The formation of underground music scenes is hardly a novel concept.

In the United States, music countercultures have always flourished when political tensions peak and carbon copies of a particular sonic trend flood the airwaves.

The rock subgenre of punk pierced the flower-child movement as early as 1967 with harder-edged groups like the Stooges and further retaliated against mass-produced arena rock in the mid-1970s with the Ramones, Sex Pistols and Patti Smith.

Later in the early 1980s, hardcore raged in a time during which intensely hook-driven pop music reigned. Though these countercultures came to define generations, their origins mainly rested in the simple rejection of the popular musical aesthetic.

But imagine if the act of creating, playing and producing any form of music that deviated from “non-traditional” — whether rock or rap, pop or blues — was forbidden and punishable by the national government. The underground, then, would be not just a rejection of a prevailing aesthetic or a repulsion of the mainstream but also truly underground — secretive, risky and, at times, life-threatening.

This is neither Footloose nor is it fodder for history textbooks. The place is Tehran, and the time is now.

In No One Knows About Persian Cats, award-winning Iranian filmmaker Bahman Ghobadi explores Tehran’s hidden yet electrifying sonic underground using actual musicians and figureheads from the thriving indie-rock scene.

Ghobadi co-wrote the screenplay with his girlfriend, American-Iranian journalist Roxana Saberi, who was imprisoned last year by the Iranian government on espionage charges.

A loosely scripted narrative that has been falsely designated a rock documentary on Internet sites and message boards, No One Knows About Persian Cats follows real-life Iranian indie-rock power couple Ashkan Koshanejad and Negar Shaghaghi (whose dark synth-pop outfit goes by the name of Take It Easy Hospital) as they struggle to assemble a band, procure passports and visas to tour in Europe, and obtain a permit to perform a concert in their homeland as one last hurrah.

Akin to Gillo Pontecorvo’s stark realism in the visually political tour-de-force The Battle of Algiers (1966), No One Knows About Persian Cats is a slow-burning yet riveting model of cinema verite in its finest form. Shot in only 18 days on a hand-held digital camera and without a permit from the government — a requirement for all films produced in Iran — Ghobadi delves into stories lurking beneath Tehran’s crowded streets and uncovers makeshift recording studios, rehearsal spaces and concert venues where Iranian musicians line the walls with blankets and jam freely — or as freely as they can with one keen eye always on the lookout.

In present-day Iran, striking a chord on an electric guitar is considered a crime, one that has sent countless numbers of musicians, young and old, to prison. The only sound permitted in night clubs or on the radio is traditional Persian music, a legal holdover from the Islamic Revolution, the regime change that radically transformed Iran from one of the most Westernized nations in the Middle East to a state regulated by strict Islamic law. Every remnant of Iran’s Western past was tossed across nation lines — including rock ‘n’ roll.

To attain a permit to perform as a band, musicians must have their demos approved by the government. Rock groups that practice in their homes are reported to the police. Even traditional Persian music is illegal if it’s performed by a woman — women are not allowed to perform solo but only as backing vocalists for a band, so guitar and piano-wielding songstresses inspired by the Western likes of Joni Mitchell, Tori Amos and Norah Jones are swiftly blacklisted.

According to a recent article in The Washington Post, Ghobadi said that “more than 90 percent of artistic production in Iran is created underground.” What has formed from this, however, is a kind of indie rock unfamiliar to Americans, one that is not a generic definition for anything that is neither on American Idol nor on the Vans Warped Tour but an all-encompassing term for any band brave enough to play within Tehran’s walls yet outside the Islamic regime’s rules.

Despite their varying backgrounds and musical tastes, these artists — many of whom contend they’re not outwardly political — have become unintentional activists, as their music unifies a disconnected city and revives a culture beaten and bruised by oppressors.

And it is this power of music — the ability to form a collective conscience that is both artistic and socially aware — that ties the Iranian underground together.

“I just want a place to sing,” Negar begs in the film, a sentiment that is immediately reciprocated by her fellow musicians.

But what’s most intriguing about No One Knows About Persian Cats is the film’s journey thus far. After the movie premiered at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, where it received a Special Jury Prize, and continued its rounds on the world festival circuit — it picked up an award for best foreign film at the São Paulo International Film Festival — Ghobadi almost immediately felt the weight of the consequences for creating the film. As it continues to open in theaters across the globe, Ghobadi is increasingly seen as a criminal in the eyes of the Iranian government and acknowledges that he has become an exile from his homeland.

In a recent interview with The Washington Post, Ghobadi described his current fragile situation: “Either they will throw me in jail, or, if they’re very polite to me, they will put me under house arrest and they will seize my passport because I have made this movie and I am doing this interview with you.”

And even though many of the bands featured in the film have fled to perform elsewhere — Take It Easy Hospital is currently based in London, while Joy Division-inspired outfit Yellow Dogs recently played several shows in Brooklyn — their notes from the underground continue to resound in their lively yet introspective music.

