activity Center, convinced someone had stolen it. I was telling him things like the person who took my phone put recording devices in my room, and that someone was out to get me. He transported me to Mad River Hospital, where I was put on a 5150 hold; involuntarily held there for my own safety. They ran some tests to make sure I wasn’t on drugs; my paranoia was high and I thought that the oxygen tank in my hospital room was going to explode. I could hear a ticking coming from a camera on the wall that was in sync with my heartbeat. They released me to my dad after one night. 

    The peak of my psychosis was the night after I was released from Mad River. I took a sleeping pill – never again. I walked and ran three miles from my house barefoot, thinking that someone had planted bombs all over Redwood Valley and that everything I loved would be blown to smithereens. Thank goodness a kind samaritan saw me hopping the fence to the freeway and called the authorities. My dad is a first responder and he told me that was the most fucked-up call he’d ever been on. I tore up my feet and traumatized my father that night. 

    The next day my parents took me to Ukiah Adventist and they put me on my second 5150 hold. I believe I should have gone straight to a psychiatric facility, but my feet were hurt pretty bad. I guess it made sense to keep me in the hospital for a couple of days, but the hallucinations I experienced there were unsettling. It felt like I lived through a horror movie. I could hear the happenings of what I believed to be a torture chamber in the room next to me. When I was finally transported – without my consent – I believed my whole family had been cut up and sewn into a big wad of flesh, and that I was being “saved” and sent away to start a new life. It took me about five days, and a lot of sedation, to realize that I had been in psychosis for over a week, having been in a manic episode for months. After months of therapy, I fully realized that what I experienced in the hospital was one big hallucination. When the psychiatrist told me I was schizophrenic and bipolar, everything finally made sense.

    In total, I was put on a 5150 hold twice and 5250 once. A 5150 hold lets the facility keep you for 72 hours and 5250 lets them keep you for 14 days. I will say this until I die: 5150 patients should not be kept in hospitals unless they have severe injuries. In my experience, hospitals can be very triggering. It’s an unfamiliar environment; the sounds of the machines and people talking can make someone suffering from psychosis spiral into a worse condition.

    Now that I have my diagnosis, have been on medication for six months, been in therapy, I look back on all of my delusions and hallucinations, and I don’t recognize that girl. She needed help, lots of help, but she got it. I’m very thankful for everyone who helped me when I wasn’t myself. I’m also appreciative of myself for being vulnerable enough to admit that I need help and accepting the help that was offered to me.

    If you take away anything from my experience, please let it be this: listen to the people around you when they’re trying to help you. Say something if you notice a loved one is behaving strangely. No one has all the answers, especially not a manic college student, but that’s okay. The world is a scary place and sometimes our brains make it scarier, but we have each other and that is what’s most important.

    Love always,

    Sav

  • A billboard badly done beyond all believable bounds

    A billboard badly done beyond all believable bounds

    by  Dezmond Remington

    I wish I could start this article with a funny anecdote about a billboard I once saw somewhere. I wish I could remember something about the giant ads on the side of the road that beg for your dollar with flaking stock photos of smiling people, content with their decisions to consume product X. That would make an incredible comparison to Cal Poly Humboldt’s website, but the problem is that they’re both too boring and too similar for it to even be clever. 

    The fonts are huge. The slogans are worn and used. It’s completely uninformative, incredibly boring, and entirely useless. It’s a 2.5 second elevator pitch meant for the uninitiated, the outsiders. What’s the real difference between a beer ad featuring a picture of a frosty bottle 12 feet tall and a glamor shot of a redwood on campus? 

    The website as it is designed now is simply the front-facing outlet for the administration’s constant hunger for more; more money, more students, more buildings, a Moloch filled with an evil lust. Very little is there for the current students, unless they figure out how to navigate its byzantine backrooms. Want an easy answer for when tuition is due? Good luck. How about some information about major requirements or how scholarships are processed? Have fun banging your head on your desk after searching relentlessly for an hour for an easy answer. How do I add a minor? Go fuck yourself. 

    The answers to so many really important questions aren’t on the website at all, as I’ve found out too many times, but trapped in the heads of some advisor I didn’t even know I had or a luddite department chair with an allergy to answering emails. Instead of taking the time to make a well-linked, easy to use website with simple answers to common questions for students, the website is filled with factoids about platitudes such as how many alumni graduate with practical experience or how strong the campus community is. Who cares? Whoever designed the damned thing made it really easy to find information about energy-saving programs that have long since gone broke or their supposed commitment to “inclusive excellence,” but not crucial need-to-know things for, say, disabled students or people here on a WUE scholarship. 

    If the website had simply always been this way, maybe there would be an excuse. Maybe it got grandfathered in, unable to face the challenges of a polytechnic with a lot of outside interest to the tune of over 20,000 applicants for this fall semester. However, it got redone this year, with brand-new typefaces and different photos, updated housing pages and a clearer “Purpose and Vision” page, whatever that means. Current students were not consulted on what they would have liked done with it outside of purely aesthetic choices, buried in a survey launched in one of dozens of official emails most students get. 

    It’s sad. It would be so nice if it was completely redesigned, with actual input from students beyond simple feedback on logos designed by East Coast marketing firms. There should be a focus on making the important stuff people want to know very clear. The website should function beyond mere solicitation. I hope there’s a push to change that. Make the big paragraph on the homepage claiming to “help you find the answers” true.

  • Is Arcata the Florida of California?

    Is Arcata the Florida of California?

    by Alana Hackman

    One morning, I was finishing up one of my mundane tasks at work when I overheard a discussion between my manager and a customer. The customer was a travel nurse and was stationed up here for the summer. Of course, the follow-up question to that information was, “Where are you from?” in response she goes, “Florida”. 

    That answer was a bit shocking to me. I’ve met people from New Jersey, Texas and even Canada up here – but Florida? My manager asked her how she enjoyed her time up here and through a slight chuckle she responded, “Well this is the most Florida place I’ve ever been to in California.”

    At this point I had to laugh with her. I was never posed with a comparison that happened to be so spot on. It’s remained on my mind since then, so today I ask myself, is Arcata really the Florida of California? 

    I mean to start with the first difference: Arcata will never ever be comparable to the Sunshine State. Our muggy, gray clouds in August will speak for themselves. Although, there are some similarities if we want to look at the landscape. Starting with the lush vegetation, the Everglades and redwoods are quite synonymous. Same with our apex predators, like gators and black bears. We also share the same sandy beaches at close proximity. 

    I mean, Arcata is no girl’s spring break trip to Miami, but we do have lots of tourists coming through and even some hotties, if you’re into ecological preservation and bare feet – another shared similarity between the two vacation destinations but for completely different reasons. If you’re not near a beach, I don’t want to see those toes. 

    There seems to be many more similarities between the two; crazy amounts of drug peddling and always being able to count on the most insane conversation to be initiated between you and some stranger that approaches you on the street. Can’t forget the wannabe rappers that seem to be coming out of the woodwork all the time. Also, how both destinations seem to be a top pick for retirement communities. 

    I believe that one of the biggest similarities you can find between Florida and Arcata is that you can almost always expect the local headlines to hold the same zany crime bookings that are shared between the two coastal regions. 

    Any headline beginning with ‘Florida Man’ or ‘Humboldt Man’ can always promise the most insane crime story you’ll ever read. Must have something to do with the beaches and far right extremists that shack up on both coasts. 

    A quick peruse of Orlando Fox 35’s website under the keywords ‘Florida Man’ brings up cases such as a man dunking a woman’s head in tar, another throwing a barbecue at deputies and one stealing a hearse from a funeral home. You may think these are as crazy as it can get, but have you seen the recent headlines in the Lost Coast Outpost?

    Let me entertain you with a few: The confiscation of 2,400 tabs of acid, a man setting fire to another man in Eureka, and my personal favorite, the man found with a handgun that was the size of a credit card along with drug paraphernalia. 

    Along with the crime, we can’t forget about the universities. Although there’s a few more to choose from in Florida than the small city of Arcata, I think they hold the same results of anticipation for students – to only be let down once they arrive. We can also count on the humidity to ruin your cute outfits and hair in both places. 

    All in all I think that anonymous travel nurse was right, Arcata is the most Florida place in California. Fresno may be the runner-up in reference to the crazies, but who vacations in Fresno?

  • Delete your TikTok

    Delete your TikTok

    by Valen Lambert

    Originally printed April 12, 2023

    When our government recently proposed a ban on TikTok because of national security risks, I was probably one of the few that delighted in the news. While the government is worried about national security, I think the app’s biggest threat is to culture and dare I say, our souls. I might sound like a pretentious asshole, but I think TikTok is melting the brains of the youth and you need to delete it right now and go touch some fucking grass. 

    When I first transferred here from the old-school beach town of Morro Bay, where flip phones still circulated amongst my unplugged community of surfers, farmers, and creatives, I was blown away by the distinct “TikTok culture” that I realized dominates the humor, interests and identities of my peers. All of a sudden I kept hearing people saying the same jokes, the same words, while wearing the same outfits accompanied by the same refrain: “I saw it on TikTok!”

