Untitled Document

The WLAC English Club Literary Magazine OCTOBER - NOVEMBER 2004
Motto: As a student, I understand that I am my primary teacher. Therefore, I am self- didactic because I want to be a great teacher, and I am diligent because I want to be a great student!
A HIGH-TECH ENGLISH CLUB	“AMERICANA”	MY BROTHER	“MARVIN, IS THAT YOU?”
“O” FOR OCTOBER WORDS	“N” FOR NOVEMBER WORDS	HOW TO PRONOUNCE “IRAQ” PROPERLY	ALONE AND PROACTIVE IN L.A.
SHORT STORY CONTEST	MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS	DEAR BRANDEN	ENGLISH DEPARTMENT FACULTY PROFILE

Dear Fellow Students,

     On behalf of the English Club, I would like to welcome you to this literary magazine/ English Club meeting—and encourage you to become an active member of the English Club by submitting queries, poems, short stories, and articles to this magazine at engclubwest@ yahoo.com.
     The purpose of this magazine is three-fold: (1) to provide students with a forum for literary expression; (2) to help students become experienced writers and readers; and (3) to encourage students to transfer to a four-year college or university by advocating membership in the Honors Society and TAP.
As a student—just like you—I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever transfer to a four-year college or university. Like you, I experience the hardships of in-class essays, research papers, and personal statements firsthand; it seems that we, as students, become bogged down with all of the writing that is required in college-level courses, but writing doesn’t have to be a daunting ordeal. If you have difficulty expressing yourself in written language, seek help in the Writing Center on the first floor of the Pace Library, where, incidentally, I am both a tutor—and a client! Also, submit your queries and literary works to this magazine. Most importantly—study! Put your nose to that grindstone, because you know that “nothing good ever comes easy!”
     I look forward to meeting you in person at the Writing Center, at an Honors Society meeting—and/or through your queries and literary submissions to this magazine. Make your voice heard!

     “It’s hard to hold regular, ‘live-body’ meetings of the English Club because so many of its members work,” August Jover, a member of the English Club, notes, smiling ruefully, his large, serious eyes, the color of bittersweet chocolate, twinkling all-too-knowingly as he takes off his cap and runs a milk chocolate-colored hand slowly and thoughtfully over his cropped hair. This ex-soldier knows just how difficult it is for interested students to participate in campus activities: Mr. Jover works two jobs—and attends West full-time.
     “I was sitting all by myself at the last English Club meeting,” Mr. Jover states
matter-of-factly. “They—the other members—just couldn’t come. They had to work.” He nods his cropped head softly, silent for a moment.
     “English Club members would love to attend meetings regularly, but they have to pay the light bill,” Mr. Jover murmurs after a moment, his brow furrowing. He states the problem: “We have to figure out a way to bring all of us all together, English Club members at West, to give us a sense of belonging to the WLAC community.”
Well, we did figure out a way “to bring us all together.” We decided to go hi-tech: an electronic literary magazine that will BE the English Club meeting. Welcome to the October-November, 2004, WLAC English Club meeting! Nice to meet you. Mr. McBride, Mr. Jover and the other members hope that you can read—and submit queries and literary works to—this magazine regularly. E-mail all submissions to engclubwest@yahoo.com.

     I walk out of the terminal with my luggage in one hand, a sweater, and a copy of Choke. Though my body is weary, I am eager to begin my annual re-discovery of the “homeland” of Mexico, a place I long to become a part of. I want the culture and the colors, the smells, and the people to inhabit me, so I go every year in hope of finding those things, thinking that they will make me happy.
     In the airport terminal, I am looking all around, hoping to spot familiarity. Is my Aunt Martha there waiting for me, with Yurani and Uncle Fer close by? Then, I spot them, joy in their eyes. I run to them, and we hug and cry, and then laugh. Yes, I am in the right place.
     For many years I have felt that where I come from is wherever my parents come from. They said “Mexico,” so I said “Mexico.” But then with this last trip, with all my hopes of becoming a part of a forgotten culture, came a new thought.
     “Where am I really from, and why do I cling to a place like Mexico to find myself?” The search for the answer to this question has landed me on a patch of soil that I am hesitant to stand on, America.