“Your lyrics are always so dark,” Ashkan says to Negar in the film after she shows him her latest scrawls of inspiration in her notebook. “Did you write them in prison?”

Although these lines are scripted, the sad thing is they are mere breaths away from the truth.

As the 2010 World Cup in South Africa approaches, one of U.S. Soccer’s all-time greats looks back on his career and looks forward to the summer event.

Columbus Crew’s Frankie Hejduk has had ups and downs while cementing himself as one of U.S. soccer’s most accomplished player.

“It came with hard work,” Hejduk said. “I’m a believer that you create your own luck.”

Hejduk’s resume speaks for itself: two World Cup appearances, two Olympic games, part of the German team Bayer Leverkusen that played in the 2002 UEFA Champions League final, five-time Major League Soccer all-star and 2008 MLS champion with the Columbus Crew.

Hejduk, born in La Mesa, Calif., a suburb of San Diego, grew up surfing and playing soccer. He was more passionate about surfing, and many of his friends did go pro in surfing. Despite that, he decided to attend UCLA on a scholarship to play soccer.

His first international cap came in 1996 in El Salvador during a World Cup qualifer. He scored a goal in his international debut.

“Scoring a goal was icing on the cake,” Hejduk said.

Hejduk made his World Cup debut in 1998, playing in the second game of the first round against Iran. That day is something he will remember for the rest of his life, he said.

“Absolutely incredible experience,” Hejduk remembers. “During the National Anthem, thinking of all the past coaches I played for, my family, what they have sacrificed, what I sacrificed, all of that comes together at one moment. I got the chills, teary-eyed. And this is all before the game even starts.”

The summer of 2002 is one that stands out to Hejduk and US soccer fans. That summer in Korea and Japan, the team made an unexpected run all the way to the quarterfinals. To get there, they defeated rival Mexico 2-0 in the round of 16.

“It was for bragging rights. Who was going to step up?” Hejduk said. “We knew we were going to win.”

USA fell to Germany 1-0 in the quarters, a match many felt the US should have won. “The German press told us ‘We got a lot of respect for you guys. We lucked out,’” Hejduk said of the aftermath.

“We were proud of ourselves. We gave everything we had,” Hejduk said.

After that great World Cup run, Hejduk looked forward to another one four years later. Unfortunately, two days after being named to the 2006 World Cup roster, Hejduk tore his ACL.

“Pretty much a buzz kill,” Hejduk said. “A lot of mental stuff you go through when you have those injuries. That’s why you have friends and family to help you get by it.”

Despite not being able to participate, U.S. Soccer paid for Hejduk and his family to go to Germany and be at the World Cup with the team.

“It was a great experience, I got to be a fan,” Hejduk said. “I was able to bring my son. He got to experience the World Cup with me. I got a different perspective and it was simply amazing.”

Hejduk has taken that experience and used it for motivation.

“It actually motivated me to try to make this next World Cup because after 2006 a lot of people wrote me off because I was 32 at the time with a torn ACL,” Hejduk said. “I made it a goal of mine to prove those people wrong.”

The motivation seemed to work, as Hejduk helped team USA qualify for this year’s World Cup and helped lead the Crew to the 2008 MLS Cup.

“Nothing better than picking up that trophy after the 9 years I gave to the MLS,” Hejduk said.

As for U.S. Soccer’s chances in South Africa, Hejduk believes they should make it out of the first round. After that, he feels anything can happen.

“I think on any given day the US can beat any team in the world,” Hejduk said. “I think teams are starting to have a lot more respect for the US.”

Marcus Freeman has a big heart. He just never knew that it would cost him his dream.

Last April, Freeman patiently waited until the fifth round of the NFL Draft to hear his name called. With a professional career on the horizon, the former Ohio State U. linebacker had achieved something he had worked toward for years.

“That I had a chance to play in the NFL was a great feeling,” Freeman said. “A dream come true.”

One year later, that dream is over.

Freeman bounced around the league during his rookie campaign. The Chicago Bears drafted him with the 154th overall pick, but released him a week before the start of the regular season.

Freeman caught on with Buffalo and then Houston, but both teams let him go.

Although the Huber Heights, Ohio, native struggled to find a permanent home, teams continued to call.

But when Freeman met with doctors in February for a physical before joining the Indianapolis Colts, his career path was altered forever.

Doctors discovered that Freeman had an enlarged heart valve of the left ventricle.

“They said they couldn’t pass me and they said that they’re very sure that no one else in the NFL will pass me,” Freeman said.

Freeman started at linebacker for the Buckeyes for three seasons. He was named second-team all-Big Ten during his last two seasons in scarlet and gray.

But in a matter of seconds, a man who said he felt completely healthy had to call it quits.