    Don’t get me wrong, trends are a natural part of our social fabric, but there’s something about the way that TikTok baby-feeds content to its users and digs their personalities into a hole at frightening speeds that freaks me out. It homogenizes people into select subcultures based on their algorithm. Instead of going out into the world and discovering themselves through their own exploration of literature, media, art and fashion, TikTok informs your personality for you. 

    The algorithm puts you in a box. Conformity just got a whole lot faster and easier with TikTok spiraling users into cogs in the culture machine. It leaves little to no room for users to explore themselves naturally without the consistent influence of the internet. The app is a culture factory, and everyone is willingly surrendering to the mind-numbing work of consuming and popping out trends that this app is banking off of. Everyone’s also hoping to bank off their own image.

    All of a sudden everyone has a chance to be famous. The Hollywood virus is infecting young folks all around the world with the idea that with some good looks, a little charm and some trendiness, they’ll make a big break and one of their videos will go viral. They take to their front-cameras and hope that they can capitalize on their image (while simultaneously bagging on capitalism). The app promotes radical self expression, but leads creators to monetize on their individuality and become caricatures of themselves. They’re abandoning memes and becoming them.

    I don’t have a TikTok, but I have an Instagram, which is unfortunately the same damn thing at this point. I get suggested so many dumb reels of people making faces into the camera with some regurgitated words to go along with some trending song and it’s all just one big jack-off party. I lose thousands of brain cells anytime I see one.  

    Look, I like posting selfies too. I like feeling hot and confident and sharing that with the world and not giving AF. I’m in no way trying to belittle people for feeling themselves. But I believe there is a threshold, because it can’t possibly be good for your mental health to be chronically online and have your whole life and image revolving around your digital presence. If this sounds like you, I urge you to unplug, even if just for a bit. There is so much meaningless content getting pumped into our heads that has no benefit to your well-being whatsoever, and believe it or not, all that dog-shit is taking up valuable space in your head where you could be daydreaming, thinking about poems, flowers, or frogs, or better yet, absolutely fucking nothing.  

    I want to make it clear that I’m not targeting anyone specifically, and that being chronically online doesn’t make you a robot. It’s a crazy time to be alive, and social media has become so irreversibly ingrained that it’s hard to disconnect from it if you grew up with it. This generation also faces so much anxiety about the impending doom of our future, I don’t blame us for being chronically online. I mainly hate this stupid app because I know that in every person there is unfathomable depth and complexity that is being suppressed by mainlining content straight to their identity. 

    We create ourselves every day. Our lives, our identities, are art projects that we create through connecting and making associations with the world around us. That is hard to do when you only see the world in ways that other people told you you should see. It’s like watching Bob Ross and only being really good at making Bob Ross paintings. Delete your TikTok and go paint the world with yourself.

  • Social media can be a powerful tool

    by Kianna Znika

    Originally printed April 12, 2023

    I’m honestly really grateful to be alive in a time where social media exists. When used with intention, these platforms can be a great place to find resources, community and inspiration. 

    The Internet is where I’ve learned a lot of important life skills, thanks to content creators who are passionate about making this knowledge accessible. There are online communities created with the sole intention of helping other people in our everyday lives. For example, creators on “#CleaningTok” teach others the basics of cleaning without any judgment, knowing that some people struggle due to mental illness or because they were raised in messy homes. It was the hashtag “#Comfycore” that helped me start taking better care of my body and its needs. There are also content creators who give tips to other low-income people about budgeting, grocery shopping and the basics of surviving capitalism. 

    Social media isn’t always an escape from something, or a place to just mindlessly scroll. I am continuously learning, sharing and connecting with others.

    You create your own social media experience; you can choose to follow people you actually like. You can choose not to engage with certain trends. I choose to treat my personal account like a scrapbook of my life because it genuinely makes me happy. I follow other content creators who I feel are truly authentic.

    There’s a lot of debate around whether or not someone can be authentic online, and this frustrates me because I genuinely believe you can, if you want to. It’s a choice. You can choose to be yourself online but the thing is that it is a challenge. It requires you to really check in with yourself, unlearn things, and push past fears of being perceived or judged. You’ll ask yourself things like, “Why am I posting this? Is this really for me?” and “Why am I not posting this? Because I’m afraid of what someone else will say?”

    This is something I’ve been practicing for a while now, but it wasn’t always this way. When I first “blew up” on TikTok, I got really excited. I never received that much attention before in my life. As much as I wanted to continue being me, I’ll be honest: I did feel the pressure of having to be a “character” and purposely create content for a specific audience and it really hurt me mentally. I wasn’t being myself anymore. I didn’t like that I wasn’t showing all aspects of my being anymore. People just saw me as “the quirky pop punk” girl, or so it felt like. I don’t like being put into a box, and I think that’s what a lot of people think you have to do to use social media “the right way.” 

    So, I decided to let go of these pressures and start being myself again by posting the way I did when I was just a person sharing on their personal account. I started openly sharing myself and my life again, all parts of it, unapologetically. While I do see that my numbers have gone down, since I’m not posting the original content people followed me for, I feel relief in the fact that my social media reflects who I really am. I don’t have to worry about posting and engaging a certain way anymore. I made the choice to be authentic online and I mindfully make that choice every time I log onto social media. It’s a good vibe check and I’ve honestly grown and learned a lot about myself through this practice.

    There are a lot of opportunities on these platforms. It wasn’t until my own platform started growing that I realized these opportunities were possible for me. It honestly opens up a lot of doors, which is something I, as a low-income person, am extremely grateful for. I strongly believe that other small artists and businesses should take advantage of social media because it’s a free resource that could possibly change their life, too. Being a content creator is a real job in this real day and age, and it pays really well. It’s a valid career path and yes, there are people who will judge you, but we’re supposed to be breaking free from caring about what other people think anyway. We’re all just trying to survive capitalism in our own way, and for me, social media happens to be a fun, highly-promising way.

    I believe what it all comes down to is the individual choosing, for themselves, how to use social media in a way that’s healthy and truly benefits them. There’s a lot of important life skills with more broad applications that are practiced when approaching things with mindfulness. For example, knowing when to put your phone down and still be grounded in the real world teaches you moderation and discernment. You practice setting boundaries when you unfollow accounts that trigger negative emotions and only engage with more content that aligns with you and your personal values. You practice self-love and radical acceptance when you choose to be authentic online. It requires a lot of self-discipline, too, which I believe is extremely important to develop as an adult.

    In the end, if social media is truly making you unhappy then you can choose to step away from it, but that is just your individual experience with it. Your relationship with social media is your own responsibility. You can choose to make it a good one.

  • NEVER ENOUGH: Album Review

    NEVER ENOUGH: Album Review

    by Jake Knoeller

    Originally printed May 3, 2023

    R&B artist Daniel Caesar has made his return to the music industry in style. In April 2022, he released a breathtaking single titled “Please Do Not Lean,” featuring BADBADNOTGOOD. 

    This song was just a reminder of how good Daniel Caesar can be. I personally consider “Freudian,” his first studio album, to be one of the greatest albums of all time. When I found out Caesar had a new album coming out on April 7 of 2023, I had high hopes.

    I was not disappointed. The album clocks out at about 54 minutes, which is not too long. I was left in disbelief at how amazing it was.

    • “Ocho Rios” 

    It’s not often that an opener of an album is my favorite song, but this album kicks off with an absolute fiery ballad. This is one of the best songs released this year. The lyrics are some of his most vulnerable to date. The drum patterns mixed with the guitar solo make this track otherworldly. 

    • “Valentina”

    Caesar gets a bit more smooth on this song. I just know people are calling it “a vibe.” It’s perfect for a sunny day and not sugary enough to be annoying at all. The track just feels like summer.

    • “Toronto 2014” 

    This is what many people would call a comfort song, with some relaxing production and beautiful singing from feature artist Mustafa. “I can hear the bells ringing, reminding us why we’re still here singing,” is a standout line throughout the track.

    • “Let Me Go” 

    Probably the most cathartic song on “NEVER ENOUGH,” with heartfelt lyrics about a relationship that has reached its end. Caesar sings “Baby, won’t you let me go,” on a high-pitched hook that will make you levitate when you sing along to it. This track hurts, but in the best way. Look at Caesar making heartbreak fun again. 

    • “Do You Like Me?” 

    Capturing a not-so-unique situation, Caesar doesn’t know if the woman he likes has good intentions. “Guess we’ll find out, guess we’ll wait and see,” Caesar sings over more top tier production.

    • “Always”

    The typical love song about always being there for someone who you aren’t together with anymore, and the outro will give you goosebumps. It’s just another example of Daniel Caesar making a song that ensures listeners will feel something.

    • “Cool”

    This track is much more quiet, but still gets its point across with an atmospheric sound and a soft piano instrumental. 