      I was starving after all the crying and laughing in the airport terminal, and I knew that my Aunt Martha had some amazing meal that I was meant to devour, so when I arrived at her house, I was ecstatic. The dinner table was set, and I enjoyed: chicken soup with vegetables, tomato sauce rice, and warm tortillas and Mexican cheese. Everything in Mexico tastes amazing; no meal is ever bland.
     All the while I was in Mexico, I kept hoping that eating these meals, smelling the Mexican air, feeling the Mexican soil beneath my feet, and observing beautiful Mexican views would make me Mexican, of that nation. But the morning after a beautiful meal, I awoke with the signs of refusal for that country that were coming from deep within me. The bathroom became my campsite, my new place of discovery. My stomach was churning and my bowels—well, let’s just say they’ve seen better days. In talks, my Aunt Martha discussed with me all of the native remedies of teas and ointments, and tales of how they really work.
    “Laura, you have to try this—believe me, it works! This lady down the way also had an American niece get sick from the food, and she just gave her this tea.”
American niece? But I’m not American; I was only born there.
    Uncle Fer then walks in and starts talking about how there are different bacteria in the food here, and how being from America, my body isn’t used to Mexico’s bacteria.
    “Laura, don’t worry; it happens to all foreigners. It’s just that the food here is fresher and we don’t process it with chemicals and things the way Americans do.”
     Me, a foreigner? But I came every year, I spoke the language, and I knew my aunt and uncle’s neighbors. How am I still a foreigner?
    Meanwhile, here I am thinking about how pathetic I feel and am. I had such visions of being of Mexico, eating and breathing it, but such visions of eternal “bliss” for me and my Mexico were not meant to be. Although I felt Mexican in spirit and mind, my physical body was rejecting Mexico.
    For the rest of the trip I ate baby food, all prepackaged. There were no grandiose
meals of “carnitas” and “ceviche,” only breads, crackers, and puddings. It was awful. It was like this country had turned down my application be a part of the club.
    When I came back to America, I woke up from the long dream of being Mexican, and realized that no matter what I wanted, my physical body was always going to be “Americana.” For an entire young life I had been drinking and eating processed foods that no longer resembled their original organic state. Therefore, I have come to terms with my nationality, the country in which I reside. Any attempts to go against this would be in vain. Now I have embarked on a new journey: To bask in the American sun and culture and enjoy it!

My Brother—doesn’t always understand the reason for life, yet determined to live a better life.

My Brother—developed with strength of the neighborhood the courage to fight bullies back, and the common sense regarding what sections of the city to avoid.

My Brother—who was taught by the wisdom of schoolteachers, the experiences of being a knucklehead, and the intelligence of older women.

My Brother—the champion who jumped over the obstacle of losing his job, crawled under the misfortune of unplanned pregnancy, and still standing on his own two feet.

My Brother—the symbol, the protector, the ex-convict, the neighborhood business executive, the hood representative, the baby father, the nephew, the son, the grandson.

My Brother—the one who has the best sound system, and best looking car, yet parking it around the corner from his house because the credit company is
trying to repossess it.

My Brother—the one who dropped out of high school to temporarily sell drugs to take care of his kids, and went back to night school AND GOT HIS G.E.D.!!!

I love you, because you are yourself regardless of anyone else, and if they don’t like it, then they all can go to hell.

I love you, because you have big dreams, and I know you will accomplish them, once you finish cleaning up your credit.

I love you, because you make the family reunions funny; when everyone else is showing their nose hairs, you are showing your ass.

Brother…
I realize some things will change, And yes, some things need to change, But one thing I know will never change—
It’s the love I have for you …My Brother

