“Mom I can’t act like its okay. I’m only thirteen years old,” I said

“He is you brother. You have to forgive him,” she said.

That’s what you always say I thought.

The rays of the morning sun had not fully penetrated the gloomy overcast like the weather man had predicted. Above my head were a group of birds whistling sweet melodies where I was seated on a green bench waiting for the building to open. The building was intriguing because it did not resemble a typical public library. It was constructed like an ancient Greek building where scholars would translate and transcribed important text about their history. Standing near the entrance of the building was a young girl and her mother who were laughing every so often like there was an inside joke that only people who already had job experience knew. In the corner of my eye, I saw a guy walking up the stairs to the library who had also attended the SYEP (Summer Youth Employment Program) training workshops. He was dressed in a shirt and tie like a postman with his manila envelope in his hand. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were there for.

The doors finally opened and we entered the building. Walking alone into this building was strange without my mother because everyone else was accompanied by their parents. When we entered the main lobby of the library we were told that our parents could not be part of the orientation meeting. I felt satisfied seeing the parents escorted to another corner of the library. After the parents mouthed the words “good luck” to their children, we all walked to a small table with pieces of papers that had our names in titles that began like Mr. or Ms….. The library supervisor walked in and gave a brief description of what it means to work in a professional public organization. Then, our site supervisor told us that we would have pay close attention to the library supervisor regarding our duties at the library because she would receive an evaluation of our behavior each week.

After this formal introduction, we were taken into the break room and given our uniform. Then, the site supervisor told us quietly that, “if we had any problem with any employee or with our supervisor, we should contact her immediately.” She was very polite to us, and every time she smiled her face would create two dents in the side of her cheeks.
After our site supervisor left, the library supervisor informed us that that we would be trained by a more experienced employee for three days, then we would need to work on our own. Throughout the day, I had struggled with the responsibilities because I had to reshelf books that were brought in by patrons, organize specific book sections, and maintain a clean play area for the younger children. The day was longer than I expected and my feet were hurting me. Then, I heard a strange voice say, “Great job Sergio,” when I signed my time sheet, so I smiled, and said my formal, “Thank you.” I left work satisfied and ran home to tell my mom about my first day of working at the library, even though Cain would receive all the attention for coming home late as usual because he broke his curfew. However, I had stories that would transform the experience at the library into an odyssey that would grab the interest one anyone.

The next day I returned to work at 8:30 a.m., and again I sat outside on the green wooden bench under a tree. Under the shade of the tree, I was going through the advice my mom had told me about being professional at work the night before: “Always greet your co-workers even if they don’t say hello first, always dress appropriately, and always speak properly.” Then, I remembered my brother asking me how I got the job; he had always received the better gifts because he was older, but more importantly he was the first son. So this feeling of possessing something he desired was satisfying. My thoughts were disturbed when one of my co-workers who had been carrying a manila envelope the first day of the job walked up the stairs and sat next to me. He had facial hair, an earring, and looked a lot older than I thought.

“Wow, you’re pretty young. What is your name? He asked.

“Sergio. What’s your name?” I said.

“Paul,” he replied.

“So Joseph, can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied

“So what are you planning to do with the money you earn for the summer?” Paul asked.

The first thought that came into my head was to say, “I’m going to save it for a rainy day,” but instead I said, “I will probably buy new cloths for the first day of high school and some video games.”

He smiled and said, “That’s smart.”

The library supervisor walked up to the stairs to the front of the building. Immediately I said, “Good Morning” like a programmed robot. Paul and I followed the supervisor into the building. As I walked into the lobby, I greeted the security officer and headed to the break room to get changed. I took off my casual shirt and put on a bright green shirt that had the letters SYEP printed on the back that the site supervisor had given me. I disliked this shirt because I felt out of place amongst patrons, but it reminded me of my old back yard in Suriname where it was the only color you saw when you stood on the veranda and saw luscious green leaves of banana, coconut, and mango trees. After changing, I went to sign in and looked at the daily duties that I was responsible for the week. I felt overwhelmed because I did not expect to have so many responsibilities, but then I remembered that my mother said, “You reap what you sow.” So I accepted this challenge with great zeal because I knew the payout would be worth it.

It was lunch time and one of the girls at the library who was also employed by SYEP began talking to me. She was much older than me and I was nervous, but curious about speaking to her. She had a rose tattoo with the name Marcus surrounded in thorns on her arm that could be seen by everyone, but I guess the formal sweater hanging on the back of the chair was her way of hiding her tattoo when she was working. Her main duty was to work at the circulation desk where patrons would check-out and check-in books because she possessed a charismatic personality and had great customer service experience. Her eyes were intriguing that reflected the color of my shirt when I spoke to her. She started telling me how she was only doing this job along with another job because she wanted to save up to pay for her high school prom and a vacation before she began college. When she started talking about her prom, I imagined what I would do with the money that I would be earning from this job.

Two weeks later, I was walking to work and the sun was finally glistening in the sky like the weather man had predicted. The playground next to the library was an orchestra with shouts of independence, innocence, and pain all combined to produce a grotesque harmony. I walked confidently to my workplace greeting everyone at the library because I knew that my first paycheck would be waiting there for me. I walked into my supervisor’s office and collected my check. Immediately, I ripped opened the sealed check and was surprised at the amount that was located on the right corner of this piece of paper $332.15. Then, I looked more intently at the piece of paper and saw the words social security, Medicare, and state tax that had consumed about eight percent of my check, but it did not bother me because I was a thirteen year old kid with $352.15 to my name. So I started my day a little more confidently because I would receive this amount every two weeks, which would be a great beginning to my savings.

After I had completed my duties at work, my supervisor smiled at me and said, “Thanks a lot for spending a few extra minutes organizing the book shelf.” I smiled and said, “No problem.” I left the library, but I wanted to stay a little longer instead of going home and seeing my brother and mother argue because he did not do any of his chores all day. However, the eager expectation of showing my mother my first check came fluttering in, so I walked home thinking about the new bike that I could now buy that my brother would not be able to use because I bought it on my own.

I arrived home and ran to my mother. She was sleeping, but I woke her up and said, “Mom, guess what I have?”

She smiled and looked at me with content, “What is going on?”

“I received my first paycheck mom,” I said.

“Wonderful Joseph, remember that you have to give you tithe.”

