The day was hot and the breezes warm on a Sunday afternoon in mid-June when 19 high school students from around the Bay Area strode, trudged or sauntered into the Washburn Hall dormitory to report for the Mosaic journalism program hosted by the Mercury News -- our 20th member arrived two days later.

Excitement and nervousness hung thick in the air between us, but the awkwardness lasted no more than a few minutes. Some of us knew we wanted to be journalists and others came to test the waters, but despite our various backgrounds and hobbies, we all had one thing in common: a love of writing and photography. This friendly atmosphere and growing camaraderie carried us through the next two weeks.

During the next 12 days, our instructors gave us a crash course in real journalism unlike anything we had done in school, with resources and possibilities we had only dreamed about. From interviewing and photographing gang members to city council members, anime fans to doctors, we set out to learn what journalism was all about. For the time being at least, we were real journalists out on a mission to tell a story. While some struggled with the sudden freedom, wanting an editor to tell them what to write about, others thrived under our editors' urgings to write about what we loved. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Why waste it on topics for which we held no passion?

For me at least, it wasn't until the third day, when we sat before a panel of professional journalists, that the uniqueness of this opportunity struck me. They were there for us to question, and to offer us their experiences and their advice. What better instructors could we have than the genuine articles?

They taught us by sending us out for hands-on work, asking us questions and racking our brains until we fell into our beds at night. The groaning on deadline days was not enough to dampen our spirits. Before we knew it, the time was up and we were on our way home, but the times we shared will never be forgotten.

While some of us may become journalists and others will move on to other careers, two things are certain: Our Mosaic experiences were priceless -- and the deadlines will march on.

The promotion of negativity has become all too common in the world of hip-hop and rap culture, to the point where the music is associated with violence, drugs and misogyny.
Artists like 50 Cent and Young Jeezy are at the forefront of the violent commercial formula that sells millions of records. This modern day rap image has produced a glorification of gang life among the youth who religiously listen to these rappers.

Fortunately, there are programs working to reverse this trend, using the elements of hip-hop, female empowerment and slam poetry to make a difference.
Hip Hop 360
Unity Care, a San Jose-based youth development center that helps foster children prepare for their emancipation from the foster care system, is doing its part to stop the negativity. Programs like Hip Hop 360 allow children to learn and express themselves hip-hop culture.
The program helps middle-school age students build positive relationships. Hip-Hop 360 exposes students to different elements of hip-hop culture, such as rapping, dancing, art and deejaying. Each element is connected to an educational and life skill.
"When a kid wants to rap, he's not only going to learn to rap, he's also going to learn about metaphors, similes and other techniques that are required to be a good writer," said Gilbert Chaidez, outreach program supervisor at Unity Care.
"A lot of kids drop out of school because they feel that it isn't relevant to them or their neighborhood, so what we try to do is help them tap into their passions and connect that to school to make it relevant for them," Chaidez said.
Hip-Hop 360 organizers agree that the program offers an alternative tone in the negative drone of modern rap.
"Before, artists like N.W.A and Ice Cube represented the reality of the gangster life," said Demone Carter, project coordinator for Hip Hop 360. "Gradually, that reality got blown out of proportion into what it is today. Now it seems like you need a hard luck story to be successful. You need to tell people you got shot or stabbed to sell records."
When comparing old-school and new-school hip-hop, there are similarities and differences. Today, there appears to be more "gangsta" rap.
The popularity of "gangsta" rap has led casual rap fans to believe that all rap promotes the gang image.
This wasn't the case in the late '80s and early '90s, Chaidez said.
"Nowadays, its like "rap" is synonymous with "gangsta," said Chaidez. "Back in the day, rappers exposed the gang life, but it wasn't like that life was the only way. Now, its like living the gang life is the only choice."
On the flipside, old-school artists like De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest weren't considered "gangsta." Likewise, there are a few rappers today who stay away from the violent music broadcasted over the airwaves.
"Guys like Common, Kanye West, Talib Kweli and Mos Def aren't part of the gangsta vibe," said Carter, who himself works to promote positivity by rapping and making music. "Its good to see them so successful, because when I was young I felt like it was impossible to spread that positive vibe and sell records."