     Long ago I knew a lady named Mary Simpson. When I knew her, she was a divorced single parent with a three-year- old son named Marvin. She had been a single parent since Marvin was a baby. Now, Marvin is 14 years old, and Mary is working hard at her prison guard job at Chantel’s Federal Maximum Security Prison in Amber, California.
     This prison holds some of the most dangerous people in the world: serial killers, rapists, and child molesters. Mary’s job is to make sure the prisoners don’t start fighting on the basketball courts or in the weight room. Prisoners usually don’t fight on Mary’s shift because on Mary’s shift, Mary’s in control. Her favorite saying is, “You have to be proactive all the time if you want to stay on top of the game.”
Mary read about proactive people in Stephen Covey’s book Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, and she decided to be one. A “proactive” person is one who strives to control the circumstances of his or her life by being ethical and taking charge!
     The word around the prison is that Mary does “take charge”; she is on top of the game. Oh, by the way, did I mention that Mary is 32 years old, 6 feet, 7 inches tall, and weighs 245 pounds? Most of it is solid muscle. She also holds a 3rd degree black belt in Judo. Mary’s one tough cookie, wouldn’t you say?! But Mary is not proactive when it comes to her son Marvin. Marvin is really a nice young man. He volunteers 20 hours a week at Rosie Rios Branch Library at 8818 S. Brittany Avenue, in Los Angeles, California. He loves to work at the library, processing returned books and placing books back on the library shelves. Marvin also loves to pass out blankets to homeless men, women, and children on 8th Street in Downtown Los Angeles. Marvin loves to help people, but lately Mary has been having problems with Marvin in school and at home. Mary asked Marvin to go to school, but he told her, “No!!” He also told his mother the only way he’ll go to school is if she gives him $15.00 a day for lunch and if she gives him a ride to school every morning, on time. Can you believe that? Guess what? Mary agreed to all Marvin’s demands.
     Mary also has a problem with Marvin’s hanging out with his friends, Kevin and Jason. Mary asked Marvin not to hang out with them because they are known for going to wild parties on Friday nights, drinking alcohol, and smoking marijuana on a regular basis. When Mary tries to advise her son not to hang around with Kevin and Jason, he refuses to listen to his mother’s advice.
    Mary remembers the first time she saw Kevin and Jason two weeks ago; they were parked at the Trader Joe’s parking lot, on 3rd and La Brea, in Jason’s black and gold Pontiac Trans Am, getting high and intoxicated. She just shook her head, walking away with great sadness, saying to herself, “I am glad those are not my kids.”
    Now, it has been one month since that incident occurred, but today she came home tired from work as a result of working a double shift. When she came home at 6 p.m., Mary was greeted by her son Marvin at the front door. Marvin said to his mother, “I thought you were never going to come home!” He had never said anything like this before. Mary thought that what Marvin said was kind of odd, but because it made her so happy, she didn’t think anything of it. Later on that same evening, Mary was closing her window shades in her bedroom; suddenly, Marvin asked her if he could go out. Mary said, “Yes.” Five minutes later, Mary realized that Marvin forgot his coat. She put Marvin’s coat on her arm and started to say in a loud voice, “Marvin, Marvin, you forgot your coat!” When Marvin did not reply back, Mary ran down the stairs; as she made it down to the bottom of the steps, she opened her front door and there she saw her son Marvin driving off with Kevin and Jason, laughing and saying, “I fooled her; let’s get stoned.” Then, all Mary could hear was burning rubber—the tires on Jason’s car. Marvin did not know that his mother had heard everything he had said. Mary began to laugh out loud to herself, saying, “It’s all good Marvin. Just wait until you come back home—things are going to be done differently from now on. I promise you—I’ll get back on top of the game!!”
    I believe Mary Simpson is a nice person, but she needs to be more proactive regarding her son Marvin. If I were Mary Simpson, first I would have made sure that Marvin went to school every day, and I would have dropped him off and picked him up, personally. Second, I would have talked to each one of his teachers on a frequent basis to make sure he was present in class and actively doing well in his school work. Third, I would have made sure that Marvin took random drug testing to ensure that he stayed clean. If he tested positive for drugs, I would have checked Marvin into a drug treatment program to help him kick his alcohol and drug problems. Fourth, I would have gone down to the Wilshire Division Police Station on Venice and Orange Drive to see about getting a restraining order against Kevin and Jason to keep them from coming near my house or my son. Fifth, as a last resort, I would have done anything to save my child’s life. I am glad Mary finally woke up and realized that her son is one of her most valuable assets. It pays to be proactive, not only on the job, but also at home!!

1. Obdurate (OB-duh-rit) – persists in wrongdoing or negative feelings /Adj.: That woman is obdurate in her love of gossip.
2. Obfuscate (ob-FUH-skate) – to make unclear /Adj.: My brother’s explanations about quadratic equations are always so obfuscatory; I’m not sure if he’s trying to tutor me or confuse me!
3. Oblique (oh-BLEEK) – slanted, sloping direction; someone who gives slanted, sloping answer to be misleading / Adj.: Jane gave me an oblique look, out of the corners of her eyes, when I left the room; do you think she dislikes me? After all, she gave an oblique answer to my question, side- stepping it rather than answering it.
4. Obsidian (ub-SID-ee-un) – a naturally occurring dark glass formed from molten lava / Adj.: She gave him a momentary glance, like a gift, out of her obsidian eyes, dark and shining, and he was entranced—entranced and grateful for the momentary attention.
5. Opaque (oh-PAKE) – not transparent or clear / Adj.: The jewel on his finger—onyx—was opaque, just like the look he gave her. She couldn’t read it, and she was baffled. What did he feel for her: hatred, love—or indifference?