    • “Disillusioned”

    The second song on the album to bring a feature, and guest artist serpentwithfeet does not disappoint. The song is groovy with an overall good vibe. It’s nice to have a song that just makes you smile on an album with a lot of emotions.

    • “Buyer’s Remorse” 

    This song doesn’t do much for me, even though I love seeing Daniel and Omar Apollo on a song together. It’s hard to describe this song because there’s just not a lot going on, but it’s not bad.

    • “Shot My Baby”

    Kind of absurd. Caesar decided to write about killing his lover, and as if that wasn’t enough, the man she was cheating with too. He channeled his inner SZA on this one. “I caught my lady being untrue, oh what was I supposed to do,” Daniel sings. Guest vocals from Justin Skye and a strangely muffled guitar solo make this song a fun listen though.

    • “Pain Is Inevitable” 

    I really connected with this one on the first listen of the album. It starts off with quality strings with crisp vocals on a nice beat, but the breakdown is where the song really gets good. The arrangement of noises midway through the song is very hard to explain, but it’s another song that makes you float to outer space. The acoustic ending with the soft vocals adds a nice touch.

    • “Homiesexual” 

    The transition into the next song is smoother than Jack Harlow talking to a woman he likes. The name of the song is strange to say the least, but that doesn’t change how catchy it is. Ty Dolla $ign is featured on the track, which is a surefire way to make it even better. 

    • “Vince Van Gogh” and “Superpowers,”

    These are the two songs I consider skips on the album, both being perplexing to listen to both in terms of the production and Caesar’s lyrics. 

    • “Unstoppable”

     The final track takes the quality back up again. It feels like a fitting closer to a sensational album.

    In my opinion, the album is nearly flawless. If you haven’t given it a listen, I think you should. There’s something for everyone, unless you just don’t have good music taste. 

    If people weren’t talking about Daniel Caesar alongside modern R&B legends such as Frank Ocean and The Weeknd, now would be the time to start.

  • I’m tired of “sustainability”

    I’m tired of “sustainability”

    by Emma Sjostrom

    Originally printed May 3, 2023

    I see it almost everywhere – for nearly everything I buy, there’s a product that is packaged in some sort of brown paper or clear plastic container, with green-colored words saying something like “eco-friendly” or “all natural.” While the thought that more people are willing to buy sustainable-minded products is nice, a majority of these claims are mostly bogus. I see them as nothing more than huge, carbon-producing and trash-making companies looking to capitalize on growing consumer demand with fancy buzzwords and aesthetically pleasing packaging. 

    Sadly, a majority of these claims of environmental responsibility are nothing more than greenwashing; companies trying to appeal to consumers without actually providing any proof of sustainability, or doing the complete opposite of what they claim to value. 

    A few years ago, H&M launched their “Conscious Collection,” making claims that their new line of clothes offers recycled materials, are less resource intensive and are ethically made. Not only were these claims vague and had given little actual evidence, I find it difficult to believe that a huge company in the fast fashion industry – one of the largest polluting industries – would actually be doing all that good for the environment. Even if the line was found to be truly sustainable, what about all the rest of H&M’s clothing that they produce? It’s no surprise to me that the company has seen numerous lawsuits over the years about their claims. 

    On top of being fed unsubstantiated promises, I’m simply tired of the notion that it is all on us individuals to achieve sustainability. It’s like we can never escape the endless lecturing for us people to calculate our carbon footprint and to do our part to save the planet. Meanwhile giant companies get to endlessly extract and pollute. 

    Some companies even go so far as to make apps to help people track their C02 emissions. Back in 2020, Launchpad announced their new VYVE app, which allows people to directly calculate how much emissions their travels create. Who is Launchpad you may ask? It’s a subsidiary of none other than BP, one of the world’s largest oil and gas companies. 

    BP, like other major oil companies, have launched campaigns claiming to focus on sustainability, some even going as far as to say that they’re working towards a “low carbon future.” These campaigns essentially make appealing claims while ignoring the elephant in the room. These companies promote their false narrative of sustainability, meanwhile continuing to profit off mass resource extraction that is the largest contributor to ecological destruction. 

    On top of simply spreading misleading information about themselves, these companies are doing even more harm to people and the environment. While working to make themselves look good to an increasing amount of people concerned about the environment, they are continuing their irresponsible practices. It’s simply exhausting.

  • For the love of God, clean up after your horse

    For the love of God, clean up after your horse

    by Dezmond Remington

    Originally printed April 26, 2023

    I was running down a gloriously sunny forest trail in the middle of summer, not a care in the world, except all the ice water I was looking forward to drinking when the run was over. Then fate hit me – and fate was a cubic yard of solid horseshit right in the middle of the trail. I landed in it mid stride, right around the bend of the trail. At that moment, I had an epiphany: life just isn’t fair. That thought stuck with me the whole way home, just like the horse shit did.

    Why do dog owners have to clean up their dog’s poop, put it in little plastic bags and drag it along with them on their hikes like a grocery bag full of putrid garbage, while the equestrians up there on their fancy steeds like royalty of old get to leave their horse’s crap all over the trail? What the hell is the horse for? Make it carry the poop! The rider doesn’t even have to carry it themselves! I don’t want to hear anything about how there are lots of good nutrients in the horse crap – if that’s the case, put it on the side of the trail, WHERE ALL THE PLANTS ARE! If it’s going to do any good, it sure as hell won’t be in the middle of the trail, a place famously devoid of plants, because THAT is where people walk. 

    Frankly, the double standard is appalling. I genuinely don’t care if it is inconvenient to get off and go around the back of your animal’s huge ass. It is unfair to put the onus of dealing with your animal’s shit on the public. If you have the money and the time to own an animal that weighs a half ton and eats damn near two hundred pounds of food a week, you have the money and the time to clean up your horse’s crap. If you have the time to load their horse up in their fancy little trailer and drive them over to the forest, you have the time to clean up their turds. Please stop leaving it where I and everyone else could step on it, I don’t want to deal with it. That’s your job, stop being selfish. 

    I can think of only three simple things needed to take care of it: a small shovel, a bag and about 30 seconds. Equestrians can buy the shovel and the bag from Harbor Freight for probably less than $15. Humboldt’s myriad thrift stores also probably offer creative and quirky solutions for much less. It’s not hard; it’s courteous, and common sense. No other animal owners are allowed to get away with this. How have we, as a society, just allowed you to get away with this for so long? It is time to fix this. It is time to make the horse owners be responsible animal operators. Clean up your animal’s shit like the rest of us have to.

  • City girl goes backpacking

    City girl goes backpacking

    by Lidia Grande-Ruiz

    This past week for spring break, I participated in the ‘Forests for All’ backpacking trip with the national parks, hosted by center activities. The trip consisted of two days and one night of backpacking the Redwood National & State Park with the rangers to visit the coastal bluffs. 

    This was a unique and memorable opportunity to go backpacking with national and state park rangers. Not only did they share their expertise in the area and teach us basic backpacking skills and how to use equipment, I got to see another side of myself I didn’t know existed.

    On Monday, March 13th, we had a pre-trip meeting with the guides and the rangers to explain the full details of the trip. We were going to take the Miner’s Ridge Trail to the coast campground, hiking about 4.5 miles per day and carrying an average 20 lb backpack.

    I was concerned about my medication, since I have a history of twisting both ankles. I need my medicine with me in case I need it administered to control any internal bleeding. After talking with my doctors, center activities and the rangers, I was okay to go.

    My boyfriend let me borrow his backpack, first aid kit, anything he thought I was going to need. We went grocery shopping for any food he thought would come in handy.

    Early Thursday morning, we met up, gathered everyone up in the vans and we headed out. Once we arrived at the park, we were greeted by the rangers. They allowed us to rent stuff like trekking poles, rain cover for our backpacks, etc. They gave us the low down for the agenda for the day ahead. Once we got everything, we hit the trail.

    Walking through the woods brought me a blanket of comfort. I mostly stayed behind, taking my time, making sure I didn’t twist my ankle. The forest was a sight to take in.

    I am from the city, and on top of that I don’t have a license or my own car, so backpacking is not often a leisure activity I can explore. I often hear my boyfriend talking about his adventures and it has always piqued my curiosity. When center activities sent out the email and said it was free for students, I jumped in and I don’t regret it not one bit. 

    I have gone camping before so I knew it was going to be cold. I brought my warmest clothes, layered up for the night and I slept like a baby. Being by the beach at sunset was breathtaking. We met people from all walks of life at the campsite. We even saw a golden eagle and a gray fox.

    Hearing our critter neighbors through the woods was a nice reminder to me that this is their home as well, just as much as it is ours. Everytime I go outside and wrap myself in blankets of the natural world, it fuels me up with the light that I search for in dark times. Being out there with no service… it’s like the outside world did not exist. My mental health was struggling just overthinking about the future, so being out there made me feel like nothing else matters.

