The warm mornings give way to even hotter afternoons. Pools are open, mosquitoes swarm, and there never seems to be enough beer. Summertime requires an attitude, a disposition of calibrated cool when even the grass won’t stay green. There are many ways to play the sanity game. For some people, its music. I have never been musically inclined myself, but many of my friends and even some family members are gifted like that. Making notes turn into songs, pulling sounds out of the clear blue sky. It is a form of relaxation and can be as spiritual as being visited by a holy prophet. Over time, this sort of meditation breeds temptation within the mind of another well-wishing hippie love monkey.

I decided I wanted in. I have strummed on a guitar, I have thumped and pounded on the drums. I, too, can be in the jam band man. Maybe I should get a cool headband? NO, no, that’s premature. Before the outfit, I need the instrument. I began searching, for what I wasn’t sure. I was looking for something stylish, classy – and above all else – cool. I want to look good when I play, I want to captivate my audience as I have always been able to do. More important than that, I want to learn how to make music. That look some people have when they play; unbridled passion mixed with quasi-orgasmic ecstasy. Give it to me, I want to feel it father!

The day finally arrived; pay day. I combed through ads on Craigslist until I found my match. She was a modest acoustic guitar, in a deep navy blue. She came with a strap and extra strings, a case and a stand. Everything in one, tailor made for me and my first venture into the musical abyss. A crisp hundred dollar bill is all it took. It was in my arms, my guitar was in my hands. What a kick-ass kind of moment, it was irreplaceable.

I was trying to bring my new girl into tune the next day, and the son of a bitch broke. The string snapped right the hell off. The second smallest one, the one that is the fifth one down the neck, it tightened too tight and snapped off with a monstrous twang. It was actually magnificent. The piece of shit that I just got off Craigslist decided it wanted to be funny, to play a very funny, funny joke on the new guy that thinks he can play. I haven’t touched the guitar since. I’m sure you can imagine we are having an unfortunate disagreement. As my new instrument and I move through grief counseling together, I realize that it won’t be easy. My musical talent won’t be brought into focus with one step. I’m not about to be the next Hendrix or Santana or Garcia. It is going to take time, and effort, to play well.

While I may not be sufficient yet at playing music, what I can do well is cook. Food is my specialty. So what I have decided to include with my piece here is a recipe, because I think that food and cooking is like the way instruments make music. Different notes, sounds and pitches can be heard, and I say even tasted. Adding fresh basil to garnish a dish gives off an intense robust flavor, adding it to the dish during the cooking process yields a more even flavor of comfort and subtlety. I want to share my talent with the world, I want to be applauded. Above all else, if I can end the day by teaching at least one person something, then I can sleep just fine.

Buon Appetito,

Daniel J. Neebes

The NAFTA

1 egg

½ of an Avacodo

1 or 2 slices of tomatoes

1 slice Canadian Bacon (or regular bacon)

Shaved Parmesan

Olive Oil

Salt & Pepper

1. Begin by heating the oven to Broil. Slice tomatoes to desired thickness, drizzle with olive oil, salt and pepper, sprinkle shaved parmesan over each slice and broil for about 2 or 3 minutes on a cookie sheet, until cheese is gold and bubbly.
2. While the tomatoes are in the broiler, fry up the bacon. Regular bacon will give off grease in the pan, save a small amount of this after you’re done cooking the bacon to fry the egg in.
3. In between frying the bacon and making the egg, take your half of avocado with the skin and pit removed, and hold it flat side down so you can get even slices when you cut. Begin to layer the dish: tomatoes on bottom, followed by the slices of bacon (egg after that, and avocado on top).
4. The last step and the most important is the egg. You make it last to make sure it is hot and fresh when you plate the dish. Cook to your liking; sunny side up, over medium, basted, or fried hard and stepped on. Your egg, your way.
5. Top the whole dish with salt and pepper, and serve. Hot Sauce is also a good flavor booster. I would also recommend a piece of toast, English muffin, or a bagel to soak up the good stuff.

At night the light goes out and I am alone. Only the sounds that the wind makes keeps me company. I curl up within my blankets and shut my eyes wishing that it was morning, but the night is long. I shut my eyes only to open them and see darkness, no light penetrates the deep black. I hear the howling of wolves and wonder: “Am I their dinner?” Will this be my last night? After much anxious thought I finally find the sweet release of sleep. But it does not end there.