The rest of the evening I thought about all the things I could buy now: a new video game for my play station game console, a bicycle, and gifts for my family during the Christmas season.
Right after this, my brother walked into the house smelling like cigarettes and asked my mother for a little raise meaning that he wanted some spending money. My mom was angry at him because he smelled like cigarettes. He told her that it was his friends who were smoking around him, but she was really angry at him because she had already given him a raise this week. The two of them went back and forth until she gave in and reached into her bag and handed him a ten dollar bill. She told him to not spend it all in one day. My brother was never really concerned about money because he knew that my mother would always give him money because he knew how to get what he wanted, and if that did not work he would tell me mom that he was going to get it on his own. And in her opinion she thought it would be better to give him money than to have him look for money somewhere else that might lead him astray.

The next day, my mother and I went to the bank to deposit the check. The bank teller asked my mom what types of bills she wanted. She said very quietly, “Twenties please.” Upon leaving the bank, I asked my mom if I could hold unto the money, but she said that she would give it to me when we got home.

When we arrived home, I helped my mom unpack the bags of groceries and she gave me the money that I had earned. Right after, I ran to my room and locked the door and began counting my hard earned money. Now I need to find a place to put it since I could not open a bank account I thought. I looked in my drawer and saw my GameBoy Advance case. So I counted the money one last time and put it in an envelope with my name and tucked it into the secret pocket in the GameBoy Advance case.

Two days later I began my routine again, but I was more zealous about my job because I finally reaped the fruits of my labor. I signed in and began my assigned tasks for that specific day. The atmosphere at the library was serene because I was a quick learner, and so my supervisor asked another employee to train me to work at the circulation desk. I felt thrilled about being trained on the front desk because my hard work was being recognized. After I had helped a few patrons, I took my lunch break and went to eat my lunch in the playground next to the library. I saw my brother walking towards the playground. What did he want? I thought. He did not even notice me. He was meeting up with his friends. So I walked up to him.

“Hey what’s up,” I said

“Oh little dude what’s up,” he replied.

“Hey mom is going to be late today so go by Aunty Meg’s house,” he said

“Why? Aren’t you going to be home?” I asked him.

“No, I’m going to chill my friends,” he replied.

After my lunch break was over, I went back to finish my work. What a loser I thought.
After work was over I walked over to my aunt’s house. When I entered the house, my grandmother said, “Joseph I hear you have a job. It’s a good thing to work at a young age because you will be prepared for the future.” I replied, “Yes, grandma I know.” A few hours passed and my mother came to pick me up from my aunt’s house and we walked home.
While the two of us were walking home, I asked my mother, “Why don’t you punish Cain when he acts out or comes home late.”

She said, “I punish him, but he does not learn. What else can I do he is only fifteen years old?”

I wanted to tell her about the pack of cigarettes and lighter I found in his jacket pocket, but I knew it would not help the situation.

She said, “Sergio not all the fingers on your hand are even. So not everyone thinks the same way about life.”

Two weeks later, I received another check with $372.12. I was getting used to this feeling of maturity. With the extra money I decided to treat my family, so I went to the local Caribbean restaurant and bought them some fried rice, oxtail stew, and fried plantains. My brother came home late, but my mom had fallen asleep so he did not receive any punishments. He came home smelling like rum that my mom would use whenever she baked rum cake during the Christmas season. He walked in stumbling and fell on my shoulder smelling like cigarettes. I hated the smell of cigarettes. I should wake up mom right now and show her what her precious Cain looks like I thought, but instead I helped him get to bed trying not to wake-up my mother.

The next day I went into my underwear draw to get ten dollars from my GameBoy Advance case where I had stored my savings in the secret pocket on the inside. When I opened the case all the money was gone. I was furious and immediately blamed my brother. I wanted to hurt him. I searched my entire room, and then I took a moment and relaxed. I waited until he came home to confront him. My mother came home from work and I ran to the door. Right away I told her what had happened.

She said, “I probably misplaced it.

I yelled, “No, it was him.” I waited until he came home and I confronted him. He denied taking the money, but I knew he took it. My mom came between the two of us and I blurted it out, “Steve smokes; I found a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.” He ran towards me and began beating me. He hit me in the face and I tasted my own blood. And now I wanted him to do the same. I tried hitting him in the face, but instead I hit him in the chest, but it did not slow him down. He ran towards me and I remembered the day he taught me how to ride a bike.

It was summertime and the sun was at its highest peak at the time of the day.
“Joseph, get on the bike and hold onto the handle bars. Try balancing your weight on the bike,” he said.

“Okay, but can we do it tomorrow. I’m really tired and I want to a snow cone,” I said.

He commanded me to get on the bike and hold onto the bars. Then, he told me to pedal while he held onto the back of the bike seat. Then, he let go. I was finally doing it on my own. The air was on my face and I was flying past the houses. Suddenly, I lost my balance and fell; he ran towards the toppled bike and began examining me like I was a precious stone.
“You shouldn’t have done that” he said.

I didn’t know if he still recognized me because I was a punching bag for his anger. My pleading and crying did not stop him. Then, my mom came between the two of us and he stopped. He walked away like a poacher who acquired his precious ivory from his prey. He stormed out of the house and slammed the door as he left. My mother sat there in the corner looking worried, telling me that everything will work out. The two of us sat there and I asked her what she was going to do and she said, “You guys are brothers; you have to forgive him.” I sat in the corner crying and thinking that’s what you always say….

 There are a few things that I carry with me that always trigger memories of a different time, sometimes thoughts so deep embedded in my subconscious mind that i’m just left with a feeling in my chest, the resonating emotions of a past time. The scent of my mothers perfume, the scent of the janitors bucket in my preschool classroom, or the rings around my grandmothers pale eyes that always used to scare me as a child. These feelings are impossible to shake off, even as I grow older. At first these memories are vivid and clear. I remember every sound, every crack in the concrete, every weed sticking out of the street, the smell of the wet asphalt as a gentle rain sweeps over me. Yet the more I concentrate about the memory, the more it eludes me, until nothing is left but a shadow of who I once was. As I see the sun setting, and its mirthless rays barely make it through to me, I am stuck with another memory of not too long ago, its vivid and clear and its still fresh in my mind.

The suns rays hit my eyes, dodging the giant buildings of the city. It casts an amber shadow on my face and blinds me. Im sitting in the middle of the street looking down at the steep stretch of road ahead. As the sun slowly sets and disappears behind the skyscrapers, a golden red sky takes over. I am surrounded by my best friends, up on the hill. We’re all on our second or third 40, and we laugh at nothing, just at the notion of being drunk at 16, euphoria that only a young mind could achieve, and one that an adult always hopes to find.