5th Element
The objectification and disrespect of women is another unhealthy trend in the mainstream hip-hop world. There are women who will not stand for the labeling of women as booty-shaking instruments.
Vanessa Nisperos is one of those women.
Nisperos runs 5th Element, a San Jose based collective that supports women in hip-hop.
"5th Element promotes female rappers, b-girls, deejays, and graffiti artists," said Nisperos.
She said there is a disparity between hip-hop being played for the mainstream and the hip-hop most people don't hear.
"There is a fine line between commercial hip-hop, which is a business, and produces party music, and real hip-hop, which is a celebration of life and something that brings people together," Nisperos said.
The goal of 5th Element is to empower women and give them their rightful seat in the hip-hop community. "Everyone deserves a place in hip-hop, and women should feel safe in their place," Nisperos said.
Though most of the negative views of women come from male artists, some female artists are responsible as well. Rappers like Lil' Kim and Trina have made careers for themselves by producing provocative videos and proudly referring to themselves with derogatory terms.
"Those female rappers have found a way to make money selling their bodies, just like in any other entertainment form," Nisperos said. "Because of rappers like Lil' Kim, guys will always have an excuse. When we criticize them for disrespecting women, they can say, "Well, Lil' Kim does it too."
Nisperos doesn't think anyone in the mainstream empowers women, but she does respect rappers like Mos Def and Kweli.
"They don't really empower women, but they also don't demean them like (raunchy southern rappers) the Ying Yang Twins."

Youth Speaks

Future hip-hop artists who want their music to be meaningful and genuine must speak now. Programs such as Youth Speaks help them do that and also bring about a comforting picture of the future of hip-hop.
A program that promotes literacy and the spoken word, Youth Speaks is full of young men and women who have an opinion about hip-hop and aren't afraid to express it.
They do this with hard-hitting "slam" poetry, a form of poetry that involves competition and high-powered performance similar to rapping.
"Hip-hop is going downhill and it's promoting the "bling-bling" culture," said Yosimar Reyes, 17, an award-winning poet from Youth Speaks. "It's basically phone sex with a beat."
Influenced by conscious artists like Dead Prez, Common, Mos Def, Kweli and Erykah Badu, Reyes writes about a broad range of subjects in his work.
"I write about a lot of social, political, and family issues," said Reyes.
Panama Dominguez, 18, another Youth Speaks poet, also has strong opinions on the state of hip-hop today.
"Hip-hop is supposed to be positive," Dominguez said.
Inspired by Oakland rap duo Zion I and Latin artist El Roockie, Dominguez writes about his roots and Latino culture. He puts positive messages in his "musical poetry."
Dominguez says that if the right people are put in charge, mainstream hip-hop can become positive and real.
"The people who run hip-hop need to change. The people who run MTV and BET need to go," he said. "If you gave me control of KMEL, we would see a change in a few months."
Dominguez also questions the motives of many artists today. "Hip-hop is a job now, you do it to get money. Even if you want to do it from the heart, you will eventually do it for money."
Based on the violence and negativity displayed by mainstream hip-hop, one might conclude that the culture is dying slowly. Organizations like Unity Care, 5th Element, and Youth Speaks are working hard to resurrect it.

Brooks McNiven, a 25-year-old minor league pitcher for the San Jose Giants, often drives up Highway 101 to watch the San Francisco Giants play at glamorous AT&T Park.

But it's a much longer journey to move from the minor leagues to the major leagues, one that can take years, and one where talent provides the only shortcut. It is a trek that only a select few complete.

The path is filled with tedious bus rides, poverty-level wages, loneliness and doubt. And the competition is tough.

"It's a struggle," McNiven said. "You're competing with so many players. You know it's a cut-throat business, when you're competing against your own teammates."

There are about 120 ballplayers in the Giants' minor league system, "all competing for that one spot," he said.

Each year 7,280 minor league players nationwide compete for the chance to live out their dream and become one of the 750 ballplayers who play at the major league level.