I awake in a corridor with no windows. I know it is a dream, yet I do not know, the dream allows me no control. Getting up off the floor I follow the dark hallway which is the only direction that I am afforded. The hallway is smoky, dream smoke I call it, and figures jump out at me; faceless and nameless they do not frighten me. I get to the end of the hallway and open the solitary door, the room inside is bright and I can see the outside world from the windows. But I know that I cannot leave.

A statue stands in the corner of the room. I try to forget its presence but I am drawn to it. Inching closer and closer I see the statue has a wide grin on its face.

I call out: “Who are you, who put you here?” No reply is given. I continue to talk: “I am the master of this dream and I command you to speak!”

A thunderous laughter erupts and the once well lit room turns blood red, “You think you are in control do you?” a disembodied voice echoes. All the while the statues expression turns to anguish. “You think that this is your domain?” the voice whispers.

I begin to panic and run to the door but it is bolted: locked.

“Fool!” shouts the voice.

I run up to the statue and give it a smack with my hammer…the hammer breaks.

“The first lie they ever told you was that you were in control. What they never warned you about was the eventual deterioration of your will, or the breakdown of your once flawless constitution. All those ideals you once had; once so noble and true would transform into abominations and falsehoods. You are nothing more than an empty shell, a shell crafted for strong wills like me” cackled the voice.

As if on cue the statue came to life, moving slowly at first like a new born baby learning to walk. Then it began to walk fluidly, making its way towards me with that ominous grin plastered back onto its face. The statue grabs me and opens its mouth letting out a blood curdling scream.

I wake up in a pool of sweat, and see that it is dawn. Birds chirp and squirrels start their day looking for nuts to eat. The trees are greener than ever, and dance in the wind to a silent song. I look up and see a clear blue sky and cannot help but laugh. It was all a bad dream, none of it was real.

I stop laughing but my face feels sore, feels stretched. Touching my face I only feel a smile, trying to frown is impossible. I begin to feel bubbly, almost funny, but at the same time lethal: mean.

Looking out from my camp I see a city, full of people and noise. Oh how the noise hurts my ears, makes me loath the thought of people.

“Let’s go tell them a nice joke, yes? Oooohoo that will be a nice funny one. All of them will think I’m a clown, no, better yet a JOKER!” I squeal as I descend from that camp, ready to wreak mindless havoc on the people below.

 

Signed,

🙂

 

I don’t often comment about the political climate in this country using social media. However, today I felt that being silent was no longer an option. In 48 hours, police at different ends of the country killed 2 more young black Americans. A riot broke out in Dallas; a sniper attacked 11 officers of the law, killing 6 at the time of this writing. In the United States, tensions between people and government are running higher than ever. It is a scary time to be alive. You would have to be a fool to not realize that there is a large amount of anger in this country. Some individuals who wish to spew hateful rhetoric that threaten the fabric of our society are tapping into this. I wish to offer my opinion on how we might confront this deep-seated anger that is simmering in our society.

All I ask is that every person in this country educates himself or herself about the people next to them. The world is never worse off for knowing a little bit more. If you are a white person living in America, ask people of colors, all colors that comprise the spectrum of the broad term “minority” (ironic, since black and brown people outnumber white people in the world. But I really don’t have the space on Mitch’s blog to talk about the power structures found in label construction) about their lives, their cultural identity, their norms and practices, and the fears and insecurities they have about what it is to live as a non-white person in the United States. But it shouldn’t just be white people asking People of Color about their lives. People of Color have a responsibility to help educate others about their culture and values. It also means respecting each other. Fun Fact, we are all human so there is no point trying to dominate over another group. You aren’t a conquering warlord. We don’t like those in the 21^st century. If you want to do that, build a time machine, go back in time, and live out your Attila the Hun fantasy.

The best part about education is that it builds respect. You may not like something, but that doesn’t mean you can’t respect it. Respect can change your entire decision and in turn has life-changing effects for others around you. My favorite story about that is: in the end days of the Second World War, American strategists were trying to decide on where to drop the atomic bomb and Kyoto was an initial target. It was removed since one of the men in the war room went on his honeymoon there and didn’t want to see it destroyed. He respected the city and its history. That action spared the city, saving hundreds of thousands of lives. So when you respect something, it changes it for the better.

We can all learn to respect each other more, and non-black people of color like myself can lead the charge. Men need to be raised to respect women. Rape is not ever acceptable. Brown guys need to stop using the n-word. It doesn’t make us look cool. We just sound super douchey in my opinion. I used to be guilty of this myself. But occasionally, being called out for your behavior is a helpful tool that allows you to respect others and changing that action lets others build respect for you.