Alex is here today, a usual rarity since hes always busy with other more scholarly affairs. A light weight, but you cant blame him; with his thin, lanky frame. He always stands right beside the telephone pole, bottle in hand, waiting for anyone to approach him. I would talk to him, but a drunk talk with him just leads to a gnawing feeling of indifference. His existential views are always so convincing that it seems that my optimism is synonymous with stupidity. He speaks of our insignificance, and how despite our efforts we will always be trapped within these thoughts, slaves to the idea of being more, but just lying short of any possibility. He will stand occasionally chiming in some of his witty commentary.

Alejandro still has the happiness that has since left him. He always the denied the reality of things, the seriousness of everything, because he believed taking things serious was to grow up, and to face reality was dieing. He was the type of guy to sleep through three sections of the SATs because he believed life beyond high school was reality, and he did everything in his power to slow that path to entropy. But now I see him in this memory, a completely careless person. An entity that only lives through the medium of my thoughts. He drinks more than he should, and calls his girlfriend and leaves her voicemails of how much he loves her. He is not as smart as Alex, or maybe just not as pretentious, I don’t know, but its always nice to have a nice balance, between completely serious and jovial innocence.

This is a usual outing. Nothing too special, just something we did because we had the 20 dollars our parents gave us to go the movies. It was then, off to the deli on Fresh Pond avenue where the nice korean lady never gave us any trouble, or asked for I.D. If she wasn’t working that day, we were off to the liquor store on Wycoff avenue, where the elderly indian man never seemed to be living in the the current moment. Worst case scenario, we took turns asking random guys who looked “cool” to get us some beer, or if we were lucky, we’d pay a nice homeless man to do it for us. We grabbed our bottles and tossed them in our book bags, then it was time to go trek that hill, right outside the main street of Fresh Pond.

As we hike the sinuous road to an abandoned street right by the crematorium and the cemetery, evidence of our previous outings is seen all over. Cracked bottles, cigarette butts, beer caps, and dutch master wraps right under the street light. We sat on the cold asphalt, our backs facing the stop sign. We could see all of Ridgewood from this peak, it gave us a clear view of Manhattan, and of the day turning into night.

It started with us three, It would soon expand into groups of ten or even twenty. It gave a certain youthfulness to a place that constantly reminded us of our impermanence. There were times in those late august evenings, where I would feel nostalgic before the moment was over.

As the moon casted a melancholy shadow over the faces on the 20 or so, a deep somber fell over me. I saw the faces of life, that would soon deteriorate as reality would set in. Wrinkles would grow in the creases where we’ve smiled a thousand times, a spirit would soon be encroached by responsibility, and reality.

The night would end. It would six in the morning, and its rays would again reflect back to the same spot. It was time to go home to an angry hispanic mom waiting for me in the living room, with an arsenal of shoes, sandals, and belts. I chew a pack of gum, down a bag of salt and vinegar chips, some beef jerky and some leaves from the trees. I walk in to the CVS and spray myself with some Febreeze and Axe, and leave without paying. Its hard to put the key in the door, and I stumble inside to a beating…oh well, worth it.

The hill on 62nd avenue and 65th Street is now empty, the streets are cleaned but, the weeds still grow from the same cracks, the walls still bear the same graffiti, the crematorium still sets an ominous mood. Its dreary and gray, and smells of urine. It is still the same hill, the same smell, the same sun, but its a different idea, a different entity. Its disgusting, it smells, its dirty. I start to question if this was the same place it was before. My memory is starting to fade, as my new ideas take over. It has been 4 years since those nights here. I concentrate and remember the places where everyone was once sitting, but that is all I have, my memories, and a place rendered meaningless by nothing else but time. Maybe I would soon move somewhere out of this city, to a different country where the sun would set on a different side, and find a new place where the echoes of past youths have come and gone, where time is recycled over and over, until there is none left. Maybe this hill, is just nothing else but a elevated plateau.

Prince William

           I’m not a murderer. I once considered doing it. Contemplated doing it for years. I was going to blow people up- or gun them down, maybe do both at the same time. If I sound like a psychopath right now, then I’ve met my goal.

          I had a pretty normal childhood. Mom, dad, two older sisters, a golden retriever. Growing up, I loved playing with army men. I would sit down on my bed and fold the sheets until they made a series of little ruffles. To a child’s imagination, the ruffles in the sheets made for great trenches; in each crease, a fox hole, each wide distance of flat terrain between the ruffles, the dreaded “no man’s land.” This is where my two armies would fight. One was green, the second gray. They’ll heroically charge the each other, fearlessly brave the other’s onslaught while dishing out mayhem of their own. In the end, one side would prevail in glorious battle!

         Even young, I knew something about tactics. The machine gunners, crouched and hunched over their massive guns were positioned in pillboxes (folding the sheets to make cover was quite easy). Their guns were too large and too heavy for them to be mobile, but in these pillboxes, they could lay down surpressive fire on the enemy infantry; the hail of bullets flying over the enemy’s heads, keeping them pinned them down. While the machine gunners laid down some cover fire, the riflemen were assembled in the trenches behind them. Equipped with lighter weapons, they were assault troops. They were the ones to brave across no man’s land. They’ll take the most casualties, but they’ll also win the battle- no army ever wins a war by staying put. Every bag of army men came with some troopers who held a radio in one hand and an uzi in the other. I considered them useless at the time; carrying a little submachine gun while their squadmates carried rifles and also talking on the radio during a shoot out- did these guys want to die?! I usually had them killed off early. It was not until later that I discovered that in real-life, these radio men were some of the most powerful men in the battle. They could call in air and artillery strikes over the radio, effectively giving them the most firepower of any soldier on the field. I promptly started using them as such. I also had a few tanks. The tanks were awesome. With their thick armor, they’d drive right across no man’s land, enemy bullets simply bouncing off the steel. They would advance over an enemy trench, running over enemies troops under their treads, sending the defenders in a panicked flight. The only things that could destroy the tank were an artillery or air strike, a bazookaman or a lucky grenade tossed down the hatch. The tank, either its destruction or its triumph, was the climax of the battle

          As I got older, I discovered videogames. I loved games where I’d get control over an army and conquer the world. I became great at the games Risk and Total Annihilation. As far a shooters go, I loved Call of Duty and Brothers In Arms. I fashioned myself a strategic genius. I also got more and more into real life warfare. “Saving Private Ryan” opened in theaters while I was in sixth grade. When I first saw the opening of the movie, when the soldiers storm the beaches under a hail of machine guns bullets, I was blown away. It amazed me that such scenes actually happened in real life. The drama of the Higgins landing craft full of men approaching the beach- waves shaking the vessel and the crew, enemy artillery shells landing and blowing up these boats before the men even had a chance to land, the German MG42 machine guns shredding the Americans to pieces as soon as the frontal drop door of the Higgins came down, the sheer desperation of the Americans as they crawled through the sand, bullets flying over their heads and bouncing all around them, and the final push of the Americans up into German bunkers using their flamethrowers and grenades all left me so pumped up. It created an infinite curiosity.