Julian Harris, an ex-minor leaguer, gave baseball his all but fell short in the end. Harris, now a local San Jose pitching coach, got as far as the advanced Class A league, just a notch above the regular Class A minor leagues, the lowest level of organized professional baseball.

Playing in the major leagues was all Harris wanted to do. He was a star pitcher, first baseman, and outfielder at Oak Grove High School. As a tall lefty relief pitcher, he relied on his 92-93 mph fastball, changeup, and slider. Harris was 19 when he was drafted by the Anaheim Angels organization. The American League club farmed him out to the instructional rookie leagues to perfect his pitching mechanics.

It was Harris' first time living away from home. He not only had to learn the craft of baseball and focus on his career, but he also had to learn how to live with teammates from all walks of life.

After a year and a half in the instructional leagues, the Angels elevated Harris to a Class A team in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. During his first season, he struggled with control problems, going 1-2 with a 4.82 ERA, but he still showed promise and was promoted to Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.

There, however, his career hit a wall and he was confronted with the continuing harsh reality of life in the minors.

Harris' salary was only $1,300 a month. He either rented out condos with teammates or stayed with families who were willing to house him for free during the season.

The bus rides were long and tiring. The team was traveling from Rancho Cucamonga to Lancaster when the bus's air conditioner broke.

"It was about 105 degrees outside of the bus and 120 inside,'' he said. "By the time we got to the stadium we were already worn out."

Harris also began questioning his potential after he saw teammates advancing to higher leagues.

"If you don't get a break, you're stuck with the rest of the herd," he said.

His dream came to a halt when the Angels let him go after the season. His release crushed him.

"I was mostly pretty upset, shocked and disappointed," he said. "I ain't trying to be a career minor leaguer."

Disconsolate, he returned to San Jose. But then he signed on with a team in the Northern Leagues in Sioux City, Iowa.

After that season he met his wife, Gina, in San Jose. Gina was everything he ever wanted. He had found his other true passion besides baseball in Gina and their daughter, Angelina.

But his pursuit of a spot on a major league team became a source of tension in their relationship.

"I didn't know if I wanted to be with someone who's gone six months out of the year," Gina Harris said.

She told him he had one last chance to show he could advance to the majors -- or else give it up.

He latched on with a minor league team in Mesa, Ariz., that had no affiliation with any major league team. However, players showing promise could have their contracts purchased by a big league club.

But, in Mesa, his life became a pressure cooker. His career tanked and he realized that his family was more important.

He gave up his professional baseball aspirations, but he remains close to the game: He works as a pitching instructor for kids in the Bay Area, passing on his knowledge to young players with the same dream that he once harbored.

McNiven, on the other hand, is still following his dream. Born and raised in Canada, he played baseball at the University of British Columbia.

In 2003, he was drafted in the fourth round by the Giants organization. He now plays advanced Class A ball for the San Jose Giants.

Becoming a major leaguer "would be the perfect life," he said. But like all minor leaguers, he's paying his dues. The minor league travel schedule and bus rides, McNiven said, are "brutal."

"On some night trips, you get home at 6 or 7 in the morning and you have to be back at the field that day at 3 for" batting practice, he said.

But, McNiven refuses to let anything -- fatigue, rickety motel rooms, lousy fast food, or pesky lead-off batters -- get in the way of his dream.

"It's all part of the experience," McNiven said.

Richard Garcia can still remember his freshman year--the gang fights, impersonal staff and disorganization--at his public high school in East San Jose. "There was a lot of chaos," says Garcia, now 18.

On the advice of friends, Garcia transferred in his sophomore year to Latino College Preparatory Academy, a charter school. Friends attending Latino Academy told him about the structure and learning environment offered there.