“I was devastated,” Freeman said. “Football is something I’ve done for many years and I was devastated that I couldn’t play the game anymore. With this heart condition, it’s bigger than football. You need to make sure you stay on top of it. That was the deciding factor that that was the end of my playing days.”

Freeman said that doctors never speculated on what could have resulted had the heart issue not been uncovered when it was.

“They did say that one of their former athletes had it and they didn’t catch it in time and he had to get surgery in Indianapolis, so they said they were glad they caught it,” Freeman said. “But even talking to some of the trainers here, they said probably more people have it, it’s just having the technology and the money to run those tests to find out who has enlarged hearts.”

Former Bears defensive end Gaines Adams died in January from cardiac arrest. He was found to have an enlarged heart. Just days later, Southern Indiana basketball player Jeron Lewis died with a similar heart ailment.

Freeman felt a sense of relief knowing his condition was detected before it was too late.

“They didn’t really get into detail about what could’ve happened, but they said it was dangerous,” he said. “I’m glad they found out before something bad happened and they found out that way.”

Never could the 24-year-old have imagined that he’d be mapping out his post-playing career so soon. But once he agreed with doctors that his days anchoring defenses were over, he immediately targeted a homecoming at OSU.

“He didn’t pout about it,” said James Laurinaitis, Freeman’s former teammate at OSU and current linebacker for the St. Louis Rams. “He went right to the people he needed to go to continue what he wanted to do.”

Freeman returned to Buckeye football this spring, joining some of the players he suited up with just two years ago. But instead of punishing running backs with fellow linebackers and former teammates Ross Homan and Brian Rolle, Freeman remains on the sidelines – as a coach.

“I’m currently the defensive quality control,” Freeman said. “You do a lot of work off the field, study a lot of film, you have to help the coaches out. I’m really working directly with [linebackers] coach [Luke] Fickell and helping a lot with the linebackers and just being a support system.”

Despite being just two years removed from leading the OSU defense, Freeman wants the current crop of Buckeyes to see him in a different light.

“You have to be able to communicate as a coach now,” Freeman said. “You’re not player to player, it’s coach to player. And that’s the first thing I wanted to do and establish is that I’m a coach.”

Having a big heart might have cost Freeman his career, but could be a blessing in disguise for the young linebacker, Laurinaitis said.

“He’s comfortable with it,” Laurinaitis said. “He can’t control the size of his heart. I told him that now he can tell his wife that he has an abnormally big heart and she should be thankful.”

Though the first chapter featured an unforeseen ending, Freeman remains determined to ensure that the next part of his career maintains its pulse.

“When you’re playing, you want to reach the ultimate goal of being in the NFL. You want to be a Super Bowl champ, MVP, or whatever you can be,” Freeman said. “Being a coach, I’m young but obviously I have goals that are extremely high. I want to be a head coach one day. I want to be an athletic director one day. I want to do it all. That’s obviously my goals.”

“Now, will they all be reached? Who knows? But as long as you set them high, if you don’t quite reach those goals, you’ll still be set pretty well. So, I set my goals extremely high and hopefully one day I’ll be able to reach them or get really close.”

In the middle of his prison sentence for rape and kidnapping at the Stillwater Correctional Facility, an inmate with the initials A.S. complained about a toothache.

In a fall 2004 letter to the Minnesota Department of Corrections, he described the feeling of walking into the prison’s dental clinic and seeing Norman Eid, a dentist he knew through personal experience and his reputation among inmates.

“Right away fear rushes my heart and I am scared to death,” A.S., whose initials are being used for privacy, wrote in the letter.

A.S. wrote he had approached Eid one year earlier with a “rotten” tooth so painful it caused his gums to swell, but the dentist refused to see him.

“I had only asked him a question as to how to save the tooth,” he wrote, “and that was all it took to see his rage and disrespect.”

Eid treated prisoners at Stillwater Correctional Facility and the Oak Park Heights Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison for male felons, between 2000 and 2009.

Despite a history marked by problems with inmates and coworkers, Eid is currently in his 22nd year of employment at the U. Minnesota School of Dentistry.

As an adjunct associate professor in the radiology division, Eid oversees students’ evaluation of X-rays for four hours one day a week.

For nearly four months, the Minnesota Board of Dentistry forbade Eid to practice following multiple findings that he had failed to give pain medication before procedures, limited inmates’ access to dental care, behaved disrespectfully toward coworkers and failed to maintain a sanitary clinic. In February, the board ordered Eid to work under a conditional license.

If he completes a list of mandatory coursework and other conditions, Eid, who declined to comment for this story, could have his license fully reinstated this year.

A troubled history

Complaints against Eid’s performance culminated in an investigation by the state Office of the Attorney General in April 2008 and another in August of that year.