    Will I ever do it again? Absolutely! After coming back to Humboldt, I haven’t stopped talking about it and remembering it. I cannot wait to take on backpacking, not just by myself but with everyone I care about and love. It’s not just a memory, it’s another adventure that’s calling for me.

  • Raw suffering and misery on two wheels, all the way to paradise

    Raw suffering and misery on two wheels, all the way to paradise

    by Dezmond Remington

    When the time came to contort myself into a freezing ball of misery in my wet sleeping bag on my trail mix pillow in the shittiest new tent Gold Beach’s finest outdoor store had to offer, I was more than ready to end the whole damn thing and go home. 

    I figured a camping trip on my motorcycle up the Oregon coast would be the best way possible to spend my spring break. Ocean views, cheap campgrounds, and my lust for just getting the hell away from everything for a little while was just about all I needed to convince myself that it would be fun. And it was—for about the first ten minutes I was on the road. It was raining out there, raining like I’d better quit and build an ark instead. 

    Riding motorcycles in the rain is a good time, to be sure, but good god is it dangerous. Not to mention uncomfortable. And soul-draining. Doing something that is dangerous and uncomfortable and soul-draining for any amount of time is hard, let alone for hours on end. By the time I got to Crescent City, I was a wreck, and thanking God I didn’t get into one as well. I drank three cups of coffee and ate a stack of wimpy pancakes at the Denny’s, all the while getting sideyed by the poor waitresses who would have to clean up the ankle deep puddle my leather jacket and jeans left on their polyester chair covers. I dumped out an inch of standing water from both of my boots in the bathroom and almost had an aneurysm trying to force myself to put them back on. They squished every time I took a step and leaked more water than a dollar store fish tank. It took everything I had to swing an anemic leg over the saddle and go north.

    The scenery on the southern Oregon coast is unparalleled—except by the scenery in the middle of the coast and the scenery on the northern part of the coast—and that was the whole reason I had set out on this journey in the first place. It was a killing blow to my morale when I realized I was too cold and sopping to enjoy any of the reasons I was riding the motorcycle in the first place. Very little provided me joy on the desolate and throat-ripping run from Arcata to Humbug mountain—not the cartwheeling delight of tipping a 432 pound machine so close to the ground I could’ve kissed it while blasting around a cliff corner at mach jesus, not a king’s view of the infinite churning sea off to my left, not even the pleasure of being back in my home state for the first time in months. I was in for a very long day. 

    I stopped about 10 miles from Gold Beach on a little turnout with a nice view of the ocean to put some life back into my veins. That’s when I found out that my tent, the one thing I was absolutely depending on, had grown legs and left for someone that would treat it a little better somewhere between there and Crescent City, a whole hour and a half back from whence I came. I gagged and a few tears were pulled from me, but I was numb all over and that was about all I could muster up. I left the bike running and I stripped off my gloves. I put my hands as close to my exhaust as I reasonably could without charring myself, not that I would’ve minded too much if it meant they’d finally be dry. I started calculating how long it would take me to make it back down to Arcata or even all the way to my parent’s place 250 miles up and over. Common sense has never really been my strong suit, however, so I just mounted the machine again and found my way to a store where I could buy a tent. It had mesh walls, and they were paper thin to boot, but it had a rainfly and maybe it’d keep me a little dry. Forcing myself to buy that tent for a ransom of a whole $65 nearly broke me. I was too tired to try strapping it to my bike, especially seeing what had happened to the last tent I tried that with. I used all of my strength and forced it into my backpack, where it stayed until I made it another 20 miles to the nearest campground. 

    I skirted my way past the park rangers and found a site hidden from the road in the hiker-biker section. I was not the kind of biker they were talking about, but I was far, far past caring. I would have done just about anything then for a warm meal and a dry space, any dry space at all. If the opportunity presented itself, I would have pulled a DiCaprio and slept in a horse just because it would’ve been out of the rain. 

    The whole day I had been completely fixated on busting out my brand new stove and fresh new isobutane gas pod and whipping up some oatmeal, something nice, warm, filling, creamy—the adjectives don’t matter. It just had to heat me up. I dug out my lighter and tried to light the stove. The flint wheel–round and round and round she goes! Where the flame is, nobody knows! FUCK! And that was it! I wish someone had just hit me in the head with a sledgehammer and I could’ve passed out for the night instead. I ate trail mix furiously because I could not wait any longer just to get something in me. I headed over to the main campground to see if I could filch a lighter from someone else and maybe get a little fire going, something to dry my clothes out a bit and remind myself why I thought this would be fun in the first place. I found a guy in a giant van with some aliens and other assorted swirly colors on the side who very generously let some rando use his lighter. This was no small act of kindness. My hair had been in the same braid the whole day, more of a breaker box in the basement of a tweaker’s house that’s been raided for copper than a braid. I looked insane.

    I attempted to light a few pieces of the paper I’d brought for tinder. It smoldered and didn’t catch. I tried a few more times. All it did was dissolve. It too had been brutalized by the weather; not wet enough to disintegrate completely, but not dry enough to light. I went through an entire notebook, screaming violently at it while I took gasoline from my tank and sprinkled it on the paper. Not even my reckless bit of environmental degradation would work. I ignored my losses and in a final stand, brought a book and my sleeping bag to the campground shower, where I spent three hours hanging my sleeping bag up and reading in a vain attempt to dry it out. By the time midnight came around, I just gave up and went to bed. My sweatshirt, which had been under my leathers, was more pond than pillow. All I had was a fat sack of trail mix. It was lumpy, but my head was indeed off of the ground and somewhat level with my body. I laid there naked in my sleeping bag. Every inch of sticky, smooth, cushy padding stuck directly to orifices which didn’t need the attention. I shivered and whined my way through the night in my pathetic sleeping bag in my tent without any real walls, trapped in my mind, which offered no escape.

    The park ranger woke me up too early for my tastes and made me pay the fee for staying the night. I was too groggy to argue. All I wanted was out. I packed up my stuff as fast as I could and booked it to a laundromat. 

    LydiAnna’s laundromat was half an hour and an eternity north, but dear god was it worth it. I entered it seeing nothing but black and white, and emerged an hour later floating in vivid pastel. I was finally dry, and I could start having fun. 

    The rest of that day completely made up for the last. It was gorgeous. The sun was out, and I rode through the prettiest stretch of coast in the entire world, the 30 mile strip south of Yachats. Cliffs rise straight from the ocean, looming over clean sand. Every breath there scrubs away the rotted innards inside. It was paradise. No other word would do. Every corner was an opportunity to rejoice. Every ocean vista was prettier than the one before it. Every second there was a new reason for me to smile. I finally felt as if the whole trip was justified, every puking moment from the day before compensated.

    I don’t think long haul motorcycle trips are for everyone. They can be dangerous and brain-shattering. They can hurt. But goddammit if you are tough enough to battle murderous weather and handle the stress and sheer crushing pain of a day’s ride in the homicidal saddle, then you should. It’ll be worth it. 

  • I’m not chill with snow

    I’m not chill with snow

    by Nina Hufman

    Our campus was covered in a thin blanket of glittering white snow. This is obviously rare for the area, and has even more novelty for students who moved to Humboldt from areas that do not receive snow often. Pretty much everyone I know was really excited. They were running around, throwing snowballs, and making snowmen. I, however, was less than thrilled by the ice crystals falling from the sky.

    I grew up in Colorado, where I dealt with snow for up to five months every year for the first 18 years of my life. When I was a kid, I played outside in the snow. When I was in middle school I learned how to snowboard. When I was a teenager, I learned to drive in the snow. 

    I’m used to waking up to find my car frozen and spending twenty minutes defrosting it and scraping the ice off. My usual 20 minute drive to school became a 40 minute drive when the roads were icy; it’s probably safe to say that the novelty of snow has worn off for me. 

    The weather in Humboldt county was a big factor in my decision to move here. I love that it never gets super cold or super hot, and I love the rain. Most of all, I love that I am not inconvenienced by snow. 

    You can call me dramatic – I am and I will continue to be. You can ask me where my childhood sense of wonder is. You can say I don’t appreciate the whimsical things in life. This is blatantly untrue; I am as whimsical as they come. 

    I am not trying to rain, or snow, on anyone else’s parade. Enjoy the snow all you want. Personally, I will be inside, under my heated blanket, trying to keep warm.

  • The snow was joyous, jolly

    The snow was joyous, jolly

    by Harrison Smith

    Wednesday, Feb. 22, was a day of anticipation. Students and professors alike abandoned lectures to fix their noses to frosted window panes, gazing at the snow swirling from the white sky. Some watched the snow with dread, some watched with childlike wonder. Like everyone else, I went to bed that night expecting that the fitful flurries of flakes would falter overnight. After all, it never snows on the coast. 

    On the morning of Thursday the 23rd, I awoke to discover that the spirit of Jack Frost had ejaculated on our sleeping town. I finished my coffee as I watched the white blanket on my lawn grow thicker, then began to bundle up for the ride to class. I chose my outfit with warmth and winter whimsy in mind – from inside to outside, I wore two pairs of socks, long johns, an undershirt, a long sleeve tee, a sweater, a heavy jacket, a shawl, leather gloves, and finally sealed it off with a scarf tied about my head like a babushka.