On the advice of friends, Garcia transferred in his sophomore year to Latino College Preparatory Academy, a charter school. Friends attending Latino Academy told him about the structure and learning environment offered there.
Garcia is just one of the growing number of students leaving public high schools in the East Side Union High School District for smaller charter high schools. From 2002 to 2005, enrollment in East Side charter high schools grew from 74 to 832. During the same time, the number of charter high schools increased from two to five, according to the California Department of Education.
Many of the students enrolling in charter high schools, especially in the East Side, come from low-income minority families. Charter schools such as Latino Academy and Leadership Public School-San Jose have a majority population of Latino students.
Some think the increased interest in charter schools is an answer to the problems they see in public schools. Others say charter schools won't necessarily help students who haven't done well in public schools.
Alicia Ross, staff organizer for People Acting in Community Together (PACT), a grassroots organization that works to improve communities, says many students and families have expressed dissatisfaction with public schools. She says the focus is lost in some public schools where many students don't succeed. "High schools are designed like mass factories," she said.
One former charter school official agrees. Christina Castillo, former enrollment coordinator for Leadership Public School-East Side, says that the individual advising at charter schools allows for more personalized attention that can lead to a student's success. "If they have the support that they need, then it empowers them to uncover the idea of going on to a university," Castillo said.
The student-to-teacher ratio at charter schools in East San Jose is lower than that of the public schools in the district. According to the California Department of Education, the overall student-to-teacher ratio in East Side charter high schools is 15.5-to-1, compared with a 22.7-to-1 ratio in public high schools in the same district.
However, public officials at the East Side district schools do not necessarily see the growing number of students opting to attend charter schools as a sign that public schools are failing. The fault is not the lack of support services offered at public schools, but rather, that students may not be prepared to attend larger public schools, they say. Several members of the board governing the East Side Union High School District declined to comment.
One East Side public school official, Ana Lomas, said she believes that public schools do offer resources for students that are low-performing. Such programs as Avid, Puente, Upward Bound and magnet academies that assist students in preparing for college are all readily available resources for students who may be struggling. She added that public schools could be improved to provide more such programs, however.
Whether charter schools teach students as well as public schools do is another issue some debate. Lomas said charter schools do not have to meet the same academic standards as public schools do. "Public [schools] tend to be more rigorous," said Lomas, who is the director of professional development in the East Side district.
Student Sandy Vasquez, who transferred out of Latino Academy after two years because she was not getting an academically competitive curriculum, agreed that public schools provide more academically. At the charter school, she said she felt "backtracked,'' because she had to take Algebra I again, despite having taken and passed a more advanced class, Geometry, in her eighth-grade year. She said she was also upset about the lack of Advanced Placement courses that can help students get admitted to top universities. She wanted to take AP English, but her school did not offer it.
After her sophomore year, Vasquez decided to transfer to a public school, Accel Middle College, from which she recently graduated, and she will attend the University of California-Berkeley in the fall.
Sonya Torres, media relations manager for the California Charter School Association, said she believes that charter schools are more rigorous than public schools, and have with higher expectations from teachers and parents for students.
Comparisons of student scores on the Academic Performance Index (API) tests show that East Side charter schools score lower than public high schools. Three of the five charter high schools have reported API scores, and their overall average in 2005 was 543 - more than 150 points lower than the average API score, 698, for the district's public high schools.
David Lopez, president of National Hispanic University, which oversees the Latino Academy, said it is not fair to compare API scores from charter schools with scores from public high schools because of differences in student populations. He said that if scores from Latino students in the district's public schools are compared to Latino students from charter schools, the scores from charter schools would be much more comparable.
Lan Nguyen, vice president of the board of trustees at the East Side school district, said charter schools still need to improve. "They should be performing better than they are now," he said.
Nevertheless, the number of students attending charter schools in San Jose's East Side district is expected to grow. "They're here to stay and will continue to increase," Lopez said.

The clash of steel and the roar of flames offer a promise of danger, melting away to reveal a not-so-peaceful scene in a quiet town where a mischievous young ninja who is late for class is fleeing from his teacher. The theme song comes to an end, and viewers are welcomed into a world of secrets and adventures from "Naruto.''