While working at the prisons, Eid yelled at patients, used inappropriate names for patients, made disparaging comments about coworkers, failed to properly administer and prescribe anesthesia and pain medication and “failed to remove his contaminated gloves before reaching into drawers to retrieve instruments or materials,” according to board records.

Following the investigation, the board sent Eid to Resurrection Health Care in Illinois for an evaluation.

Out of the 16,000 people the board oversees, less than 10 are sent to Resurrection per year, Executive Director Marshall Shragg said.

After receiving Resurrection’s evaluation, which recommended that Eid “cease practicing dentistry and enroll in a specialty treatment program for disruptive behavior,” the board issued a “cease and desist” on his dental license May 4, 2009, forbidding him to practice.

Eid’s was one of eight cease practice orders given by the board between April 2000 and April 2010, according to board records.

Resurrection’s report also classified Eid as having met the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder as well as some aspects of antisocial personality disorder.

Eid requested an indefinite leave of absence from the University on April 28, 2009, six days before the cease practice order was placed on his license. He was officially terminated by the School of Dentistry on May 9, 2009, one day after the last day of instruction that semester.

In August 2009, the board agreed to lift the cease practice order, with the caveat that it was still investigating Eid’s case.

U. Minnesota rehired Eid on Jan. 7, 2010, four days before the spring semester began and more than one month before the board signed an agreement finalizing the terms of his conditional license.

“It would have been known to an employer that followed standard hiring protocols that this is an individual whose case is being investigated by the court,” Shragg said.

The University decided to rehire Eid given “all the energy and effort” it had invested in him, said Patrick Lloyd, dean of the School of Dentistry.

“We didn’t feel it would be an inappropriate rehire,” Lloyd said. “[Eid] was teaching with us for 20 years without incidents,” he said. “As a consequence, you end up acquiring a fair amount of teaching aptitude. Otherwise, you’re not here.”

Eid was in the running for a position in a new dental clinic the school will open in May as part of a partnership with U. Minnesota Physicians.

Lloyd said the administration removed him from consideration about three weeks ago when it realized the position wouldn’t conform to the guidelines of his conditional license.

“There was no offer given to Dr. Eid,” he said.

‘His role is very limited here’

Last summer, Eid spent about two months at Pine Grove Behavioral Health and Addiction Services in Hattiesburg, Miss., following Resurrection’s recommendations. His July discharge report concluded he had “occupational problems; and narcissistic personality disorder with obsessive-compulsive and personality features.”

Most of the complaints about Eid concern his interpersonal relationships, and no such issues have been reported at the University, Mansur Ahmad, head of the radiology division, said. Furthermore, the accusations about his performance as a dentist don’t relate to radiology, Ahmad added.

“His role is very limited here, teaching students one-to-one,” Ahmad said. “None of these were an issue for our situation.”

Nelson Rhodus, head of the division of oral medicine, said the administration investigated Eid’s performance — questioning students and faculty — before he was rehired. Rhodus said they found no problems.

“We’ve never had one single concern or complaint,” he said. “If someone accused him of something, we took it seriously.”

Although he only spent about a half-hour in the radiology lab examining X-rays with Eid, third-year dental student Andy Bohnsack said it was a valuable experience.

“I wouldn’t have any reason to believe that he would exhibit any of that behavior,” he said. “He came off as a nice guy, willing to take some extra time to teach me.”

Jane Schwartz, a dental hygienist who worked alongside Eid at Stillwater for about three years, said she’s disappointed that the University would let him work with students, who are probably unaware of his past.

“In my opinion, someone who defers treatment … and not help people, I don’t think that’s a good role model,” she said.

Questionable dentistry

On Dec. 4, 2006, Roseanne Forsblade, a dental assistant at Stillwater, did something she’d been doing for more than 10 years: She assisted the dentist with a tooth extraction.

But Eid’s extraction was unlike any she’d seen.

“The patient wasn’t numb,” she said. “He was screaming in pain the entire time.”

After the tooth, an upper molar, was removed, bone was uncovered on the neighboring wisdom tooth, according to a Board of Dentistry account of the incident.

“A great deal of his jaw came out along with part of the tooth,” Forsblade said.

Following the procedure, Eid prescribed 30 tablets of 600 mg ibuprofen. The next day, the patient saw a doctor at the prison who prescribed Vicodin and Augmentin for pain, according to the report.

During the three years she worked at the clinic, Forsblade said Eid would insult patients and coworkers and would often try to get his coworkers in trouble.

In May 2008, the Department of Corrections reduced Eid’s vacation time after charging him with making false claims against a dental assistant and “jeopardizing her license by making up false allegations and incident reports regarding her performance,” according to a DOC report.

In a letter to Eid, Nanette Larson, the DOC director of health services, wrote, “Your behavior cannot continue to cause tension, conflict and discord in the unit. Your behavior must significantly improve.”

