Ah, Picnic Day—a wonderful event filled with friends and popsicles and music and puppies. It’s a day we all look forward to, a day we can’t wait to enjoy. And most importantly, it’s a day that’s only “fun” when the alcohol starts to kick in.

Only when that vodka you brushed your teeth with finally finds its way to your agitated bloodstream does Picnic Day truly begin. As your blood alcohol content transforms, so does your day; your friends transform into overly confident drunk guys, your popsicle transforms into a cigarette, the peaceful music transforms into choirs of men chanting obscenities and the puppies transform into – wait – never mind, the puppies are still cute.

For a school like UC Davis, where eventful days involve mundane activities like cow tipping, Picnic Day – our one huge party day – is a pretty big deal. Understandably so, everyone hypes the day up for weeks, even months. And everyone tells us about all the fun things there are to do and see when the day finally does arrive.

Yet even with all the talk and anticipation, I didn’t realize, until this past weekend, what the doing and seeing truly entailed. I had no idea that the “doing” almost exclusively involved long jumping over vomit obstacle courses and the “seeing” meant watching creepy shirtless guys “heroically” rescue girls from falling into poles.

While I stood there, overwhelmed by the heat and the wretched smell of what was once a mimosa, I began doing what I do best: complaining. As I did so, an upperclassman overheard me, proceeded to stand uncomfortably close to my face (as to make sure I could detect, from her breath, precisely which brand of beer she had just downed) and said, “HEY! It’s Picnic Day! Stop complaining, this is all just part of it.”

So I took her words to heart. She seemed like an intellectual being, disregarding her inability to remember her own name, and I decided to accept the annoyances thereafter as all part of the Picnic Day experience.

I just accepted it when I got cat called. I just accepted that there weren’t enough fingers on my hands to count the amount of times someone yelled “DAMN GIRL.” I just accepted that it was normal for a stranger to objectify my body as they slobbered (more than the dogs did) at my skimpy tank top and shorts. I just accepted it when a man forced his beer into my face in hopes of acquiring my number. And I just accepted it when I watched guy after guy beam with excitement upon discovering their next drunk target. I just accepted it.

But here’s the thing: I can’t just accept it. Because while I did wear next to no clothing on Picnic day, given the 80-degree weather, that doesn’t mean that I did so with the hope that some disgusting drunk stranger would grope me. It doesn’t mean that I will be flattered when somebody yells out their car window, “YOU’RE HELLA HOT.” It means that I wore a tank top to avoid getting gigantic sweat stains all over myself. Am I hot now?

Quite honestly, I used to be flattered by cat calling. It was validating to hear a compliment, whether it was in the most objectifying way or not. But then I realized something: it’s not a compliment, it’s an insult. A big one. I know it sounds crazy, but think about it.

They’re not calling you out on your shirt because they noticed that in small writing it had the name of a charity organization and thought you seemed like a caring person. They don’t even think of you as a person with important emotions, desires or aspirations. When they cat call you, they are essentially saying “Hey, thanks for wearing that tube top that gives me a perfect view right down your shirt. Thanks for dressing that way FOR ME, it really gave my eyes something fun to look at.” Not someone fun to look at, but something fun to look at. Don’t get me wrong, when they cat call you, they do genuinely appreciate the cover of your book. They’re just too self-entitled and stupid to actually read the book.

By “just accepting” cat calling, we’re allowing our culture to believe that females exist for the sole purpose of satisfying male desires. We’re telling the world that this total objectification isn’t that big of a deal.  And it is for this reason that our culture has such a messed up understanding of rape — especially on college campuses.  When we’re taught to believe that excessive drinking, aggressive guys, objectification and cat calling are normal, we’re indirectly taught to believe that rape is normal too.

So to the upperclassman that told me that all this stuff is simply “just part of it,” I hope you understand the implications of that statement. I hope you know that the plethora of police circling through campus this weekend were there because of all the assaults.

Cat calling is more than just annoying — it’s offensive. REALLY offensive. Because guess what: we are not somebody’s something, we are not somebody’s this thing or that thing, we’re just somebody. Somebody with great depth and beauty. We are worth something — and you might actually come to appreciate that if you stopped calling AT me, and started talking TO me.

Like her bluntness? Contact Maddy Pettit at mepettit@ucdavis.edu

Graphic by Jennifer Wu.

I wouldn’t doubt that over the last several months you’ve come across the word ebola through multiple means of communication and social media. It may have been the news, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Instagram, you name it. However, the integrity of what was being posted or written about might have been compromised. It is incredibly easy to post short headlines that draw people in, but these might mislead readers from the truth. People are not likely to read any further or question what they are reading if it comes from reputable sources. A vast amount of misconceptions about the ebola virus have formed as a result of this sort of media. There are a lot of myths about how ebola is spread, what its symptoms are and the potential risk factors it poses.