           In high school, I started reading about World War II. I learned about the Western, Eastern, North African, Bruma and Pacific fronts. My interest began to focus more and more on tanks. The Wehrmacht’s “blitzkrieg” which won the German’s win early victories at the start of the war (Germany conquered Poland, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, the Netherlands, and France in just ten months) was entirely based on the revolutionary idea of grouping all their tanks into dedicated tank “panzer” formations; and using these extremely mobile, fast and lethal concentrations of tanks to punch a hole through enemy lines and proceed lighting fast hundreds of miles into the enemy rear; encircling the enemy and cutting off the frontline troops from their supply lines, reinforcements and communications with headquarters, obliterating that unit’s combat effectiveness and morale. I learned to respect the tank. It’s strength was awe inspiring. It’s appeal impeccable.

          I knew I wanted to serve. It seemed logical for me. I wanted to join for a whole host of reasons. I knew much about and very much wanted to be a part of the history of the United States Army, I loved shooting stuff, thought explosions were cool- honestly, they are- loved the idea of discipline that army might bring, wanted to wear the uniform proudly and get the respect and appreciation that comes with it, to travel and see the world, to live adventure, to pay for school, and finally, my idea of a good time was and still is crawling around in the dirt under barbed wire, running around in the wilderness, and getting dirty.

          I did my research and opted to join the Army Reserve Officer Training Corps in college. Upon graduation, I’d be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army, with command of some twenty to forty combat troops. During the troop surge in Iraq in 2007, I spoke to a recruiter and took the ASVAB, the military version of the SAT which determines which MOS, Military Occupational Specialty, I’d get to do, and qualified to be a tanker on the M1A1 Abrams main battle tank. Standing eight feet tall and weighing in at 65 tons, this war machine is deceitfully fast, traveling at 42 mph on road , 25 mph off road. It has a turbine engine- yes, an engine for aircraft, put in a tank. It’s main gun is a 120mm cannon which could accurately hit targets at more than two miles away and it’s secondary gun is the devastating .50 caliber machine gun. The Abrams is a legend. It is the most battle tested and feared tank in the world. In the 1990-91 Gulf War, American Abrams destroyed hundreds of Iraqi T-72 tanks with impunity, not losing a single Abrams to enemy fire.

          However, as I I made the rounds and told my family, friends and colleagues of my intention to enlist, the more vocal among them challenged my militarism. An ex teacher of mine from high school was adamant that I not go. He was one of those Greenpeace malcontents who had a problem with everything about our capitalistic society though, so I was able to dismiss his objections without much consideration. However, one of my best friends in high school whose opinion I valued much higher, would really push at me as to why I wanted to fight. Her questions of why I thought the uniform looked so cool or why I knew so much about guns and violence really made me look internally at the type of human being I am. And finally, my first boss, a man whom I had all the respect in the world for, said the wisest thing anyone has ever told me about war:

        “I would never do something like that. Go to another country and kill someone who I have no idea what their name is- who their family is.”

         He might have said more, it happened so long ago I can’t remember, but those first words, they are what stuck. I went home and contemplated what he had said. I never quite thought of war in that way; war is human beings volunteering to go to another country and kill the human beings living there even though they have NO idea who these individuals are. They are killing complete strangers to them. They don’t know these people’s names, they don’t know these people’s parents or siblings, they don’t know who these people love, they don’t know what these people’s favorite past times and hobbies are. They know nothing about them. Yet, they are willing to risk their lives to kill these strangers because that is what they were ordered to do. If I joined, I’d be volunteering to kill a complete stranger just because someone else told me to. Conversely, the people trying to kill me, Iraqi or Afghan resistance, would also have no idea who I was and would have no motive for wanting to kill me besides the fact that that is what HIS superiors had ordered him to. It is the epitome of being a tool: literally killing someone because someone else told you to. It is like when some instigator in elementary school tells you to go fight another kid in the playground and you go and fight him or her just because that is what the instigator said; except it is with adults and the fights are fatal.

         I started reassessing my drive. I had a hard time justifying why I wanted to volunteer to fight somewhere else. I came to terms with the fact that I’m not a violent guy. I haven’t gotten in a fight in school since third grade and I avoided the gangs and petty school rivalries and jumping that happens in high school. I simply don’t like fighting or even arguing. I would never kill someone in my personal life; yet here I was ready to commit to wearing a uniform and training to end somebody’s life on someone else’s account- why would I do that?

          I started giving more consideration to antiwar arguments. I scoured the internet, trying to figure out what path I should take. Among the dozens of interesting quotes I found that challenged me, the following three (with my thoughts following) are my most thought provoking:

1) “There would be no war without soldiers.” – Unknown

If NO one volunteers to fight on either side, then the war mongers and generals would have no one to send to battle. Literally, there would be no one to fight the war. The argument that the war mongers and generals could enact a draft to force civilians to fight is a fallacy because who would exactly be going door to door scooping up these draftees? There is no army and if it was the police force sent to scoop up the civilians, then what happens when these same police officers disobey the order? No one would be around to put them in check. It is the public that enables war, without the populace’s support, the war mongers would have to take their ball and go home. This may sound like a pipe dream, and you may call me a dreamer, but as Lennon said, “I’m not the only one.”

2) “It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”- Voltaire

We as a society despise murderers; in the evening news and in the paper, we are brought up to believe that every homicide we read or hear about is a tragedy, and the culprit is fittingly judged. Yet, when it comes to warfare, we honor soldiers whose job it is, by definition, to kill people. The double standard is blatantly obvious.

3) “Naturally the common people don’t want war. But after all, it is the leaders of a country who determine the policy, and it’s always a simple matter to drag people along whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders.  This is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and for exposing the country to danger. It works the same in every country.”          -Hermann Goering, Reichsmarschall, Third Reich 

Goering was one of Hitler’s closest aides and one time second in command. He headed the Luftwaffe as well as the Gestapo. World War II is a tragedy unlike any other the world has ever witnessed (unless you’re not counting the dinosaurs- if this case we’re not counting the dinosaurs). For one the its chief architects to frankly explain how he and the Nazi party manipulated the German people to get them agitated and on the path of war, shows us how other societies can use the same methods to get the war they want waged. Particularly during the build up to the Second Gulf War in 2003, President George W Bush and other war hawks galvanized the American people by convincing them that Saddam Hussein was a threat and possessed weapons of mass destruction (an accusation that was later proved false) while at the same time questioning the patriotism of those Americans who did not support the war.