    The trip to class was like riding my bike through hyperspace. Blowing snow swirled and buffeted me, but I was well dressed for the weather. I smiled a rosy, windblown grin at the huddled silhouettes of students walking to class in hoodies and sneakers.

    ‘Probably from SoCal,’ I thought smugly. 

    There are no snow days for college students, but we find our fun in other ways. Normally, I am not one to linger after class. On Thursday morning, however, I found myself standing in the courtyard of Founder’s Hall, soaking in the tranquility of the scene. My classmate Adam had begun to build a snowman. His bare hands were bright red as he rolled the snowball across the grass. 

    “Mind if I join ya?,” I asked.

    He didn’t. For the next twenty minutes I used my gloves to roll balls of snow across the courtyard, gathering mass like the Prince of all the Cosmos in Katamari Damacy. I would heft the finished ball to Adam, who would then glue it onto the previous ball with handfuls of snow. When we were finished with the primary construction, we began to scour the ground for decorations with which to festoon our frosty friend. Adam dressed him with stone buttons and sculpted his handsome face, and into his mouth I placed a fat joint made of a curl of bark. Humboldt snowmen stay stoned. 

    The snow wouldn’t stick around for long, but Adam and I talk to each other in class now. We’re friendly. Whenever something out of the ordinary happens, humans love to share it with one another. We cannot help but beckon each other outside to play in the snow. 

    As adults we aren’t able to experience the snow like we did as children. It becomes an inconvenience, a hazard through which to drive, moisture in the hair, a cold touch on the neck. But we can still claim the small moments of whimsy and joy that come when the sky turns white. I loved the snow.

  • Feelings on far-away graduation

    by Lidia Grande-Ruiz

    A few weeks ago, I got an email during work asking me to fill out a survey. The survey described how Cal Poly Humboldt is considering a commencement ceremony at a venue in another part of California. If I responded “yes,” I could be graduating closer to home. But Arcata has become my home now. If I were to graduate back in LA, yes, I would be surrounded by my mom, cousin, and childhood friends, but I think I would feel lost and disconnected. I would feel like something is missing, and that would be my peers.

    While another graduation closer to home might sound ideal to those struggling financially, some are not pleased with the idea–myself included. For me, I want to graduate in the place where I attended my classes and made connections to help further my career. Where I formed friendships with my peers and roommates that will last a lifetime, laughed and cried about everyday life occurrences, and crossed paths with people from different backgrounds. I want to be in the place where I had not only a successful college experience, but also an adventure. Graduating in Humboldt county would fulfill my dreams.

    My mom and I have been planning (and saving) for my college graduation and have started telling our loved ones where to go and when it is. When I told my mom about this survey, she was upset with me because she wanted to see me happy on my graduation day. She agreed that if I were to go back to LA I would be depressed because I would not have my peers by my side. 

    I have had my heart set on Humboldt since high school. It was my motivation to strive for the best. Many thought I was crazy, that I would not succeed and have many opportunities being in a rural small town. But Humboldt is where I saw myself smiling very big and wide, walking across that stage. 

    To have this survey sent to me felt like Humboldt stepped on my heart with high heels. It hurt. I was overthinking where graduation was going to happen. Is it actually going to happen? Am I going to walk the stage with my friends and mentors cheering me on to the next chapter of my life? Are me and my mom going to cross ‘Graduating Humboldt’ off my bucket list? 

    All I want is a graduation. But not just any graduation–a graduation proving that this first-gen Latinx student went farther than LA and explored their options in an area where people least expected. 

    I ended up saying that I want to graduate in Humboldt. Not only am I standing up for myself in the present but also to the 17-year-old who wanted just one thing: to attend Humboldt and be able to say, “I went there and came out as a whole new person. Mom, we did it.”

  • Delivery diplomacy: practices in pizza

    by Harrison Smith

    Every job gives you a unique perspective on humanity and the days that we all share. Bakers wake up early and see tired, hungry people come into their shop for coffee and donuts. Gas station cashiers see people only fleetingly as they fuel up on the way to nowhere in particular. Plumbers only come by when your day’s been fucked up by a broken pipe. Pizza drivers spend our time driving in circles and communing diplomatically with the eating public.

    It’s nice to drive around, though. Nice to have your own little sepulcher of music and heated air in which to take refuge from the constant buzz and motion of the shop.

    Driving around Arcata like I do makes me feel like Ralph Waldo Emerson’s transparent eyeball; I see a lot and am mostly ignored by the other cars on the road. We all try to ignore one another just enough to avoid crashing into each other. 

     This is my fourth delivery of the night and I’m ready to take my break. The pizza in the passenger seat is literally steaming out of the bag. It smells so good that it’s unfair. I’m so fucking hungry dude. After this delivery, I’m pulling over for a second to hit my vape and check my phone. 

    And that’s when I hear the freight train coming up, back and to my left. Car parked, I turn in my seat to see the single headlight of the most fucked up Chevy Tahoe you’ve ever seen- and that’s saying a lot, judging from every other Chevy Tahoe. The front passenger side of the car was bent inwards as if by a blow from a giant’s mace. It limps along, half-blinded, screeching as the frame scrapes the mangled wheel. 

    I stared in awe. This car was undrivably fucked, and I wondered if I was witnessing someone fleeing from a hit-and-run. I could not then, and still cannot think of another scenario of how this car was on the road. I didn’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed. As the Tahoe slumped away down the street, screeching its metallic screech, I felt like I had just turned over some obscure automotive tarot, an omen of the road. The Fucked Tahoe. 

    Driving on the highway so often also gives me a unique window into the nascent drag racing culture of Arcata. People love to race down 101. Usually it’s trucks or dragsters. It’s pretty fucking funny to watch an F150 racing a Miata. Two men competing to see whose dick is smaller. 

    Usually it’s an honor to be a guest, even briefly, at someone’s house. The minute or so I spend waiting for the customer to come to the door is a chance for me to envy their patio setup or their garden boxes. A mound of cigarette butts heaped in a crusty ashtray, a yard scattered with children’s toys. It’s an interesting peek into the lives of our customers. I try not to be a voyeur. 

    As pizza drivers, we are diplomats. Our job is to negotiate with the hungry masses, whose reactions to us range from uncomfortably sweet to frothing at the mouth. It always seems to be older customers who find me a good target for their frustrations, which I honestly find entertaining. Last week, I was a few minutes late to a delivery because my maps app directed me to a house down the street from the customer’s house. I was treated to a three minute rant when I arrived about how every delivery driver goes to her neighbor’s house instead, how she’d called before about this, and how I needed to listen to her instead of some little app on my phone. 

    Sometimes the job is pretty sweet, though. I’ve been tipped in weed more than once; twice, actually, but still pretty cool. My favorite thing about delivery driving is the small, unexpected moment of peace that I find as I walk back to my car after dropping off a pizza. The chorus of frogs grows louder on nights with light rain, and everytime I deliver to the labyrinth of apartments at Hilfiker and Alliance, I get a nice long chance to listen to their song.

  • Humboldt’s heinous healthcare

    Humboldt’s heinous healthcare

    by Valen Lambert

    Humboldt is a quaint place – too quaint to have reliable healthcare. My experience with the healthcare infrastructure here has been ridiculous compared to the more populated places I’ve lived. 

    This isn’t to say that our healthcare workers aren’t working hard. In fact, they’re overworked because there is a shortage of nurse practitioners (NPs) and physicians. Up until 2020, a California state regulation limited one physician to supervise no more than four NPs. With Humboldt’s shortage of physicians, this law directly impacted our health care centers’ ability to hire more NPs, resulting in a lack of health care workers. However, in 2020, AB 890 was passed, allowing NPs to work independently without physician supervision if they meet the required criteria to provide sufficient care. There are people who disagree with AB 890, believing that it will not serve people who need more specialized, significant care. 

    Despite the passing of AB 890, Humboldt is still recovering from its shortage of healthcare providers. It is apparent in the way that I have to wait two months for a doctor’s appointment, and in how I was turned away from urgent care because they had already met max capacity by noon. 

    I am one of the 36% of people in this county who get their health coverage through the government funded Medi-Cal. Another 30% get support through Medi-Care, which is for seniors or people with disabilities. That means over half of Humboldt’s population is vying to be seen by the few primary care clinics that take government issued insurance, most of which often aren’t accepting new patients because they’ve reached capacity. 

    I got lucky and was able to find a provider taking new patients, but it doesn’t surprise me that my appointment for a first visit was scheduled to be two months away. I was hoping to get a referral to a physical therapist for a shoulder injury. What would I do if I had a really pressing issue? The urgent care in Humboldt is a nightmare. If you’re lucky to get there before they’ve reached capacity for the day — in which case you’d have to come back the next day — then you’d be waiting three to four hours to be seen. This in no way reflects the hard-working personnel of these facilities, but is a side-effect of understaffed rural healthcare systems.