Forsblade submitted two harassment complaints against Eid, both of which were sustained by the DOC in September 2007 and June 2008, according to letters obtained by The Minnesota Daily.

Forsblade said she felt unsafe when Eid would yell at patients during treatment and threaten to stop halfway through.

“I was always worried he was going to upset the wrong guy in the chair and I could wind up getting attacked,” she said.

Forsblade claimed Eid never used topical anesthesia before administering an anesthesia injection and consistently refused to provide preventative care to inmates. He performed primarily extractions and temporary fillings, she said.

“I’ve seen the X-rays where it’s like the abscess just grew after months and months of delay and neglect,” she said.

Following months of anxiety attacks, stress-related sickness and an inability to sleep or digest food, Forsblade’s job at the DOC came to an end in July 2009.

At that time, the DOC reduced its dental staff, including Forsblade and Schwartz, in response to significant budget reductions.

Eid, set to be laid off as well, retired at the same date.

Janet Graves, who worked alongside Eid as a dental hygienist at the Oak Park Heights facility beginning in summer 2006, said Eid would often remove teeth before fully numbing his patients.

“The man was in so much pain he was ready to climb up on the ceiling,” Graves said recounting one situation with a level-five offender. “He was screaming.”

Four out of five harassment complaints filed by Eid’s coworkers resulted in discipline, according to the DOC. The department would not reveal whether the fifth claim was substantiated. The disciplinary actions against Eid — two written reprimands, an oral reprimand and a one-day reduction in vacation — were for losing a dental instrument, harassment and inappropriate conduct.

In a written reprimand to Eid by the DOC dated Jan. 9, 2008, Oak Park Heights Health Service Administrator Kathy Reid wrote, “You contribute to the conflict between you and your dental colleague in your interpersonal actions and your disrespectful attitude toward the offenders and your colleague … You have had numerous supervisory conferences with Human Resources, Central Office Health Services staff and me regarding your poor interpersonal skills and your inability to avoid conflict with your colleagues.”

Graves said she quit in March 2008 because she couldn’t work with Eid any longer.

In addition to numerous incident reports alleging patient abuse, Graves filed a lawsuit against the DOC in April 2008 because she felt working with Eid was unsafe and intolerable. The lawsuit was ultimately dismissed.

When Schwartz first stepped into the Stillwater Correctional Facility in fall 2006 during her job interview, she could tell something was wrong.

Even in the tiny dental clinic, Eid, her future co-worker, wouldn’t acknowledge her presence.

“It made me uncomfortable,” Schwartz, a dental hygienist, said.

When she was offered the job, Schwartz said she asked about Eid but was assured there wouldn’t be any problems.

When Schwartz began noticing Eid’s strange behavior around inmates, such as refusing to see them and calling them “horse’s asses,” she began reporting it to her supervisor.

In separate accounts, three of Eid’s former coworkers said that when they complained about the dentist’s behavior, they were told to deal with it or find another job.

Eid’s former coworkers emphasized the way he treated patients as the most disturbing behavior.

“It was stunning to see grown men crying in the dental chair and telling him they could still feel it,” Schwartz said. “He would say, ‘There’s no way you can feel that. We’re almost done.’ ”

Continued supervision

As part of Eid’s conditional license, he must work in a board-approved “group practice setting” that will provide accountability for his work, including workplace monitoring, random chart reviews, limited administrative duties and patient satisfaction surveys.

Ahmad, Eid’s direct supervisor, said the chart reviews and patient surveys are not applicable to his current position because he doesn’t see patients.

Although Shragg declined to comment on whether Eid’s work setting meets the conditions of his license, he said the board works with the licensee and the employer to ensure compliance.

If a licensee is not compliant, “that’s something they will be held accountable for,” Shragg said.

By fall of this year, Eid will have to take a comprehensive course on local anesthesia, including the use of topical medication. By February 2011, he’ll have to complete a course on infection control designed by the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control.

In an e-mail last month in response to Schwartz’s concern over the rehiring of Eid at the University, Rhodus wrote, “We are now in consultation to terminate Dr. Eid, immediately. This should not have happened, but I believe we can soon rectify it.”

In an interview last week, Rhodus said he sent the e-mail before he had looked into the situation further. He said he now feels comfortable with Eid’s position working with students.

“It looked like from our perspective, legally, the board, as our legal governing body, they gave him clearance to [work],” he said, “so we saw no reason not to let him do it.”

When asked his opinion on the board’s treatment of Eid’s case, Shragg, the board’s executive director, said, “My personal thoughts don’t really matter on this, although I wish they did.”

Lloyd said that in the future he would consider hiring Eid as a University dentist, provided the conditions be removed from his license and that there be a long incident-free period.

“I would suspect that in time, if that’s an area of practice he would like to move toward, and if we had a need,” he said, “I think he would be an appropriate person to be considered.”

