If it's kitschy, I'm there.

I have no shame in admitting that I am a HUGE subscriber to pop culture and my room and closet... and the rest of my apartment for that matter, are a testament to that.

As soon as you open my door you see a poster of Humphrey Bogart as Rick from Casablanca with the famous line, "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine." Just that one line alone is a huge part of American pop culture. Even if someone has never seen the classic movie, they recognize the quote. On my windowsill, my collection of pop culture trinkets continues. Sitting there are my DJ Lance hat and glasses. Yes, as in the DJ Lance from the children's show, Yo! Gabba Gabba. I begged my mother for days to get it for me as a gift last year and after finally, much to my surprise, actually getting it in the mail I actually wore it and played with it for a month or so. There's a picture on my facebook to prove it. Now I'm just waiting for the right time to bust it out again. Apparently my window is the place for all of my kitschy items, because next to my hat are two action figure of none other than... Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy. I always find it necessary to say that these two plastic men were a gift. Next to the pop-punk stars is my set of Minnie Mouse ears from Disney World. The trip to Disney World and returning with a set of ears is a sort of right of passage in our culture. Now, one of the things I am most proud of to have in my room is my Crimp 'n' Curl Cabbage Patch Kid doll that I have had for as long as I can remember. To be completely honest, I still do her hair sometimes when I get bored. As I'm sure most of us remember, Cabbage Patch Kids were a gigantic part in '80s pop culture, as well as my childhood. Moving on, scattered across my room there are various band and political stickers, concert tickets, the occasional empty Coke can, and in my drawers, various concert t-shirts.

In my closet there are still more movie posters. My hangers are mainly used for clothing from Forever 21, because it's relatively cheap and trendy. While discussing my closet, I will take this opportunity to discuss a brand I REFUSE to buy. Urban Outfitters is a company that has never, and probably will never, get any of my money. This is hard for me to stand by because style-wise it is a brand I could totally follow, but ethically I can't. The conservative owner has been known to say that he enjoys the irony of taking the money of liberal college students, through the purchases they make at his store, and giving it to conservative politicians. On top of that, the store has stolen designs from young artists. In short, it's just not a company I could ever see myself supporting.

I guess you could say that according to what pop culture I consume, I am quite the child at heart. If it's kitschy, I'm into it. I take pride in the music I listen to and the movies I watch. Even my guilty pleasures get displayed in some way. My cultural identity is a mixture of everything, which is shown in my home. My Bright Eyes t-shirt is in the same drawer as my Jonas Brothers t-shirt; My cheesy children's television show toy is right next to an ode to what could be argued as one of the greatest movies of all time; And what I don't wear is just as telling about my identity as what I do wear.

Silence Is The Canvas On Which We Paint

Several quotes come to mind when the topic of silence is brought up. In high school, my band director always said, "Silence is the canvas on which we paint." to get us all quiet before playing a piece. Another quote that I'll always remember regarding silence is in one of my favorite movies, Pulp Fiction. Mia and Vincent are sitting at dinner together for the first time, and have nothing to talk about. After an awkward silence, Mrs Wallace expresses her feelings on uncomfortable silences. Although I don't feel comfortable giving the entire quote in a class assignment, she goes on to say that you know you've found someone special when you can just sit and enjoy the silence and not have to "yak" to be comfortable. In the Pulp Fiction context alone, you can see both the comfort and tension of silence.

I feel that the anxiety and tension felt during the silence in a classroom setting is the strongest. When a professor asks a question and is answered with nothing but silence, you can feel the anxiousness in the silence. Most likely, no one wants to answer the question and is squirming in their seat to not be called on. Another time silence is heard in a class is during an exam, which is just as tense and full of anxiety.

Silence in conversations with my friends can mean various things. Silence can be used to say, "Did you really just say that? That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard." It can also convey that I've completely zoned out and don't know how to respond because I haven't actually been listening, which is actually quite common amongst my friends. We also use silence to show when we're upset. We decide that it's better to say nothing than to open our mouths and say something hurtful.

At home, whether it be at my parents with my family or at my apartment with my roommate, silence is few and far between. However, when those moments do happen it's a silence of comfort, for the most part. We've seen each other enough and had enough conversations that we can just sit without saying anything and enjoy each other's company. Silence is rarely used to express anger in this setting with me, because I am comfortable enough to just spit out what's wrong and have the faith that my feelings will not affect the relationship drastically.