     If you look at the reviews for the urgent cares and hospitals in Humboldt, they tend to get a lot of negative reviews and low star ratings, usually for wait times and inaccessibility. I’ve never been one to care much about reviews but when it comes to my local hospital, that’s something I’m sure we’d all prefer to read positive reviews for. Arcata’s local Mad River Hospital unfortunately has two-and-a-half stars on Google reviews, mostly from people waiting several hours for walk-in care at the emergency room, giving up, and eventually driving to St. Joe’s in Eureka, which has even less stars.

    Thankfully, here on campus we have the Student Health Center. It’s decent, cheap, and won’t have you waiting hours on end while your bone is popping out of your skin and you’re bleeding out on the curb. 

    Don’t even get me started on trying to find a dentist in Humboldt that takes Medi-Cal. The only dentist office that does is in Eureka and is usually not accepting new patients. Many folks with Medi-Cal have to go to Redding or Santa Rosa to get the dental care they need. You best believe I’ve been flossing since I’ve moved here. 

    I love Humboldt, but my experience with healthcare here has been disheartening. What does it take to bring more health practitioners to Humboldt? How do we fix this problem? I’m wearing my helmet, seatbelt, taking all my vitamins, being so safe I’d make my mother proud – I sure as heck don’t want to be delusionally waiting around for acute care.

  • Weathering situationships, the right way

    Weathering situationships, the right way

    by Valen Lambert

    Gen Z has been turning tradition on its head. Gender? That is so last season. Sexual preferences? All of it. Partners? Four and we’re all best friends. We’re holding the reins of a cultural revolution that’s redefining intimacy, sex, and identity. It’s beautiful, empowering, expansive – and oh-so confusing when we enter uncharted lands. 

    With polyamory and open relationships becoming the new norm in our alternative communities, we’re finding another gray area of intimacy that some may call the new epidemic: situationships. Love them or hate them, they’re here to fuck up your emotional algorithm if you don’t have the proper interpersonal toolkit. They are not for the faint of heart. 

    Urban Dictionary defines a situationship as, “more than friendship but less than a booty call…it is a romantic relationship that is, and will remain, undefined.” I dunno bout ya’ll but when I was in high school we called this having a “thing” with someone.

    I’ve been in a few myself. They were lovely, occasionally regrettable, fleeting experiences that teetered between friendship and romance. If you’re like me and are afraid of commitment, they’re the perfect dose of attention. Most ended diplomatically on great terms or, quite rarely, through a complete ghosting by me or the other.   

    There’s some finessing to be done if you don’t want you or your cutie’s heart to be pulverized like a butcher’s steak. First, you have to check in with your own emotional capacity. Where is your heart at, how much can you show up right now, and how much do you need the other person to show up? I’ve broken a few hearts in my day because I lacked the emotional maturity to confront my own boundaries, and to communicate that clearly with my partners.    

    Maybe you enter a situationship because neither of you are ready for commitment, but also can’t help having crushes on eachother. That’s fine!! Relationships can be whatever the heck you want them to be. 

    I might be preaching to the choir here, but communication is the most important tool in your belt for these dirty jobs. Upon initial canoodling, discuss your preferences and needs with your cutie. I know it goes against the sacred rule of situationships, to stay “undefined,” but there is no harm in laying down how casual or serious you both need it to be so everybody knows how to move forward. 

    If you want sex with occasional cuddles, cute dates and intermittent cheek kisses, make that clear! If you just want to hook up but study together sometimes, let ‘em know! If they’re down, then fuck yeah! If they’re not, don’t waste your time with anything more or less than what you want, no matter how hot you think they are. You’ll really have to practice some self control (trust me), but you’ll be so happy you did. 

    You deserve to be in a relationship where your partner is on the same page as you, clear about where you stand, and good to your nervous system; even if it’s just a romantic puddle and not the great oceans of love. Communicating where you’re at and what you need is sexy, and helps you feel more autonomous in a situation that would normally leave you feeling powerless.

    If you’re chronically in a situationship and hate it, or are forced into a situationship with someone you’re head over heels for, there’s some boundaries to be made. So pull up your sleeves, listen to some Erykah Badu, and get to feeling your bad self.

     There is an important distinction between intention and attention. Some cutie may be giving you a lot of attention, but lacking in the sort of intention that’s actually worth your time. Intention can exist in a casual dynamic; it’s a presence and attentiveness that makes you feel seen. No matter how loose the situationship, you know the person genuinely enjoys your company and doesn’t take it as something that merely entertains them or distracts them from their homework. Again, there ain’t nothing wrong if both parties are on the same page about just seeking “entertainment,” but if you feel that there is an asymmetry in feelings or intentions, it’s time to jump (situation)ship. 

    Lots of folks love to hate situationships. For some people, they can’t handle that in-between space; either needing just friendship or just a relationship. It’s stressful for folks. And there’s nothing wrong with that! But if this sounds like you, listen to your gut and tread lightly around the experimental zone that is situationships. 

    They’re jam packed with emotional turmoil, but only if you don’t know what you need or how to communicate it. You can create your ideal dynamic with someone who aligns with your needs. The beauty of situationships is that they aren’t going anywhere! They can be a pleasant ephemeral exploration of pleasure and humanity that teach you what you really need when it comes to more serious relationships. They can help you explore your romantic and sexual identity. They can teach you so much about interpersonal communication. We’re young and everything is an experiment! So get out there baddies.

  • Fuck cars

    Fuck cars

    by Harrison Smith

    At any given moment in Arcata, there is a game of frogger being played at a grand scale. Students who walk or ride their bikes to class are familiar with the everyday peril of crossing L.K. Wood Blvd where it meets Sunset Ave. Drivers rolling down the Sunset overpass towards campus regularly blow through the long, winding crosswalk, which is about as useful at protecting pedestrians as is a paper shield against a lance.

    I have lost count of the times I have almost been hit by an unaware driver while riding my bike to campus. The three gauntlets which I run daily are the roundabout at Foster Ave, the intersections of Sunset and H St., and the aforementioned L.K. Wood crossing. At the Foster roundabout, I was nearly paved into the street by a lifted white (and squeaky-clean) F-150. I let out a perfunctory, “Fuck you!” to the prick whose $35,000 dealership-bought manhood nearly killed me. His response was to pull the truck to a screeching halt in the middle of the roundabout, hop down from the cab, and scream, “You got somethin’ to fuckin say?” I, who had a chemistry quiz that morning, did not have anything to say. I turned my happy ass around and rode away. 

    Last Wednesday, my boyfriend witnessed three separate screaming arguments in quick succession between drivers waiting their turn to cross the intersection of Sunset and H St. It even sucks to drive here, let alone walk here. Driving everywhere has made it impossible to walk anywhere. So why do we design our cities like this?

    Because of Robert Moses, baby. The Biblical Moses may have parted the Red Sea, but Robert Moses did something far more impressive–part every street in the United States (and the world) with a stream of cars. Robert Moses was the municipal planner for the city of New York for over forty years, beginning in 1924. He was never elected to office, but nevertheless used his position in city planning to dramatically expand New York City’s automobile infrastructure, and thus structural racism. 

    Moses worked like a factory farmer, plowing up historically Black and low income neighborhoods to sew a crop of asphalt and steel. He connected the boroughs of New York with the ribbons of highway that would come to serve as a shining example of urban design to younger architects all around the country. He designed his infrastructure to exclude public transit—for example, Moses ordered the bridges over the Jones Beach Parkway be built too low for buses to access the beach, ensuring that it was only accessible to those (white) people prosperous enough to own their own automobiles. 

    Robert Moses shrugged away this mortal coil in 1981, but his legacy lives on in the 4.17 million miles of road that stretch across the United States and the 286 million cars that ply them. City planners in the latter half of the twentieth century followed the example set by New York, designing cities to be traveled by private car. 

    The only future for our planet and for our cities is one with streets designed for people, not cars. Ride your bike to class. If you’re unable, take the bus. If you can’t take the bus, carpool with your friends. Agitate with the city council for safer streets. Fight for a car-free future.

  • Body positivity is sexy

    by  Lidia Grande-Ruiz

    For the longest time, sex for larger people was a taboo subject – it wasn’t considered normal and open to talk about like how it is today. Sex should not only be the best experience, but also a time to try new ideas without being put down. It should be an experience in which one not only feels good about themselves but also builds a trusting bridge between themselves and their partner.

    Recently, my friend/co-worker and I were discussing how sex for plus sized women has made many of us super insecure, especially in entering a relationship. We discussed how negative views that society has instilled on larger people has made us insecure of our bodies, how even wearing lingerie was out of the question for us. Porn often labels the videos which do portray plus-sized people as ‘fat girl this and that,’ and it’s disheartening. It’s like society is telling plus sized people that we shouldn’t experience a fucking orgasm.