1. Narcissism (NAR-si-sizm) – inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity / Adj.: Mary always loved to look at herself in the mirror and make narcissistic comments like, “Dang, I look good!”
2. Nexus (NEK-sus) – means by which series connected; tie; link / Noun: “Effective communication is the primary nexus among the world’s many different leaders; if we don’t work hard to forge and maintain this nexus, we’re lost!”
3. Niggle (NIG-uhl) – to criticize, esp. constantly or repeatedly, in a peevish or petty way / Noun: “I can’t finish this if you keep on niggling me!”
4. Nomenclature (no-men-KLAY-chur)– a set or system of names or terms, as those used in a particular science or art, by an individual or community / Noun: “The term ‘rhetorical method’ is part of the English Department’s nomenclature.”
5. Nuzzle (NUZ-uhl) – to burrow or root with the nose, snout, etc., as an animal does / Verb: The neighbor’s dog nuzzles anything it finds on our front lawn.

“Iraq” is pronounced “a-ROCK,” not “I-RACK.” J (Pronounce the “a” like the “a” in “apple.”)

    I was a brand-new mother from Michigan—alone in L.A. I had no reserve of savings to support me, no immediate family close by. My baby’s father and I had gone our separate ways. I didn’t really know anybody in L.A.
    “What should I do?” I thought, as I looked down at my tiny infant son, asleep peacefully in my arms. I was glad he was so tiny. At least he didn’t have to know just how precarious our situation was.
    I had no money. I had just given birth. I had no permanent housing. All I had, physically, was a vehicle; it became a little apartment for my son and me at times. Sitting in that vehicle with my newborn son, I thought about my situation. I had applied at a restaurant for work, but I wasn’t hired.
    “I don’t have a job!” I thought in panic. The only job that I might “land”—telemarketing or some other commission-paying job—definitely wouldn’t support us, the new family of two my son and I comprised.
And even if I did land a job with a telemarketing firm or at a restaurant—who would look after my son while I worked? And even if I could find someone to look after my son, I wouldn’t be able to pay that person. I needed the impossible: I needed employment that was flexible, that didn’t require me to have an address or work set hours—and that would allow me to bring my son to work with me.
    “What should I do? What should I do?” I thought again and again. I wanted to cry, to scream, to holler, to curse. Instead, I prayed and meditated; I prayed for calm, for serenity, for an answer.
   “I’m a hard worker,” I told God. “If you show me the way, I’ll walk the way.” I became calm.
    “What can I do?” I thought.
    “I can clean,” I answered myself.
    I went to neighbors, knocked on doors. “I’ll clean your house while you’re at work,” I offered. “I’m honest,” I told them. “I won’t steal anything, I won’t let anybody into your place while you’re gone—and I’ll do a good job.”
I began to clean my neighbors’ houses during the day, while they were at work. At night they’d come home to sparkling kitchens and bathrooms, beautifully vacuumed living room floors, and dusted furniture.
    The best part of my job was that I could bring my infant son with me while I cleaned—and nobody, I knew, would look after him better than I. However, I worried every time I had to turn my back on him, to clean a toilet or a sink. Sometimes he cried, for a short period of time, while I worked, and I had to pick him up and hold him, so a two-hour housecleaning job sometimes took about six or seven hours. I had to cuddle him and finish the job.
    I worked hard. I cleaned every house like it was my own house I was cleaning: with loving detail. Soon, I had a growing list of neighborhood clients, so I could afford to hire a trusted teenager from the neighborhood to look after my son.
    Then, I had so many clients that I had to hire employees. I had a business! Somehow, I had been “proactive”—I had controlled the circumstances of my life, not let myself be a victim to them. I had “acted first” rather than “be acted upon.” I had “taken the initiative.”
    In my English 21 class this semester at West, I learned the word “proactive” in Stephen Covey’s wonderful book Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I didn’t know the word when I first read it in Mr. Covey’s book—but I discovered that I already knew the definition by heart: I know all about controlling the circumstances of my life, not letting them control me!
    The name of my cleaning business, by the way, was “Getting It Together,” and it was my decision to quit this business in order to go to school, although my business was doing very well. “Why did you quit your successful cleaning business, and why are you attending West?” people might wonder. Indeed … why am I earning a college degree?
    I am earning a college degree because a college degree is an incredible accomplishment—to me, it’s more than just a business, dollars and cents. A college degree will help me to fulfill my intellectual potential, to become a lawyer or a social worker. Moreover, with a college degree, I will not only continue to be proactive, but also help open the doors for anyone else who may be in a situation similar to the situation in which I found myself: young, a new mother, and all alone. Prayer and proactivity guided and moved me during this challenge, so I challenge all of us to go beyond the problem and look to the future. For me, the future begins at West Los Angeles College.