LOL, OMG: One-third of teenagers send more than 100 text messages per day. ROFLMFAO rly!?

Yup, that is more than 36,000 texts per year.

A newly released study from the Pew Research Center highlighted the meteoric rise in the popularity of text messaging among teens. The percentage of teens who text on a daily basis has increased from 38 percent in February 2008 to 54 percent in September 2009.

Kurt Squire, an assistant professor in educational communications and technology at U. Wisconsin-Madison, attributed part of the popularity of text messages to the accessibility of cell phones. According to Squire, the cell phone is “one of the most rapidly adopted technologies of its scale in history.”

Squire also said the ability to connect with friends and family at all times is a huge factor in teens’ texting habits. Since teens are usually at the mercy of an adult’s schedule, cell phones keep friends in contact with one another, he said.

Whether this is a positive or negative aspect of cell phones remains to be seen, Squire said.

Squire said texting may be changing the way teens absorb information, but it is not something to worry about.

“We fear that teens will forget how to concentrate, and at the same time we’re concerned that they play four to six hours of ‘World of Warcraft’”, Squire said in an e-mail. “One thing we maybe should be worried about is will kids become even less tolerant of situations like school, where they are forced to do what a teacher says for hours on end with little chance to further their own interests.”

According to Pew’s study, 98 percent of parents surveyed said the main reason their child has a phone is so they can always contact their son or daughter.

But cell phones have also become a weapon in parents’ arsenal of punishments. Sixty-four percent of parents surveyed report checking the contents of their child’s phone, and 62 percent said they have taken away their teen’s phone as punishment.

Texting is not just for high schoolers, however. Today’s college students were some of the first teenagers to be introduced to texting, and it has become a large part of their social lives.

Maggie Galster, a Marquette U. sophomore, said she sends an average of 75 texts per day to her friends and family.

“I usually text people to meet up for meals and studying, or if something funny happened that reminded me of them,” she said.

Mike Herbst, a Marquette sophomore, said he typically sends between 30 and 40 texts per day. Herbst, like Galster, said the main reasons he sends texts are to make plans or to remind a friend about an inside joke.

Squire said texting is about communicating to arrange face-to-face contacts. He said cell phone standards and protocol will continue to evolve as technology becomes even more embedded in people’s lives.

“Our society is still trying to make sense of (cell phones),” Squire said. “We still don’t quite understand when it’s appropriate to text in the middle of conversations or not.”

Earlier this year, The Wall Street Journal published an essay written by a man named Edmund Carpenter, headlined “Before I Die.” The article was written when Carpenter was 17 years old. He would go on to attend Princeton as an undergraduate, fight in World War II and earning a bronze star for his service, attend Harvard Law school and have a successful career as a lawyer, eventually becoming president of a law firm. He died at age 87 in December 2008 and is survived by his wife, six children and 15 grandchildren.

I know this much is true: I wish I was as insightful at age 17 as Carpenter was. The essay is captivating in its wisdom, maturity and honesty. He explains at the beginning that the essay, while titled “Before I Die,” “is not really concerned with death, but rather with life, my future life.” His purpose in writing is to “set down” the things that he, at the time of writing, believes “essential to happiness and complete enjoyment of life.”

What follows is both intensely personal — the thoughtfulness of his words is evident in how carefully they have been chosen — and also remarkable in its widespread applicability. For the aspirations he describes are things that form the foundation of human existence; they are desires and goals hoped for by many, if not all, persons in their lifetime and so they read both like an earnest journal entry and like a to-do list for mankind.

He begins each paragraph with the same phrase, “Before I die …” and the list itself is heartfelt. “I want to know that I have done something truly great,” is first, “that I have accomplished some glorious achievement the credit for which belongs solely to me.” Careful to avoid seeming like he seeks only fame or power, he qualifies his wish: “I do want, almost above all else, to feel that I have been an addition to this world of ours … I want to know that my life has not been in vain, but that I have, in the course of my existence, done something of which I am rightfully very proud.” He wants to be a citizen of the world, to “have visited a large portion of the globe” and in doing so “improve my outlook on life,” and gain a more complete understanding of life and “satisfaction from living.”

His final two aspirations are at once opposites and inextricably linked. First, he hopes to have “felt a truly great love.” He recognizes that he is rather young to know much about love, but believes that “he who has not loved has not really lived.” His last wish is that he wants to feel a “great sorrow.” And while some may find this wish “the strangest,” he explains that ultimately his wish is to have had a complete life and that “certainly sorrow is a part of life … Once the pangs of sorrow have slackened … its dregs often leave us a better knowledge of this world of ours and a better understanding of humanity.”

Carpenter ends his list there and explains that as he stands on “the threshold of his future, these are the things which to me seem the most valuable.” Above all, he wants his life “to be a truly great adventure, never dull, always exciting and engrossing; not sickly sweet, yet not unhappy. And I believe it will be all I wish if I do these things before I die.”