          I thought long and hard about these things. Particularly in American history, one could make an argument on behalf of the justification of war. This nation was forged in war. Without the founders of fighting for independence, there would not be a United States of America, at least as we know it today. War is what freed the slaves. War is what ended the Holocaust and saved the world from Nazism. But then I realized, every argument that soldierdom can be a good thing, can be struck down by acknowledging that the other side used soldiers too. There would have been no fight for independence without the red coats; there would have been no need for a civil war without Confederate soldiers; and there would have been no Holocaust or D-Day without the Wehrmacht. Soldiers are as much part of the problem as they are part of the solution. Therefore, all claims of the good war and soldierdom had achieved can be negated by the fact that it is also the enabler of ills it supposedly saved us from.

          I contemplated for years, wrestled with my childhood dreams and my adult reality, ultimately deciding war is a terrible tragedy that I want no part of. I still like shooting guns. And explosions are still awesome, I love setting the sky ablaze on the Fourth of July. And I love the adrenaline of playing paintball and lasertag. I still read a lot about World War II and think the Abrams tank is one of the coolest things ever, but I would never be a tool. I can never contemplate ending another person’s life. It is so cruel and wrong. I’ve seen a few of those new ROTC students walking around campus in their uniforms. I wonder how it is that they rationalize their willingness to murder.

Although tempted, both by desire and necessity, I could never find the guts to steal anything. My sister on the other hand, well let’s just say she’s much more daring than I am. We should have seen it coming; from a very young age, Andrea was always the mischievous one and constantly found herself in sticky situations, literally. I say this because one day when she was six, Andrea thought it was a good idea to open up a bottle of glue and rub it in her hair during Art class in school. And who can forget when Andrea decided to cut her own hair–“Mom Stephanie is so annoying! She’s always copying everything I do”. This was her response when my mom questioned her about why she decided to go all Paul Mitchell on her hair. Now, I know some may say that’s just kids being kids, but we all know Andrea is rather unique. Then there was the time she convinced Daniela, my youngest sister, to stick her to the wall using duck tape because she saw the guys from Jackass do it and therefore wanted to try it; So much for the disclaimer no one cares to consider.

At the young age of thirteen– you know that age where you have the entire world figured out and your parents can’t seem to bud out of your life, Andrea allowed her guilt along with peer pressure to force her into making one of the many mistakes of her teen years. I say one because just like any other kid, Andrea would continue on to making some pretty dumb decisions, but this one in particular was on another level. It was a usual Monday afternoon; I got home from another grueling day at school which was exceptionally grueling that day specifically because I took a Math test that I didn’t necessarily study for. I did the usual skimming of my notes and I knew that it hadn’t helped me in passing this test—Maybe if I look through my notes right before the test, I’ll be able to remember the information better; what was I thinking? That day, I looked forward to nothing more than to just get home and relax considering it was Friday evening, the prelude to the weekend which was my favorite days of the week. I’m sure many others share the same excitement I have for the weekend.
That night, dinner was being prepared by Daniela, whose personality is very similar to my own, in the sense that she always thinks twice, even three times about the decisions she makes. Some may think this is a sign of having no confidence, but I think of it as a preventative measure that avoids unnecessary trouble. “Gaby, you know what this girl in my class did, she broke the teacher’s pencil on purpose because she said that the teacher mad her mad. She’s so stupid.” These were the kind of things Daniela would tell me when I asked her how her school day was. She was always observing people, very rarely saying much, but one must wonder what lay in this girl’s thoughts. She would never find herself in some of the predicaments Andrea has been in. Daniela has always been the “quiet one, little angel, sweetheart,” and all the other cute and adorable pet names you would attach to a person who doesn’t talk much and smiles all the time. Although Andrea and Daniela are only a year apart, their personalities are at opposite ends of the spectrum, and that makes for a lot of arguing and fighting in our house.

As we prepped the table and listened to “Caso Cerrado”, the Spanish version of Judge Judy, which my mom cannot miss a single episode of, a phone call interrupted the commencement of our dinner. After being on the phone for about five minutes, my mom broke into tears and I couldn’t help but to think what minor situation was causing her to cry again. See, my mom is what you would call a “crier”. She will break out into full-blown tears over the most minimal situation such as over cooking pasta or loosing a game of Tetris. It turned out this time; the tears were legitimized due to the circumstance at hand. What snaps a teenager back to reality and forces her to reconsider some of her actions? The answer is to almost go to jail for stealing a cheap pair of earrings. This of course was the reasoning behind my mom’s unstoppable crying and all the traumatic hoopla that followed.
According to Andrea, her best friend and her were at the mall doing some window shopping due to the fact that they were both thirteen and still “too young” to get a job and be able to afford things any other teenager would like to possess. The girls stumbled upon the tween jewelry store Claire’s and decided to walk in. Among the rows of shiny jewelry, Melissa spotted the sliver pair of hoop earrings she had been eyeballing for weeks now. Andrea claimed that Melissa begged her to grab the pair of earrings for her. “Andrea please, please, please just hold them for me. I really want them and Ricky loves hoop earrings.” This was Melissa’s reasoning behind wanting the earrings. To impress a boy, sounds cliché but girls really do whatever it takes to impress their crushes. Seeing as how Melissa was her best friend and partner in crime, Andrea definitely didn’t want to disappoint, so she decided to take the earrings and put them in her pocket. “I was so nervous and I knew had a bad feeling about it but whatever they were already in my pocket. I couldn’t do anything about it”, Andrea told me.