    Growing up in a Latinx Christian household, sex was only brought up in discussions around preventing unwanted pregnancy. It also did not help that I grew up in the 2000s; during that time, bigger people were rarely ever shown or mentioned in TV, fashion, or sex. Bigger people were brought up with the mindset of, ‘if I gain weight, I will be forever alone and single.’ The only time a plus sized individual was mentioned in media was during a before-and-after diet success story, or as the butt of a joke. That kind of trauma is brought back in bed and when we want to feel free, we feel instead trapped in an endless cycle of body negativity.

    My roommates and I were discussing the other night how sex should make us feel. One of them mentioned how sometimes on a day when they felt bad about their body, sex helped them feel sexy the next day, especially as a non-binary individual. Another of my roommates spoke on how sometimes trauma from a past relationship can make us feel like we are not worthy of anything. That struck a chord with me.

    For the longest time, my ex would make me feel like I was not worthy enough. There would be times that he would look at me with disgust, both in and out of bed. It made me feel like all I am is a score and when that came to my mind, it got me thinking about bets. 

    Growing up, I was relentlessly bullied about my size. When I saw his true side, it broke me into a trillion pieces. It brought me severe flashbacks of my first relationship, and I built a wall. It didn’t help that his friends joined in the laugh, and half of them were plus sized women. It left me feeling humiliated, but also unworthy of ever finding a caring partner and friendships.

    I am in a much better place now, surrounded by individuals who care about me and understand the trauma. We have the right to feel amazing about ourselves, at all times but especially during sexy times. It should be a time in which we can shut the world out, feeling not just fireworks but also a safe haven.

  • White choirs shouldn’t sing spirituals

    by August Linton

    The last time I sang in a choir concert, I felt uncomfortable singing one particular piece of music from the repertoire. The song was “Everybody Rejoice (A Brand New Day)” from the soundtrack of iconic 1970s movie musical “The Wiz.” It wasn’t that the notes stretched my voice, or that the melody was hard to remember. Rather, it was the historical context of the song which made me think twice about performing it; as a white person in a majority-white choir. 

    For those who aren’t familiar with “The Wiz,” it’s a 1978 retelling of “The Wizard of Oz” starring Micheal Jackson, Diana Ross, Nipsey Russel, and Lena Horne. Hailing from Brooklyn rather than Kansas, the Dorothy in this adaptation is whisked away from a Thanksgiving dinner to an Oz more city than rolling field. The musical accompaniment to her adventure is influenced by Disco, Soul, and R&B. 

    The song in question was brought to my choir by the director and upon reading the lyrics I almost immediately had misgivings about singing it, given the lyrics’ explicit allusions to the end of slavery in the U.S. and its connection to spirituals as a musical genre. An excerpt from those lyrics follows.

    Everybody look up

    And feel the hope that we’ve been waiting on

    (Everybody’s glad)

    (Because our silent fear and dread is gone)

    …

    Hello world

    It’s like a different way of living now

    (And thank you world)

    We always knew that we’d be free somehow

    In harmony

    Let’s show the world that we’ve got liberty

    It’s such a change

    For us to live so independently

    Freedom, you see

    Has got our hearts singing so joyfully

    It seems undeniable to me that these lines are an explicit reference to slavery, the deliverance from which I am uncomfortable celebrating via such a personal medium as singing as someone who benefits from its legacy. 

    This isn’t the only time I’ve had these misgivings. Choral singing as a whole seems to me to have a problem with cultural appropriation. There are entire genres of choral music which appropriate the musical traditions of minority groups while tokenizing their non-western styles. 

    As a member of a state-level auditioned choir in 2016, I was asked to sing “Witness,” an arrangement of traditional American spiritual “Who’ll Be a Witness for My Lord,” by white composer Jack Halloran. Various other western choral arrangements of traditional African, Latin American, and Asian songs similarly leave me with an appropriative taste in my mouth. 

    The musical heritage of Black Americans in the wake of slavery, especially, shouldn’t be taken by the choral world for its musical value without first considering what power structures are at play. 

    Everybody look up

    And feel the hope that we’ve been waiting on

    (Everybody’s glad)

    (Because our silent fear and dread is gone)

    Hello world

    It’s like a different way of living now

    (And thank you world)

    We always knew that we’d be free somehow

    In harmony

    Let’s show the world that we’ve got liberty

    It’s such a change

    For us to live so independently

    Freedom, you see

    Has got our hearts singing so joyfully

  • My beef with Humboldt cuisine

    By Jasmin Shirazian

    I love singing Humboldt’s praises, I really do. It took a minute for me to warm up to this little village tucked away so far from my home, but I’ve grown to enjoy almost everything about the area. Besides the food. 

    Humboldt is truly lacking in 2 things: ethnic people and ethnic food. Maybe I’m spoiled, privileged and blessed to have grown up so close to so many different cultures, but it truly disheartens me to see people up here enjoy the white-washed ethnic establishments and even compare it to food down south – that they’ve never even tried. I hate to break it to you, but you haven’t eaten until you’ve eaten food in southern California. I’m talking by the border, southern California. 

    What I’m trying to say is, there is no real, authentic Mexican restaurant that would ever name themselves “Hey Juans.” That’s like going to a burger place called “Hi John.” It’s a weird name and I would question the food. The burger would probably be raw. Not to mention, whatever you order is probably gonna cost your entire life savings and then some. Seriously, who charges an extra $3 for avocado? I will literally just go and buy a full avocado. Let’s not be silly, crazy and goofy now. 

    Food in Humboldt is so insanely overpriced that it genuinely hurts me when I indulge in a little treat and decide to eat out. I just cannot wrap my head around the fact that “Hole in the Wall Great Sandwiches” charges $17 for a turkey sandwich. Like, that makes me physically ill. How do you not feel like a demon charging more for a sandwich than the hourly wage you pay your employees? Personally, I would feel morally corrupt, but to each their own.

    Don’t even get me started on the bagel places up here. Yeah, “Los Bagels,” this one’s for you. An extra $1 for each topping? When the base price of this god forsaken bagel is already like, what, $5? Now you want to charge me an extra $1 for 3 slices of an onion? Criminal behavior. You are robbing me. Thief. 

    Anyway, an hour away from the border, San Diego County is home to the most delicious food you could imagine. There’s Korean BBQ, Thai, traditional Mexican, Persian, Ethiopian, Brazilian and anything else you could ever imagine. Even random mashups of food, like the newly opened “MochiNut,” which is literally like mochi and donuts smushed together. 

    If you drive north a couple hours, you’ll find yourself in LA, where the options are equally endless, but you’re definitely gonna feel it more in your wallet. At least, in LA, the overpriced food is usually worth it. I love LA – if you can ignore the transplants – but there’s nothing like going to Castañeda’s at 5 am with your friends because you couldn’t sleep and then heading to La Jolla to watch the sunrise. 

     That’s another thing; down south there are an unlimited amount of options that stay open late enough for potheads like me to be able to run out and get a munchies meal. If it isn’t open 24 hours, chances are it doesn’t close until at least 2 am. 

    And then there’s the lack of fast food in Humboldt. It is genuinely hard to convince my friends to come visit me up here when there’s a KFC, but not a Popeyes. I get wanting to keep it mom-and-pop shoppy, but who in their right mind picked a KFC over Popeyes? The white man’s fried chicken over cajun-style fried chicken? Inherently racist. 

    That’s pretty much my only beef with Humboldt – the lack of seasoned beef. The air here is nicer, I can drink water from the tap without worrying about hundred-year-old minerals from deteriorating pipes, the foliage is incomparable. At the end of the day, though, I need to not be the only middle eastern person in a hundred mile radius, and I need access to that food to be happy. In my not-so-humble opinion, Humboldt would be perfect if it just had more color to it. 

  • Letter to the editor RE: Faculty union challenges TimelyMD

    Letter to the Editor 

    I am writing in response to the article published on 11/16/22, “Faculty Union Challenges  TimelyMD.” While I was frustrated by the one-sided tone of the article, as well as the  unsubstantiated claims, and inaccuracies, within it, most of all I came away from it feeling sad  and disheartened as I believe that, ultimately, the article is damaging to our students. The article  was published immediately prior to fall break—a time when Counseling & Psychological  Services (CAPS) was closed, and many traumatized, isolated, and struggling students would  have benefitted from seeking help from TimelyCare therapists. The article essentially  discourages students from seeking such support due to its unfair characterization of TimelyCare.  For example, the sub-heading of the article calls it an “online faith based counseling service”  while it is nothing of the sort (strangely, acknowledged late in the article, contradicting the  earlier claim).  

    The University contracted with the company “TimelyMD” in order to expand health services on campus during a period of very high need, through special one-time pandemic funding. This  funding, incidentally, could not be used to hire additional faculty counselors at CAPS. The  CAPS faculty counselors were not replaced or harmed by the contract, instead they gained a  partner in caring for, and expanding additional services to, our students. Contract or no contract,  on-site counseling at CAPS will be expanding in the years to come. 