Discourse on ebola symptoms is perceived like a game of cooties: someone or some population is infected and then everyone frantically steers away. Tons of people think that merely close contact with an infected person will give them the disease. The social media posts, which tend to falsely inform people that ebola can be spread through air, water or food are no help to this misinterpretation. Realistically, there are only a few ways to get ebola. You can get it from touching the blood or bodily fluids of a person who is sick with or has died from ebola. Touching contaminated objects such as needles or infected fruit bats or primates can also give you ebola. You won’t get it from a cough or from breathing the same air as an infected person. Simply having the disease doesn’t make you contagious and because it isn’t airborne it’s definitely not as easily spread. You’d have to be showing symptoms to spread the virus.

Contracting the virus is not an automatic death sentence. The current death rate is high, at around 50 percent, but there are many individuals who have been successfully treated. Most of these deaths are attributed to the lack of containment measures. Without active community engagement, it is difficult to prevent the spread of the disease. Raising awareness of risk factors and protective measures is vital for reducing transmission. Health workers must also take precaution when working with infected or potentially infected patients.

Ebola is an epidemic that affects many countries in West Africa; however, it is commonly misunderstood to pose a high risk to people in the U.S. The worry over ebola is more of a hysteria than an epidemic. If ebola were to come to the U.S. (and it has), no epidemic would occur. With relatively high and easy access to treatment and care, people in the U.S. do not have nearly as much to worry about as the people of West Africa where resources, money and health care access are scarce. The ebola epidemic is considerably more complex than just a simple biological virus. Political, economic and other environmental factors are just as threatening as the virus itself.

Tiffany Marquez can be reached at tmmarquez@ucdavis.edu.

Graphic by Tiffany Choi.

It’s that time again; midterms are upon us. I know many of you have had some already, and I hope they went great. For those of us who have a few left, however, I’d like to share some insight that helps me regain a little clarity around midterms and finals. Hopefully, some of you will find it helpful too.

The problem as I’ve come to know it is that in these times of intense stress and knowledge-stuffing, we all too often find ourselves caught up in the machinations of our tired and worried minds. And it’s completely understandable — the sheer number of facts and considerations we need to keep together in order to do well is nearly impossible to handle without mechanizing our thoughts a bit to maintain order. But in my experience, the whirring and clicking of that machine inevitably grow into a buzz of white noise that drowns out any hope of productivity and hinders the goal of success it was designed to promote. Surrounded by this deafening array of details, I lose my ability to focus on anything at all, and any perspective that could help me make sense of it all is out of sight.

When I face this problem, only one thing helps me regain perspective and it’s something I love to do: getting outdoors. There are so many beautiful places close to Davis, I just hop in my car and head to one. One night it was Cosumnes; another night it’s fields far south on the 113.  Once I caught a sunrise over Donner Lake in the Sierras, and sometimes I just drive and take in the scenery along the way.  But each time I go out to clear my head, I always make a point to stop somewhere that’s wild and get out of the car.  Planting my feet on the ground, I feel the earth’s energy coursing underneath me.  And then… something wonderful happens.

Standing in the great outdoors recognizing that I’m there, it’s like I sense my being as the whole of its parts, and stepping out of my head I can remember what I’m really made of. As I reconnect with the earth, I feel myself in its context again, and I can rise out of the noise in my brain to see who and what I am again, and just how beautiful the place where I’m standing is. I can’t hope to adequately describe what this feels like, but to go out there and really feel your place in the world again is something I promise does wonders to rescue your mind out of the worried mess school can create.

The only problem with that, as I’m well aware, is that I am very privileged to be able to go out and do these things when I need or want to. Not only do I have a car that can take me places, I also somehow have had the time, money and extra energy necessary to do these things when I need them. And I know that many people definitely do not have that luxury.

But what’s amazing about perspective, and what is too often forgotten, is that it’s not just about where you’re standing; it’s about where you’re looking. A mountaintop view might not be impressive if you’re staring at your feet, and if you only look east you’ll never see a sunset. I’ve come to see that just like in our minds, underneath all the clutter and noise around us there is a quiet heart of earth waiting to be found. It’s there wherever life grows; every tree, every flower, every bush comes from the same earth. Even in the midst of the city of our troubles, the earth can’t been stifled, and to feel it again we must look no further than our own front yards.

So whenever you’re feeling lost and hopelessly entangled in the entrapments of your mind, I urge you to stand outside — don’t worry, it won’t take too long. Find the nearest tree, and plant your feet on the ground beneath it, letting its roots caress yours as they deepen. Feel it growing, and feel your own being alongside it.  You’re growing too, from the same quiet heart of the same green earth.

I know it’s possible that the clarity I gain from this activity is something true for me alone, and I’m sorry if that is the case. But even if this perspective can’t fully help you regain the clarity you seek, it still seems to me that it’s mighty nice to know.

Look up, look out, look around — perspective is in our nature.

Nick Jensen can be reached at njensen@ucdavis.edu.

Graphic by Sandra Bae.