They roamed around the store trying to act natural, but there was no use because the security guard saw the whole thing go down. As the girls were making their way out of the store, the guard stopped them both and asked them to clear their pockets. Allegedly, the two of them stood there like a couple of statues. After asking a second time, the two of them snapped out of it and challenged the security guard, claiming they didn’t have anything in their pockets. A couple of minutes of back and forth later, Andrea finally admitted to having the pair of sterling silver hoop earrings in her pocket. She gave it to the guard and both of them were escorted to a holding room in the basement of Queens Center Mall. The whole cab ride to the mall my mom was inconsolable, asking rhetorical questions such as “What did I do to deserve this?” or “Why me?” I couldn’t help but to giggle because although it was a serious situation, once again her reaction was way out of proportion. It was as if someone had died; she was crying so hard at one point, she made herself choke on her own saliva by accident. Daniela just sat next to me, observing my Mom and yet again, not giving any input on what was happening. “Andrea is so stupid.” That was her only reaction to the situation, which was actually her usual response when she notices that someone has done something she disapproves of. We arrived at the mall and ran over to customer service, explained our situation, and asked how to get to the holding room were the two criminals, Andrea and Melissa, were. This all sounds like a smooth process on paper, but the reality was that it was much more complicated than that. First of all, the customer service lady, who by the way was totally in the wrong profession because of her lack of patience which one would think is an essential quality to possess when in the business of helping customers, hence customer service, took what seemed like forever to understand what we wanted. “Uh mam, you gonna need to slow down and clearly tell me what you want from me.” On the one hand, I could understand her confusion because my mom was still getting over her tears, which made it a little hard for anyone to understand her, but after the fifth time of explaining ourselves, it became evident that this woman was absolutely incompetent to her duties.

Upon arriving to holding room, Andrea was unrecognizable. Her face was filled with tears and snot, which was a rare sight considering Andrea had a pretty tough demeanor and almost never cried. She had the look of embarrassment and shame all over her face, and I knew she was sorry even before opening her mouth and explaining herself. After hours of paperwork and a lot of uncomfortable silence waiting for paperwork to go through, we were all allowed to leave, including the two perps who cause this entire ordeal. It goes without saying that after a $150 fine and months of embarrassment from people on our block who had somehow found out about the shoplifting incident, Andrea never shoplifted again. Well, let me rephrase that, so far as we know she hasn’t had sticky fingers.

“Four. Put them bars up. Look at this convict here.” It was better to get that four and land in jail rather than a three, at least, and be bewildered by the hotel sitting at Marvin Gardens, or getting a five, six or eight and landing on either of the four houses on the green spaces, all courtesy of Sunny. I had squatted on Atlantic Avenue already and was running out of money real quick. Sunny knew his way around the monopoly board like a hawk which patrolled its territory. The open skies saw houses and hotels under his deed and nothing but the barren wastelands of the Third Reich under mine. I would come down to hang out with him and a sibling of his every Saturday in the sixth and preceding half of the seventh grade.

Sunny was a brilliant and resilient individual. He was a mixture of calm and shy, what would be perceived as “reserved” for any age. But he dealt his own trade very well. Sunny always knew what he wanted, and never diverged from his goals or true intentions. Sunny lived on the first floor of the building while I dwelled on the fourth. I had known Sunny since elementary school, P.S.130M. It happened that we attended the same junior high school, M.S. 167 Robert F. Wagner. One of the key differences aside from level of outreach in personality between the two of us was work ethic. I always emphasized fun before work and Sunny work above all. On Saturdays I would give Sunny a call sometime in the afternoon and ask if I could come down and hang out. He would almost always say yes because he would finish his school work on Fridays and so I would tread down to the first floor. Vintage Sunny. Good old days.

In early sixth grade the game that everyone invested themselves with was Neopets. By the middle of the year, almost everyone in the class had a virtual pet to feed, equip and battle with. Sunny had a Neopet. I had a Neopet. For some reason Sunny always acquired Neopoints, the monetary value of the Neopet Universe, quicker and more efficiently than I did. I always fathomed how he would pull this off. Whenever we would battle, I would go into the fight on the lower rung of the ladder, as he would out-level me in all Neopet stats and abilities, come in with heftier equipment for battle, and ultimately win the fight. This would go on to have a lot more daunting implications for the year to come.

By mid-to-late sixth grade, in early 2002 a new trend had presented itself. Andrew Gomer’s Jagex platform had brought about a relatively new game called Runescape which I believe was unveiled in 1999 at the earliest, but surely enough, had blossomed into one of the premier games of the time. Runescape was a free MMORPG, which meant that everyone with readied internet access could get their mouse arrow on it. I believe it was Sunny who first informed me of this new phenomenon. A few boring clicks morphed into heightened sensitivity for the Runescape terrain and within a week evolved into the best game I had ever indulged in. Sunny and I used to kill goblins by Lumbridge, the starting point and noob harbor in the game. We would kill them for experience and the petty gold that they left behind, even bury their bones after the fight for prayer points. For some reason Sunny excelled in the game far faster than I did also, as he did in Neopets. It was him who also told me that there was bigger world out there than Lumbridge, that there was a whole world of archery, magic, sword fighting and so forth to explore. He also informed me of quicker methods of making money in that universe. Consequentially, when we fought in that game, he always won. But there are no winners in a real fight.

Every Saturday we would interact on either Neopets or Runescape depending on the calendar (Neopets quickly expired after the popularity of Runescape spread like wildfire) from our desktops. Soon afterward, from 1-4pm I would come down and I would observe Sunny doing his rounds in either of them and marvel at just how well he executes triggers, toggles, commands and game plan/strategy with precision. After that it’d be Monopoly time! The three of us would sit on the floor in the pattern of a triangle. One of us would distribute property, another would play the role of the banker and the third would chip in a little of both. Tiffany was a year older than us. She got into a private school called Poly Prep: Epiphany and would end up studying there from the sixth or seventh grade all the way until the end of the twelfth. She was always bright and hardworking. Perhaps more so than Sunny himself. Hey, I guess it runs in the family. Like Sunny, Tiffany was soft-spoken. But unlike Sunny, Tiffany was sexy. The three of us would play Monopoly for hours on end, sometimes we wouldn’t be able to finish before 7pm, when Sunny’s mother came back. Monopoly was very competitive, as in real world arrangements and ordeals. When it came down to the board, dice, property and money, no one trusted the other. Deals were made between the other two if one party became too dominant. I had my first wet dream off of Tiffany. It came much later but… hey it is what it is. I wish I could’ve hadBreakfast at Tiffany’s after waking up. Sometimes it would be difficult to play with the siblings because Tiffany would get too much of my attention. Never touch a bro’s sister. Don’t even flirt. That’s inscribed in the XY bible.

After on average two or three hours of Monopoly, the three of us would go outside. Sunny and I would head up to the handball court either in front of I.S. 131 or the one behind it to engage in indefinite rounds of handball while Tiffany watched. Handball was the only thing I could beat Sunny at. I didn’t make too much out of it because we were friends. I remember the curved wall that we played in front of the school and how that would angle the deflection of the ball from it and the flat surface which we dueled against at the back of the school. Most of the time it was Monopoly followed by handball, but sometimes it was visa versa. Either way, by the time both had been completed, I usually had to go home.