My spliced version of the original does not nearly do it justice, but I wanted to share this essay for its sincerity and, because this is our last full week of classes (how did that happen?), for its timeliness. I offer up these selections of Carpenter’s essay because they articulate so well what I would like to say — not only to our graduating seniors, but to all of us. In many ways we stand on the threshold of our futures every day on this campus. In our anxiety about the unknown and our dreams of what we hope to accomplish, it is easy for the future to feel burdensome and overwhelming. In those instances, I find Carpenter’s words reassuring.

At only 17, he managed to distill what he believed to be the most essential elements of a fulfilled life — but more than just recognizing them, he lived them. His life is a testament to the power of making one’s dreams a reality. I challenge all of us to do so, and to embrace with conviction the “thrilling experience of exploring the unknown.”

Margaret Delaney is a sophomore at Georgetown U.

Whether it is shotgunned in the Blue Zone before a football game or mixed with soda at a section party, alcohol appears to be a dietary staple for most of the student body at Duke U.

For some students, however, partying hard entails far more than liquid intoxication. At Duke, illicit drug users constitute an active minority that operates largely unnoticed.

Approximately 68 percent of Duke undergraduates reported drinking in the 30 days before they completed last Spring’s National College Health Assessment Survey. Just less than 10 percent said they had used marijuana in that time period.

Students interviewed described the hard drug scene at Duke as secretive but dynamic, with cocaine use especially prevalent.

Tom Szigethy, associate dean and director of the Alcohol and Substance Abuse Prevention Center, estimated that 1 to 3 percent of students recreationally use drugs other than alcohol and marijuana.

“In my over 11 years at Duke, I can only think of a handful of times when we have actually found a student in possession of cocaine,” Stephen Bryan, associate dean of students and director of the Office of Student Conduct, wrote in an e-mail.

Nevertheless, Bryan is aware that just because administrators rarely catch students using or dealing drugs does not necessarily mean that some are not doing so.

Drug culture at Duke is discreet and diverse. Members of the community range from the casual weed smoker to the enterprising student who deals 8-balls—about 3.5 grams of cocaine—out of his dorm room.

For drug dealers at the University, business is cyclical, waxing and waning throughout the semester. Felix, a junior and former drug dealer whose name has been changed for his protection, said demand for his products was high during the drop/add period and dipped during finals week. In a typical week, he would sell 1.5 pounds of marijuana and roughly 3 ounces of cocaine. He earned an estimated $6,000 profit from weekly sales—$4,000 from marijuana and $2,000 from cocaine.

“My place had a revolving door on it,” he said. “All hours, people would be knocking on my door [and] calling me.”

Who uses?

Men tend to play a greater role than women in Duke’s drug scene. They are typically the primary purchasers and are more often caught in possession.

This year, the Office of Student Conduct has received 41 reports of suspected drug use­­­­ and 14 students have been found in violation of the University’s drug policy, Bryan said. All offenders were male.

Indeed, the NCHA survey showed that men use marijuana about 50 percent more often than do women—at a rate of 12.8 percent versus 8.3 percent, respectively.

“I haven’t come across many female potheads in my lifetime,” said Alec, a recent graduate who distributed marijuana, cocaine, psilocybin mushrooms and mephedrone at Duke, among other drugs. His name has also been changed for privacy purposes.

Felix’s clients were usually men. With cocaine, though, he felt guys typically made the purchase and then gave half or more of it to girls for free.

“There’s definitely a fair amount of glorified prostitution,” he said, “But I guess that’s just indigenous to the drug.”

Student dealers said they obtained their products through a variety of sources, both in Durham and outside the state, to capitalize on a social structure that permits drugs to flow to those who seek them.

All students who said they distributed drugs acknowledged providing them to fraternity-affiliated clients.

“The [greek] system definitely facilitates sales,” Felix said. “It makes it really easy to get the word out.”

He added that fraternities typically cater toward freshmen who want to experiment with drugs.

Freshman Michael Hoyle said the fraternities he rushed provided mostly alcohol and sometimes offered marijuana in more private settings.

“It definitely wouldn’t surprise me to hear some fraternities used [harder] drugs during rush,” Hoyle said. “I guess it just depends on the kind of people they’re trying to attract.”

Echoing this notion, Szigethy said drug activity depends on the specific organization, with some placing a greater emphasis on partying than others.

A line between use and abuse

Students deeply immersed in the drug environment may find themselves more consumed by the substances than they had originally intended.

Felix said he eventually stopped handling cocaine because his customers became too intrusive and he grew concerned about his friends’ relationships with the drug.

“I would like to see them not destroy their lives,” he said, adding that while selling cocaine, the line between making easy money and running an exploitative criminal enterprise sometimes blurred. Felix noted that he refused cocaine to friends who appeared dependent.