"I didn't know what discrimination was then"

The story of my great-grandparents coming to America isn't one that's new to me. As long as I can remember, my grandmother has loved to tell me about how her father came to New York City from Ireland to make a better life for his family. It only recently truly hit me that my grandmother is first generation American. Yes, it's always something I've been aware of, but I just completely digested it's meaning. My great-grandfather was lucky enough to actually have his family reach the "American Dream"... and quite quickly.

As the story goes, my great-grandfather left Ireland in May of 1921 because the famine that was occurring at the time was not a situation he wanted to raise a family in. If you ask, my grandma will go into great detail about the name of the boat that he traveled on, which city it left from, what the city is named presently, and will be happy to show you pictures of the ship. At the time, you needed to be sponsored to become an American citizen, so my great-grandfather lived with my great-grandmother's sister, so he could become a citizen before my great-grandmother and their, then, only daughter could become Americans as well. By August of 1921, the Bensons were all reunited, living as a happy family in busy New York City, without having to change their name I might add.

My grandparents are some of the most positive, loving people I know. Any of their entertaining anecdotes would support that statement. I could tell you numerous stories that make my grandmother seem like she was completely oblivious to the fact that she, and my grandfather, grew up in one of the most dangerous cities in America, but for the sake of staying on topic, I'll refrain. However, I will tell you that when I asked Grandma what type of discrimination she faced growing up within our lengthy phone conversation she responded, in her true fashion, "Oh, honey, absolutely none." I was shocked and protested, "Grandma, really? None? You're telling me you grew up in New York City as a first generation Irish-American and came across NO discrimination?" She went on to make an even more shocking statement saying, "I didn't even know what discrimination was growing up." She then explained that she grew up in an apartment building that was all immigrant families. predominantly Irish-Catholic. Mid-conversation, my grandfather busted onto the phone telling me how the Irish had worked their way into the police force and the women were working for the wealthy families by the time they were growing up, so in their neck of the woods, there was little room for discrimination.

The Benson Family is now on it's third generation of Americans and within that short amount of time, we've come a long way from that small apartment in the boroughs of the city that never sleeps. In my opinion, the American Dream has been met and I am so grateful to the great-grandfather I was never able to meet with. No, we are in no way upper-class, but every generation has gone to some type of schooling after high school, and thus far has proven successful in the working world. That chance that my grandmother's father took, thankfully, turned out successfully.

My Very Own Individual-Cultural Dilemma

I grew up in a small town. I mean, a really small town. I graduated with a class of about 60 students I had known since I was first thrust into Mrs. Matthews' kindergarten class. I can still, to this day, tell you every single person's life story. As you would expect from a small mid western town, it was fairly rural. There was a field across from my house, even though I lived "in town", a majority of the vehicles in the high school parking lot were clunky pick-up trucks, and, in all seriousness, many of the students were related in some way, shape or form. This is where I called "home" for eighteen years of my life.

So, I know at this point you're thinking, "Okay, Jessica, you grew up in Hickville, USA. What does this have to do with anything?" Let me stress once before going on, this was the only place I lived from my conception until the fall of my freshman year at UIC. This small town is the community that shaped me and made me who I am today. Contrary to what many would assume, though, I do not drive a truck, nor have I ever driven one; I do not have a southern accent; and I wouldn't DARE get mud on my cowboy boots.

During school, my high school years especially, my individual behaviors and my expected cultural behaviors were constantly conflicting. A lot of the time I didn't feel like sitting in someones pasture, drinking and listening to country on a Saturday night. Future Farmers of America had no appeal to me, either and I never did learn how to drive a stick-shift. I don't want to make it sound like I was "the weird kid" in school, I wasn't, but I certainly wasn't the majority. I was listening to music that I felt, at the time, was totally revolutionary. My hair was a different color every month. I had big city dreams while others dreamt of building homes on their parents' land. It was so hard for people to understand why I would want to leave the only home I'd ever known. It was frustrating to not have my peers accept my goals as practical.

Since then, I've learned to find middle ground. Being in the big bad city, I've realized that I acquired more rural culture than I had originally thought. I love going home on occasion and having a friend take me mudding, sitting in an open pasture with a group of friends under the stars is a refreshing change sometimes, and sometimes it's kind of fun to bust out the southern twang that never stuck. Part of the cultural identity I thought I had no part in, was actually instilled in my personal identity all along. In order to manage the tension, all I had to do was find a way to effectively combine the two in a way that felt natural to me.