I am confident in the American public, despite what tragedies befall us as a people. I really do believe that if we start educating the populace about the issues that people of color face, start respecting our neighbors, and ourselves and start working on unity and inclusion, that we will truly reach the Golden Age of humanity. Because lets be honest, when the asteroid that will wipe out humanity is gunning for earth and the space laser we built can’t stop it, we might as well let it take out the best version of humanity out there. The version that works to solve problems that can actually better us all, not just a select few. There is no fun in low ambitions people. So lets strive for the best in humanity.

Signed,

Sree Sarma

It seems like a simple concept. I mean, you’re the only soul that is with you all the time. It would make sense to love yourself. Just being comfortable in your own skin seems like it should be easy, yet so many people hate themselves. Their too short, too tall, too fat, too skinny, too loud, too quiet. There seems to be no end to the things people are insecure about, and in turn people end up loathing themselves for it.

But why? How do these insecurities come to be? For me I find one and only one culprit: Marketing and Advertising.

I’ve been at odds with my figure since before I can remember (weird coming from a guy right?). Throughout high school and still today I’m conscientious about my weight. Regardless of all the compliments, or reassurance that I’m not fat or ugly. I’ve always looked at myself in the mirror and had something to obsess over: “Belly too bulgy, acne is outrageous, your arms have no tone or definition,” the laundry list could continue but I wouldn’t want to burden you with my own insecurities. I worry about these things, for what? I’m never going to have abs like Zach Efron, or be as jacked as Hugh Jackman is in X-Men, and I’m certainly not going to be The Rock.

Yet, when we watch television we are assaulted with images of ‘perfect people’ living ‘perfect lives.’ Smiling, laughing, and looking absolutely stunning, even if they are trying to sell us ass cream. Hell, the old people in Viagra and Cialis commercials look better than me!

These images train us to incessantly loath ourselves for the single motive of buying whatever product they want to shove down our fugly throats. As Don Draper in Mad Men says: “You are the product[the consumer]. You feel something. That’s what sells.” Marketing executives and Ad agencies thrive on you feeling inadequate about how you look.

Its madness (pun intended)! Cigarette commercials were pulled from the air because they worked too well! Yet, when McDonalds or Burger King roll out their new, “$5 for cancer in a paper bag,” nobody bats an eye. Then we turn around and see a half naked model in a semi-pornographic commercial rubbing facial cream all over her face, or Ryan Gosling eye fucking us while riding topless on a horse. It’s no wonder why I’m eating a half a tub of Haggen-Dazs every night, and using the other half that’s melted as a lubricant to jerk off in a self loathing stupor.

Sorry, got off track, where was I? Ah yes, loving thyself, listen people: let’s stop holding ourselves to God-like standards and realize that we don’t get paid to work out. Why do we think so many kids are getting diagnosed with depression at an early age? Is it because their parent wants them to be David Beckham, both the star soccer player and the underwear model?

We all have to realize at the end of the day that all that glitters is not gold. For all we know Ryan Gosling uses the other half of his Haggen-Dazs ice cream as lube too.

“I love my self, Illuminated by the hand of god, boy don’t seem shy…One day at time”-Kendrick Lamar

Signed,

An Angsty Almost 20 year old

P.S. No Haggen-Dazs did not sponsor this post

 

I’ll just put it bluntly: I’m sorry I’ve been absent from this blog. I could blame it all on the fact that I’m taking summer classes, or blame it on the fact that I grossly misled myself about the amount of free time that I would have over the summer. I could lie through my teeth and blame it on those things but the simple reality is: I have found that I have nothing to write about.

That’s right, zilch, zip, squat. I’ve tried countless times to try and sit down to write something, something that I thought would inspiring, profound, and exciting to read. But all I found was that I’m full of shit. That’s what writer’s block will do to you. It’s not the simple fact of “oh I don’t have anything to write about,” it’s more like: “I absolutely hate everything that I write.”

So, I sit here. Looking at my dimly lit screen, sipping my beer(shh don’t tell the cops), and watch the words appear on the page as if it’s like magic. I sit silently, hearing my fingertips make pitter patter noises on the keyboard, and hope to god that whoever is nice enough to read this finds it interesting. Because that’s what every writer wants deep down, to have someone read the words that they  painstakingly put down on paper and have somebody tell them that they enjoyed it.