    It bears repeating, TimelyCare is not a faith-based counseling service. With a client base of about  250 colleges and universities, they have a breadth of providers to appeal to and serve the breadth  of their population base. Their clinicians represent and reflect the diversity of the student  populations served throughout the 38 states where they have contracts. 

    Counseling is just one of many of the health services TimelyCare offers. They provide same-day  and appointment-based medical services, psychiatry, health coaching, and psychoeducational  activities too. We wanted our students to have 24/7 access to these services whether they live  locally or across the country. We wanted our traveling athletes to have access to all of these  services. We wanted our students of color to have access to therapists with similar identities. We  wanted all of our students to have “more”—more access, more choice, services over the winter  and summer breaks. And, of course, as always, access to CAPS therapists when school is in  session. 

    The argument that we should avoid business with companies that have a presence in one of the  23 travel-ban states is misguided and unrealistic. The CSUs, just like universities everywhere,  have many business relationships / contracts across the nation. TimelyMD may have  administrative offices in Texas, but the company and its employees are located across the United  States. Most of the therapists who work with our students live, and are licensed, in California.  

    The article implies that students who come to CAPS are automatically referred to TimelyCare.  This is not accurate and is oversimplified. The truth is that referrals are commonplace in the  health industry and there are some cases where CAPS clinicians do refer to TimelyCare and  other resources. October is always our busiest month of the year and historically we have had to  refer students to other services at this time of year. Like any mental health facility, we must  triage and figure out how to make the best use of all of our resources in order to provide 

    students with the care they need. Typically, at this time of year, we would be referring many  students to off-campus private practitioners where they would need to pay out of pocket or use  their insurance, and it can be hard to find someone with an actual opening. Now, with  TimelyCare, we are able to also offer students a referral that will have no added expense, where  they are guaranteed access, and that will work closely with CAPS to integrate care. With this  contract, we doubled the services that students can access. 

    The idea that this service “puts faculty at a disadvantage” is just not true. The therapists at CAPS  have an extra resource at their disposal. Clients in need have access to immediate support in the  evenings and weekends when CAPS is closed—this gives the providers at Student Health &  Wellbeing Services (SHWS) peace of mind and can be an important part of a treatment plan. 

    The claim that this “poses a new risk to students engaging with TimelyCare” is  unsubstantiated. In fact, the ratings of TimelyCare counseling have been consistently high. For  example, the average provider rating is a 4.97 out of 5. If any student has concerns about the care  that they have received from TimelyCare clinicians, I encourage them to talk to me or a CAPS  clinician to address it. We want to make sure our students are getting high quality and  compassionate care whether it is through CAPS, TimelyCare, or an off-campus referral. 

    The statement that we are “outsourcing responsibility for our students’ wellbeing” is simply  unfair. We have not replaced CAPS clinicians with this service, instead, we have supplemented  the breadth and depth of services available. Our students of color have a greater diversity of  clinicians to choose from; students can seek care in the evenings; and out of state students are not  turned away due to licensing regulations. In my view, the campus is taking responsibility for our  students’ wellbeing by offering expanded services during a national mental health crisis. Students  can get real help—not just a nursing line or a crisis line—24/7—in addition to the substantial  services that our medical and counseling teams provide. 

    As always, we encourage students to be informed participants in their health care, whether with  us, TimelyCare, or outside practitioners or agencies. When students are seeking therapy through  TimelyCare, I encourage them to look through the clinician bios or call the customer support line  to find a therapist that is likely to be a good match. The therapy relationship is an intimate one  and the therapist-client match is important.  

    I sincerely hope that students will take full advantage of all the wellbeing resources available to  them. I have dedicated my career to the health of our students and I would hate for anyone to be  deterred from being their own advocates and getting the support they deserve. In the future, I  hope that Lumberjack reporters will seek comment from SHWS leadership prior to printing an  article that addresses mental health resources for students, and that may negatively impact their health and wellbeing. Neither myself nor the Int. Associate Director of CAPS were consulted  prior to the article’s publication. 

    Sincerely,  

    Jennifer Sanford, PhD, Int. Executive Director, Student Health & Wellbeing Services; Director  of CAPS 

    Cal Poly Humboldt

  • Power does not come from the vote

    by Carlos Pedraza

    Another election and another vote for the soul of the country ends in a practical tie between Democrats and Republicans that hardly feels like a victory. In 2020, I canvassed for Bernie Sanders and was a believer in ‘voting blue no matter who.’ I was an election believer; I wanted to remove Trump and Republicans from power to stop the gutting of the EPA and welfare programs. But now I don’t see the point.

    While media pundits and people in my classes tell me of the dangers of Republican fascism and oppression, the question I want to ask people is, “What do you want?” 

    What I want is better welfare programs, but Democrats won’t pass those. Build Back Better was stopped by two Democratic senators, who went rogue by voting with Republicans. I want the working class to control its own fate. When the ruling rich raise rent and the cost of living while keeping wages low and conditions bad, the workers could challenge them through voting if a party spoke for them. But the Democrats are not and have never been a working class party. 

    Workers need to remember that our power comes not from a vote but in our numbers, words, and ability to strike. We got social security, minimum wage, and medicare not from virtuous moral politicians but from a militant working class movement organized through the parties and unions. 

    Our numbers will always be greater than the rich as capital is consolidated into fewer and fewer hands. We can demand power whenever we choose; we only need organization. In 2011 the Occupy movement was the first time in decades that wealth inequality became a political issue, but the energy died out without an organization to sustain it. Without a charismatic leader like Sanders or an economic crisis, working class issues are ignored. The only way to keep them in the political conversation is to have our own organization independent of the Democrats and Republicans.

    Anything you think you get from a Democratic government was won by a party that does not exist anymore. The party today is passive and only wants stability so capital can continue to profit; how they profit does not matter to Democrats. Democratic leaders like Pelosi and Schumer always advocate for compromise and moderation when we all know it is time for radical change. Just look at the cost of living; rent is high, food and gas prices are soaring. Why would voting for them again change anything? 

    This is why I can’t vote for Democrats anymore. Nothing changes, life gets harder and they don’t care. I had a lot of emotional energy invested in the Sanders campaign, and how that election played out was a big hit to my faith. I have heard people say to get back into the fight again, but I think elections are a dead end. 

    What about propositions? The way that they are written is meant to confuse the general public. How is a normal person supposed to know how to vote? I can’t spend hours reading 40 articles on props and tracking their supporters and funders. Our political system was made for rich landowners who did not have to work, and I think modern props reflect this. They were introduced as a progressive reform for direct democratic participation, but are now so confusing that they alienate working class voters.

    Politics does not have to begin and end at the ballot box. Participate in a union drive, join an organization independent of the two parties, most importantly develop a class consciousness. Class consciousness arises from experiences of working to pay off loans or rent. Think about how your boss and landlord profit from your labor, and who keeps the vast majority of the money you make. Talk to your co-workers and see how your interests align.

  • It’s your responsibility to vote

    by Cash Rion

    With the midterm elections ending and the votes being counted, many people are breathing sighs of relief that it’s over for the time being. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with the 24 hour news cycle and be informed about political candidates, I understand that. We see races that come down to choosing the lesser of two evils, and it feels like our vote doesn’t count. Why spend all this energy trying to be informed if it feels like we can’t make a difference?

    But voting is so incredibly important; the smaller the election, the more power your vote has! While national elections are determined by tens of thousands of votes, local elections sometimes determine the winner by single votes. The smaller the election, the smaller the voting population, and the more control you have over the issues. 

    Voter suppression efforts are alive and in full swing across the country. Use your vote for the disenfranchised; use your voting privilege to make things better. Republicans are so terrified of marginalized people voting that they are doing anything they can to silence their vote. If voting doesn’t matter, why are they trying so hard to stop it? It’s because Republicans know what we can accomplish with our hard-won voting rights. From gerrymandering to flat-out election denial and Jan. 6, Republicans are trying to call into question the validity of the electoral process.

    Voting is one of the most effective ways of making the views of the masses heard by those in power. By voting, you respect history and the sacrifices made by those who came before you, as well as activists today who continue to fight. If you believe ACAB, vote! Felons are another group who can’t vote, and a big reason for a lack of prison reform is that those who have experienced the issues are often banned from voting to change it. 

    Being informed is hard. Looking at four page ballots of names of people you’ve likely never heard of, for positions you don’t understand is daunting. But you don’t have to do it alone! Get your friends, roommates, family together and make an event out of it! Get snacks and some drinks for that salty and sugary brain energy. A word of advice? Always have a copper camel when you vote, but never have more than one copper camel when you vote! (Don’t know what that is? It’s a drink that can make voting more fun!)

    Split up the ballot: each person takes some names to research so as to not get overwhelmed, and the cheery atmosphere makes it not feel like a chore! Who knows, maybe you’ll find some particularly funny tidbits about candidates – my roommates and I discovered that one of the candidates on this past ballot has some choice poetry online! I think more candidates should write poetry, no matter how good or bad it is.