    The English Club is pleased to announce that it will be sponsoring a short story contest for WLAC students from November 15-December 10, 2004. The first-place winner will receive $50, and his or her story will be published in its entirety in the December issue of this literary magazine.
    Interested WLAC students should e-mail short story submissions to engclubwest@yahoo.com.
Submit your short story as an e-mail attachment in Microsoft Word. Also, include your full name, address, and telephone number with each submission. Submissions not sent as an e-mail attachment and with correct contact information will be disqualified.
    Short stories will be judged by a panel of English Club members.

Neon lights,
Traffic signs,
Tiled floors,
All straight lines,
Man-made and Man-created…
Human progress,
But still I hate it.

Mother Nature long forgotten,
The air is poisoned,
The water rotten,
Plastic features in people’s faces,
Human progress,
But still I hate it.

Multi-tasking minimum wage,
The economy built on the backs of slaves,
Capitalism,
Hard to break it,
Human progress,
Can I escape it?

This monthly “Dear Branden” column is intended to help students become better writers.
Please submit your queries regarding any and all parts of the writing process to this column, care of Branden McBride.

A. There are many useful sites on the ’Net that demonstrate different formats for essays and bibliographies. Just type “MLA format” on any search engine. W.L.A.C. also has a variety of tutors in the lower level of the library who will be able to help you. I also strongly recommend that you see your professor during his or her office hours to see what he or she wants specifically because every professor wants something different.

A. Any WLAC student can become a member of the English Club by submitting his or her literary pieces on a regular basis to engclubwest@yahoo.com.

A. There are two methods by which you can improve your writing. First, whenever you have a spare moment, pick up a book and start reading. Second, keep a journal of your thoughts or your daily events. By doing these two things, you become a self-didactic (self-taught) student and being your own teacher is always the most effective way to learn.

    To make you feel comfortable with your English professors, we are “profiling” all of the full-time professors in the English Department. Our intent is to make you feel at ease approaching each professor during office hours—and to give you a glimpse of each professor’s personality—rather than to detail each professor’s academic background.
    Appropriately, we’ll start at the “top,” with the chairperson—Prof. Betty Jacobs.
“Jaunty” is the word that comes to mind when one thinks of the blue-eyed Betty Jacobs, with her cap of wavy, silver hair.
    According to the 2001 edition of The American Heritage Dictionary (fourth edition), “jaunty” may be defined as a person who “[h]a[s] a buoyant or self-confident air” and who is “dapper in appearance” (457). Yes, that would be Prof. Jacobs. She always seems cheerful, assured (in a nice way), and stylishly dressed. However, don’t imagine that this professor makes her appearance on campus gussied up in Armani or Versace. Prof. Jacobs’s favorite clothes “are khakis!” Comfort—and informality—are her style watchwords, yet students never mistake her for other than what she is: a professor. “There’s a ‘professor-y’ look about her,” one observer explains.
Maybe this “professor-y” look comes from Prof. Jacobs’s true nature: She’s a literati. She loves to read the American writer Edith Wharton, and Prof. Jacobs and her late husband “Sid,” a rabbi and social activist, wrote three popular books on Judaism, in addition to numerous articles.
    Slim (maybe because she’s a vegan?) and athletic (she’s an avid tennis player), Prof. Jacobs “bounces around” the classroom, transmitting her love of literature and the English language to many students. In the classroom, she also teaches from primary sources (books, not textbooks), and many other professors in the English Department have followed her lead. (Yes, dear student, she’s the one indirectly responsible for those BIG
volumes of Shakespeare, Plato and Robert Pirsig in your backpack!)
    This professor’s door is always open to students during office hours. Just show up—and be comfortable! (Prof. Jacobs certainly will be comfortable—because she’ll probably be wearing khakis!)

General Editor
Nuala Lincke-Ivic,
Assoc. Professor of English &
English Club Advisor

WLAC Writers
Adowa Brashers
Marjan Caby
Louis Hill
August Jover
Laura Lopez
Branden McBride