That is why I have created this blog post, for those who look to my blog and hope to find something that they enjoy. In the time that I have taken off I have had multiple friends ask: “Mitch where’s the blog at?”, “Mitch, why haven’t you written anything lately?” I’d thank each and every one of you that has asked me this question, because it means that what I think about, what I create, means something to someone. All the extra time that I put in making stories, writing think pieces, and just fooling around is not wasted time.

So I say to you, WILBBlog fans, keep your eyes peeled. It may take some time, and some sweat, and maybe a tear or two, but I WILB back with hopefully a post-a-week on this site.

Signed,

The Master Wilbologist

Right now, as we speak, there is a sit in at the U.S. Capitol in D.C. This sit in is motivated by the tragic shooting that occurred last week in Orlando, Florida. This sit in is occurring because the American people have had ENOUGH GUN VIOLENCE!

Many of you may not know that this sit in is going on. Many of you may wonder: “why was I not notified of this sit in? Isn’t this big, isn’t this YUGE?” Why yes, reader, it is YUGE! However, the reason you have not been notified of this event is because our gracious Speaker of the House, Paul Ryan, has shut off all of the cameras in the House Chamber.

I’ve been watching the occurrences off of a representatives Periscope. How can a member of our political establishment suspend the first amendment of our elected officials?! How can he bar the American public from viewing a peaceful protest?!

What is going on right now, ladies and gentlemen, is the refusal to break against opposition. The House, and Senate, Republicans are bought by the NRA. They will do nothing to ensure that another tragedy like Orlando will not happen again.

 

Signed,

X

 

Another day, another mass shooting in America. This time aimed at the LGBTQ community. Hundreds of thousands of voices have screamed out in anguish and despair at this tragedy. The loss of 50 lives, and the wounding of 50 more has left us with a sense of insecurity and discomfort. Yet nothing will change. We as a nation will grieve, and news outlets will be flooded with headlines pertaining to this incident, and yet we will move on. We will move on just as we have done before with mass shootings.

Politicians will use this incident as a talking point, many will stand facing large crowds promising that wrongs will be set right, yet nothing will change. We as a country will continue to talk about the strengthening of gun laws, and some within our midst will continue to hold steadfast in their belief in the right to bear arms. As as this conversation occurs, the dead will begin to fade away. Can you name me the 9 that died in Charleston, or the scores of school children that have been killed? Can you name me the lives lost in that movie theater in Aurora? Can you name those slain in Columbine? Even the mentioning of these tragedies causes people to recoil in pain, because nothing has been set right. We can no longer put our faith in law makers to protect us, we can no longer look to our law makers to correct the wrong that has happened. Instead we must DEMAND from them a change.

No longer can we, the people, stand idly by while our countrymen are being slain by brutes. Slain by mad gunmen, slain by those sworn to protect us. We can no longer tolerate indecision and inaction. We know that without action more innocent lives will continue to be lost. We know that without action schools, bars, churches, and movies theaters  will continue to be targeted for acts of malice and destruction. The government has failed us. The police have failed us. Those we elect to lead have failed us. It is now up to the people to decide what to do.

We cannot continue to pray, continue to grieve, and continue to sulk. We must take it upon ourselves to change the status quo. We must act, we must stand together, or more senseless death will continue to occur within our borders.

“Hey you! Out there in the cold, getting lonely getting old, can you feel me?…Hey you! Don’t help them to bury the light. Don’t give in without a fight…Together we stand, divided we fall.”-Pink Floyd

Signed,

X

I’m going to preface this with: I am not much of a cook, in fact it’s probably offensive to even use that word to describe me, but I just made something that I am going to share and hopefully someone that is worthy of the “cook” title can make it and tell me if it’s any good.

Recipe:

2.5 cups of rice

1/2 of a red and orange pepper(Chopped)

2 Mushrooms(Chopped)

1 Onion(Chopped)

2 cups of Green Beans(Chopped)

3 Eggs, scrambled

2 carrots(Ch-I think you get the idea)

Spices (all used to the chefs discretion): Garlic Powder, Cracked Pepper, Salt, Curry Powder, tiny(I stress TINY) bit of wasabi powder, SRIRACHA(I think you get the picture).

Add in your favorite drink, and some punk rock music and tell me what you think.