Alec, who stressed that he never earned profit on the drugs he transferred, said he never cut anyone off from his supplies.

“There have been a lot of people that I’ve introduced a certain substance to and I’ve watched them abuse the s— out of it, and that makes me a little sad sometimes,” he said. “But at the same time, life is all about personal choice.”

Alec quit using cocaine months ago for health reasons but said he struggled with the drug late in his undergraduate years.

“It was really difficult to get out of it mainly because the majority of my friends were also in it,” Alec said, adding that he would use cocaine to study, party and “numb emotional pain.”

Students often get high to mask pain or deal with stress, Szigethy said, noting that the impetus to use drugs is often a deeper problem than the substance itself.

Some students, however, feel they can use drugs recreationally without compromising other aspects of their lives.

As a frequent pot smoker, Oscar—a sophomore whose name has also been changed—said he has a code of conduct for himself. Each morning he makes a checklist of tasks he must complete that day. When they are done, he can smoke.

“There are a lot of really functional, recreational drug users at this school,” Felix said. “That could be anything from smoking weed after a test to going to the bathroom and laying a line out on a bathroom pull-down [during a test].”

Szigethy said, however, that those who use drugs should think about the quality of their lives, even if they are able to complete coursework on time.

“If people really feel they’re getting the full experience of their lives and they’re doing drugs, why are they doing the drugs?” he asked.

Christine Pesetski, assistant dean for off-campus and mediation services, said student drug users may face dropping grades and low class attendance in addition to addiction.

“I don’t know anybody who used drugs the way I used that was successful at school,” said Jason Rice, Trinity ’98.

For Rice, who was arrested in a Durham crack house in the Spring of 1996, being a functioning substance user was impossible.

“I had so much opportunity and potential and I basically said, ‘You know what, that’s good stuff, but I would much rather just get high,’” he recounted. “And I never really got anything out of it, other than just getting high and maybe some temporary relief from some emotional pain. And eventually what I ended up with was a lot of guilt, shame and remorse.”

Rice acknowledged, however, that not everyone shares his propensity for addiction. He has been sober for 12 years.

A tight-lipped institution

The drug scene usually plays out behind closed doors. Students said Duke’s campus provides ample privacy for getting high and making transactions, rendering extreme precautions unnecessary.

“They’re not going to try to figure out a bunch of kids are dealing coke out of their dorms,” Felix said. “Doing drugs on this campus is not difficult. Even if the cops do come to your dorm room, you can just wait them out, and if you’re quiet for an hour, they’ll just leave.”

Bryan said searches of students’ residences without consent are rare and added that they are only conducted if there is probable cause to believe illegal substances are present. Usually, residences are not searched unless criminal search warrants are issued by the Duke University Police Department.

DUPD Chief John Dailey wrote in an e-mail that the police department most often receives calls from housing staff and students reporting the smell of marijuana. At a minimum, those caught are referred to Student Conduct—some may also face criminal charges.

Still, Duke’s hard drug culture remain unseen for most students.

“You don’t really see it… unless you’re actively searching for it,” sophomore Mike Sullivan said.

Bryan said he hopes those students who do seek out illegal substances will consider the consequences.

“How much have they shortchanged themselves because of the impediments presented through their drug use?” he asked.

Alec, though, perceives his drug use differently.

“I think it increased my social life by leaps and bounds,” he said. “I’m in an environment that sucks… and the only escape slash fun side of it on the weekend is to binge drink or do drugs.”

Sgt. William Muse, the officer whose vehicle collided with Penn State U. student Kevin Ignatuk early Sunday morning, told police he had been driving about five to 10 mph over the speed limit at the time of the collision.

Muse’s marked police SUV collided with Ignatuk, 21, at about 1:42 a.m. Sunday on the 400 block of East Beaver Avenue while Muse was on routine patrol, according to a State College Police Department vehicle accident report.

Muse told police that moments before the collision, another man was crossing the street and he watched him cross, narrowly missing the front of his police SUV.

Then Ignatuk, of Thornton, Pa., “jumped in the path of his vehicle,” according to the accident report released today.

Ignatuk remains in critical condition at the Geisinger Medical Center in Danville, Pa., hospital officials said.

Muse told police he applied his brakes — though he couldn’t remember if he slammed on them — and that he had “no time to react,” police said.

Muse told police he was traveling about 30 to 35 mph at the time of the collision, police said. The posted speed limit at the location of the collision is 25 mph, police said.

Ignatuk hit the center of the SUV’s hood, leaving a large dent, and rolled off to the vehicle’s left, eventually stopping unconscious by the opposite curb, police said.

He was bleeding from his head and his left leg was badly injured, police said

Blood tests confirmed that there was no alcohol present in Muse’s system, police said.