It happened in the earlier portion of seventh grade. I believe it was November or December of 2002 when it occurred. It was a damp and dark Saturday. I was watching Stephen King’s Needful Things on TV when I got bored. I gave Sunny a call and he said it was alright to go down to the first floor. Him and his sister were playing a game on the Gameboy. I believe it was Warior Land or one of its sequels/spin-offs. When neither Sunny nor his sister could get past a stage in the game, Tiffany inquired for my help. Sunny said to her “he can’t do it, he’s a LOSER.” LOSER. That word stung me like an acupuncture needle in the wrong region of the body. Whenever I feel angry or overwhelmed, I smile. I try to cover it up. It’s like a reflex reaction. And so I smiled. Then I took Sunny’s handball and ran up three flights of stairs and locked the door. He kept banging on my apartment and saying “give me back my ball!” Eventually he was attracting attention from my neighbors so I had to open the door and give him his ball back. He was my best friend for the longest time. And I had lost just that.

In March of 2013 I met up with Sunny. Since September 2006 I had moved to Queens and looking back on things, I finally had the guts to get into the building and knock on his door. We had coffee together in a Starbucks by Broadway. I told him everything that I had written above (except the whole “your sister is hot” thing). I could tell he felt melancholy. I felt worse. I think. I don’t know. But what I do know is that after we parted again, I began to feel the blues. Sunny’s Blues.

Since I will be spending a whole semester with you guys I basically decided to share this piece with you. I hope you guys enjoy.

Late Surprise – Amilka Lopez

“You are a very healthy girl,” my doctors said, “You have no signs of sickness everything is good conditions”. Well at least that’s what it seemed like at the time.

When I graduated high school I remember that for a totally healthy girl the doctors appeared to be more interested in my labs. I think this was when I suddenly became sick. The doctors promptly made monthly appointments for me and I was always called a day before to remind me. “Is this the parent or guardian of Amilka Lopez, we are just calling from the doctors office to let you know that you’ve got an appointment tomorrow at 2.” I really began to hate hearing this every month.

From what I recall, all I truly remember from my summer 2009, is working at the daycare and visiting the doctor’s office. Visiting the doctor’s office was not a normal thing to me anymore; I was actually anxious and a bit scared because I did not know what was wrong with me. Every time I asked the doctor, she would just say, “Something is wrong with your blood”, and when I asked the receptionist that will call me to inform me that I still have to go in and take more labs she will tell me, “You have abnormal blood”.  I didn’t know how I should of taken this but I actually thought it was pretty funny, “How can someone have abnormal blood. What am I not normal?”

The doctors kept getting the same results over and over again so they all came to a conclusion and they decided to refer me to a specialist. The Rheumatologist is a specialist who deals with blood work and many autoimmune diseases. I remember when I went into the hospital for the very first time, I saw a lot of ill children and it freaked me out because I thought I was going to die. My Rheumatologist also made monthly appointments with me and I was required to do some biopsies. Every time I went to my appointments I had my good friend Giselle or my mother there with me. Giselle was actually there when I got a biopsy and I remember when I grasped her hand because I was terrified of the big needles they were going to insert on my neck. After that the doctors said some pretty scary things because they were still unsure of what I had since my labs weren’t accurate. They said I had a thyroid problem on my neck, cancer and then lupus.

I believe it was November 2010 that I had been diagnosed with lupus. Lupus is an autoimmune disease where white blood cells attack your organs: brain, liver, kidney etc. instead of protecting them against any harm. The sickness alone cannot go away but they are treatments that can help control it. The doctor immediately told me what was best for me and then she prescribed me my first set of pills. I remember my boyfriend and his mother trying to teach me how to take my pills. His mother would give me a glass of milk and tell me to chug it and not to think of anything for that moment and I did, I took my pills for the very first time.

I never really expected last semester to be difficult on me. It all started when they referred me to the Adult Rheumatologist. Since mid June of 2009 I began seeing a rheumatologist specialist at The Children’s hospital at Montefiore (CHAM). My previous doctor Kathy-Kenneth said “It is time to let you go, but you still have couple of months till you turn twenty-one, so we will see you till then.” I was very sad and disappointed when I heard her say this to me. I mean I knew that sooner or later I had to switch doctors but it all happened so quick.

Ever since I started seeing CHAM I felt somewhat better. I still felt tired and weak most of the time but that’s one of the symptoms of Lupus. I never really got any rashes on my face only the lesions on my scalp that I hated so much “Well I still do”. The lesions are just so itchy that I always felt like yanking them out.

I always went to my monthly appointments; I never missed any of them because I believe that my health is more important than anything. The doctor’s office at CHAM will always call me before my appointments to make sure that I will be there and if not to reschedule. As I walked every month to my appointments I felt happy. I knew that I had good doctors because they will always call me just to ask me how I was and to tell me how my blood results came up.

Unfortunately, October 23rd 2012 was my last visit with Doctor Illowite (the head Dr.) and Kathy Kenneth. Now I had to go to the Adult Rheumatology. My experience at the Adult section was terrible. My insurance somehow stopped working and a week before the new appointment with my new doctors I happen to get a call from the front desk saying, “May I please speak with Amilka Lopez? It’s from the Lupus Clinic at Montefiore.” I respond and say, “Yes, you are speaking with her.” and they tell me that I apparently have no insurance and that the doctor will not be able to see me unless I paid out of my own pocket. This was when all hell broke loose because I stopped seeing CHAM and my lupus wasn’t in remission anymore. I needed to see a doctor right away. A couple of weeks later my mother tells me that I was no longer under her insurance and that I had to apply on my own now because I was considered an adult. “Thanks Obama, you made me miss my appointment- ahh”. Any who I reapplied and when I finally see the doctor they told me that regardless if I had no insurance they would have still seen me because I am sick.

In addition, I am currently seeing the Doctors at New York- Presbysterian, the #1 hospital in New York for Lupus. I believe the hospital just got so sick of seeing me every two weeks in the Emergency Room with new lesions and outbreaks that they referred me and told me to make some changes with my insurance so that I would be able to see the Nephrology, Ophthalmology, Rheumatology, and Dermatology doctors there.

So far I have three to four months seeing the doctors at Columbia and my lesions still come and go but I am so much happier than I was at Montefiore. The doctors now really do care a lot about me. My Rheumatologist has me seeing other specialist just to make sure that I have no other disease apart from the lupus. My Nephrology doctor just did a biopsy this Wednesday and I am still waiting for the results to come.