Signed,

Mitch

 

I just finished reading the book Night by Elie Wiesel, and I can, with ease, say it is one of the most profound, disturbing, and important books I have ever read. Wiesel contextualizes the book by saying, in the preface:

“Could men and women who consider it normal to assist the weak, to heal the sick, to protect small children, and to respect the wisdom of their elders understand what happened [in the camps]? Would they be able to comprehend how, within that cursed universe, the masters tortured the weak and massacred the children, the sick, and the old?” (Wiesel 10).

My answer to the aforementioned questions is, quite simply, no. I, sitting in my comfortable bedroom in a solidly upper-middle class neighborhood, moons and galaxies away from the hell that was Auschwitz and other concentration camps, or, as Wiesel called them, “the Kingdom of Night,” can hardly conceptualize that such atrocities happened anywhere on the face of this planet, much less that men perpetrated these atrocious acts against their brethren. I cried many times as I read Night, but my tears did not bring me any closer to understanding the experiences that so many had at the camps.

The fact that I cannot, nor will I ever, be able to fathom what happened at these concentration camps makes remembering them and all those who suffered there all the more important. Such memory is true with other heinous acts that mankind has both perpetrated and been victim to. I will never forget the trip that my family took to Ghana when I was a rising seventh grader; this was one of the earliest times where my eyes were opened to the long history of humanity inflicting horrors on itself. I was extremely excited to explore the country of my family’s origin for the first time, and I hoped to traipse all over Ghana and see every last bit of what the country had to offer.

My family’s adventures brought us to Elmina Castle, which was a known slave castle and slave-trading hub, where many Ghanaians and people from all over the African continent (particularly from West African nations) departed from everything they had known and loved for their entire lives. At this castle, there was a point called “The Gate of No Return,” which was appropriately marked with a skull and crossbones over the doorway. Standing there, even though I was only an eleven year old, I felt a profound sadness as I walked through the gate that served as a true testament to human suffering and the atrocities that we have the capability of inflicting upon each other. However, sad as I was in that moment, and upset as I still feel when I think about it and look back at the pictures of that gate, I will never truly have a way of understanding the suffering that took place at that site.

My mention of the horrors of Elmina Castle, Auschwitz and other concentration camps is in no way to try and conflate the struggles that different groups of people faced at completely different points in time; rather, I aim to point out that the human race has decayed and regressed into darkness at various points in time due to our inability to value our neighbor and see the differences between us and those around us as things to be cherished, not abhorred. Too often and too quickly, we, as humans, forget about our long history of terrorizing one another. We must look to the past– our errors– our abuse of one another, and from that foundation, look around at where we are now, look to the future, and strive to do better. We must work to ensure that no one in our generation, nor in future generations, has to suffer as others have suffered, nor endure the despair that accompanies the knowledge that one is seen as less than human. Above all, we must each remember ourselves, and pay homage to those who have been lost to human barbarity by making sure that all of those around us remember, too.

-Ewurama Appiagyei-Dankah

That’s a wrap, the semester is finally over. My second year of college is finished. I made many new friends this past year, dare I say it: best friends. The endless laughs, jokes, and conversations we had will stay with me for a lifetime. But now what? Now we move onward into the frightening future. Many of my friends, including myself, are leaving the country at one time or another. The countries consist of: India, Belgium, Turkey, Azerbaijan, France, Italy, and countries in Africa (it’s my fault I wasn’t attentive enough when my friend told us where she was going, I apologize).

While I am happy and ecstatic for all of my friends, and me, for broadening our horizons–I feel a little sad. Our band of misfits and rabble-rousers will not be whole for quite some time, in fact a long time. Many of my friends will be graduating in the upcoming year, others to internships that will take them across the country. The band of WILBs that we crafted and created is scattering to the wind.

That being said, I never had the chance to say in person how much these people mean to me (mostly because I hate being sappy, and I can’t deal with tears from either myself or others), also because I like to wait and write it out. There are too many of you to name, and you all know who you are so I’ll just get into it: thank you, thank you for being my friend. Whenever I needed someone to talk to you were always there, always ready with a joke to lift my spirits. Always engaging in interesting conversation(no matter how explicit), always down to play games both the card and board variety(and smash bros, can’t forget smash bros). We always had fun when we were together, we danced, sang and rejoiced in each others company. It was a wild ride.

As we continue to grow and march forward into the our respective futures I just want to make one thing clear: WILB is not a single person or idea, it is a collection of people and collection of ideas that come together to create WILB.

I’ll leave you with this quote: “One person cannot be WILB. Only in the presence of other people can the WILB be revealed and crafted”- Wilbologist Titch.

Thank you.