At the moment I am proud to say that I am a lupus fighter. Having Lupus has really made me stronger and opened up my mind more towards other ill patients. I can some how relate to them more since I myself am also ill. My life has completely changed ever since I was diagnosed. Some of memories can never be forgotten and this is one.

What is a movie star?
By Kerel “Cali” Cain

What makes a movie star a movie star? Most fans think that it’s something as vague as staring in a movie but there is more to the criteria. A movie star is bigger than the movie they are in, which eliminates any actor that is made the face of a franchise; or a property already known in pop culture. These types of movies, Spiderman, Harry Potter and Green Lantern, are bigger than the actor that stars/leads the movie. These pop culture titles can be rebooted are made into sequels without fans arguing over the title character. If fans do argue its for the sake of the pop culture character portrayed and not the actor portraying them (Ben Affleck in Batman). Pop culture characters, titles or franchises have built-in fan bases that studios can expect on a certain profit from. When known actors are chosen for these roles it is mainly for the marketing of the film with appearances on late night TV shows; their lack of movie stardom also makes them relatively cheap compared to a true movie star. Ryan Reynolds as Green Lantern is cheaper than Will Smith and Mark Ruffalo as the Hulk is cheaper than Ed Norton (even though Ed Norton is not a movie star).
A true movie star also doesn’t need another properties fan base to propel a profit because they have their own fan base; however, fan bases are only a small part of the equation. Taylor Lautner proved this when he couldn’t get enough of his Twilight fans to make his movie Abduction a success. If you didn’t know who Taylor Lautner was would I have to tell you he was in Twilight for you to know who he is? For a movie star connections to their work aren’t necessary because they are the brand.

Movie stars transcend their fan base because no fan base is enough to bring big returns on a big budget movie. They count on their name (brand) to appeal to large audiences that are comfortable buying their product; similar to grocery shoppers buying Pepsi or Coke over Sam’s Cola. Bringing a return on one’s investment also doesn’t make a movie star or else over 50 percent of Hollywood would be movie stars. Even if you bring in a return in the majority of your movies that doesn’t make you a movie star; allow me to explain, but first ask yourself this question: is Ice Cube a movie star? He has brought returns in almost all of his movies. In the 16 movies he has been the lead or co-star in only four haven’t made a profit. 9 of out of 16 have more than tripled their investment; however Ice Cube stars in movies that have 10 million to 15 million dollar budgets and they only make about 20 to 50 million dollars in profit. He’s known for his Friday movies which never cost more than 10 million to make and they make about 30 million dollars in profit. He’s only been the lead in one movie that cost over 50 million, XXX: State of the Union, which was a flop, barely making back its budget. The label of a movie star is more than staring in a movie, making a profit and being a brand it is also about competition. Competing in the summer (the time or year where most big budget movies are put out) against pop culture titles that bring in big returns like Tom Cruises Oblivion. Even if you’re not competing in the summer the ability to get a big budget (or small budget) for your movie and bringing back big returns majorly defines a movie star.

The criteria of a movie star are three things: Can you headline a movie that’s not tied to popular culture? Can you bring in 100 million dollars in profit consistently, and do you have the ability to repeat these returns more than five times in an eight movie stretch.

(DVD sales don’t count into what makes a move star it’s purely box off numbers or else the Oslen twins would be movie stars along with Bill Nye the science guy).

Big budgets with big returns is a major factor in determining a movie star because big budgets means that Hollywood insiders view you as a movie star that can bring back big returns. Big returns mean revisits to the theater and world wide appeal. Jonah Hill once said in an interview that he was humbled by his celebrity status when visiting oversees because no one recognized him or even heard of him. That’s because Jonah Hill is not a movie star, along with his celebrity pal James Franco. Jonah’s last hit movie was This Is the End an ensemble movie. 21 Jump Street was a hit, but was already established in pop culture. Jonah’s next big hit was Moneyball, a great movie with a great performance, but he was opposite Brad Pitt (a movie star) so how much was he a part of the success?. All his other movies that he’s lead either didn’t return a profit or barely made over 10 million (I don’t count animated movies for any actor as proof of movie stardom). His only true hit movies were Superbad which he co-stared with Michael Cera an actor as famous as him at the time and Get him to the Greek, back when Russell Brand was still relevant (the trailers with P. Diddy also help).

Franco has never been in a big movie that has had a big return unless its a reboot, has Spiderman in the title or costars Seth Rogan (the closer of the three at becoming a movie star).
General audiences mix acting ability with movie stardom and that’s wrong. Everyone agrees that Daniel-Day Lewis is probably the greatest actor of his generation but he’s not a movie star. He’s been in four movies that made a profit. Four. One was tied to pop culture and had a director with a brand, Lincoln. The other one starred Leonardo Dicaprio; a true movie star.
If I wanted to make 100 million dollars in the movie business there are only five bona fide movie stars I would bet on Cruise, Smith, Denzel, Depp, Sandler and DiCaprio. Depp is arguably the most controversial name on this list, but remember two things: he made the Pirates franchise it didn’t make him and his international appeal is underrated. All of his movies in the last 10 years make money overseas even when they don’t domestically. Sandler on the surface looks controversial but he makes 50 million to 80 million dollar comedies. Comedies. That bring back over 100 million dollars consistently even when critics hate his movies.
Denzel, Smith and DiCaprio enough said. Smith last movie, After Earth is considered a flop and it still made over 100 million. That’s a movie star. Hell, the last movie Will Smith was in that didn’t make a profit was Ali, which he got an Oscar nomination for. Leo almost a certain 100 million dollar return unless it’s an independent studio; see J Edgar or Revolutionary Road two movies with modest returns. Denzel, a movie star, but he would be the last person I give 100 million to in the category of movie stars. 1998’s He Got Game was the last movie he did that didn’t earn money; however every movie since then has earn a profit and only two of those movies weren’t original scripts but remakes of obscure movies. 8 out of 20 made over 100 million but unlike any other movie star he doesn’t do sequels or movies tied to pop culture. Similar to Sandler, Denzel is the movie and relies on his brand alone. Cruise is the second biggest movie star behind Smith having a few movies in the last decade that didn’t earn over 100 million (Rock of ages, Lions for lambs) but he, more so than any other actor consistently triples 100 million dollar budgets, even outside of the Mission Impossible franchise.
Ultimately, what makes a movie star is based on perspective. Generally audiences don’t recognize the differences between a movie star, a star, a great actor or a known celebrity but these differences are evident through an actor’s brand and their movies being a part of pop culture even though the movie didn’t come from pop culture. Identifying a movie star is a vague criteria and even if you disagree with my criteria one should be able to identify that there is a difference between a star in movies and a movie star.