Amazing anime
This is one of the universes waiting to be discovered in the realm of anime. A thriving and diverse audience is bound together by one thing: a love for anime and manga.
Anime, or Japanese animation, has been growing in popularity for the past 30 years, reaching new heights with series like "Naruto" and "Nana," which is the story of a punk rocker and an artist who are two very different girls sharing the same name. This year's Fanime at the San Jose Convention Center on Memorial Day weekend drew roughly 7,000 fans, and the anime convention Expo in Anaheim brought more than 50,000 participants last summer.
Manga, or Japanese comics, can be found in major bookstores like Barnes & Noble, and toy "Naruto" weaponry is sold in stores such as the Anime Palace in Sunnyvale. Not only do fans watch and read their favorite series, but they also take part in discussions and forums online, posting both "fanart,'' personal drawings of favorite characters, and "fanfiction," stories written by fans using their favorite anime characters, on sites like Fanfiction.net. Card tournaments for Duel Monsters, a game taken from the anime "Yu-Gi-Oh,'' are held weekly in stores such as Superstars as well as during school breaks.
Why the popularity? According to fans, it's the sheer variety, aesthetic appeal, unlikely characters and deeper, underlying themes that both entertain and intrigue.
"The artwork's just great," said Hannah Chang, 17, from San Jose, a recent graduate from Cupertino High and an ardent fan of anime and manga since she was in third grade. "It's affecting a lot of people and the way they draw now. It's refreshing, vs. contemporary art, where you can put a yellow dot on a piece of canvas and call it art."
As an art form, the Japanese styles have enchanted viewers, including young girls who fall in love with the bishonen or "beautiful boys" in various series, Chang said.
There are many different styles of anime and manga, but in general characters are drawn with large, expressive eyes and fancy hairstyles.
Beyond the aesthetic appeal, audiences often are captivated by the sheer possibilities and places presented in anime.
It's "the fantasy about it, the different worlds that storytellers create for their audiences," said Alex Dvorsky, 17, from San Jose. Dvorsky, who is president of Bellarmine College Prep's Anime Club, said, "Everyone watches for their own reasons, but overall, it provides an escape to normal reality."
With its various plots and conflicts, anime resembles live TV more than American cartoons.
"The way anime is done with long-arc story lines catches people like how soap operas suck people in," said Jaime Starling, 30, a spokeswoman from Stonebridge Press, which has been translating anime from Japanese to English for about 10 years. "There are so many different kinds, someone's going to find one they like."
From modern high schools to temples in feudal Japan, anime offers a wide selection of tales that fans can relate to and be entertained by. The variety offers something for everyone from science fiction fans to people who just want to see stories about people like themselves.
As in novels, anime characters grow and change, from child to adult or from immature brat to selfless defender of the wronged. "Characters have a lot of depth to them," said Anthony Pichardo, 15, a Gilroy resident and anime fan of seven years.
"Everyday school girls who suddenly find that they're heroes - people see this and think, oh, well, I'll never be Superwoman," Starling said, laughing wistfully, "but I can actually be an anime character. Many anime heroes don't even have special powers."
Anime provides youths with the promise that, even though they may not be legendary magicians, they can make a difference. They can have adventures, and there is always the possibility of something amazing happening in their lives, an unexpected love or mystery.
"Everyone grows up reading about the importance of being No. 1 and being the star, whether a president, astronaut, student, athlete or musician. But the odds of being the best are like winning the lottery and are sure to leave many kids feeling inadequate," said Oliver Chin, the publisher of Immedium and former director of sales and marketing at Viz Media, which brought anime and manga into mainstream America. "Therefore, when they read of how a person who has flaws, a poor reputation or negative expectations can actually turn everything around and save the day, this revives their self-confidence, inspires them to keep their dreams alive and reminds them that they can contribute to society in their own special way and time."
Anime draws people in with its darker themes and deeper concepts that invite viewers to dwell on episodes long after watching them, and wonder.
In "Naruto," the main character is an orphan who is ostracized in his village because of a demon sealed in his body. He struggles for years to achieve his dream of becoming a ninja. Neither talented nor powerful, he nonetheless gives it his all, never giving up and always getting back onto his feet when he fails.
People appreciate the determination of characters such as these, admire their courage and ponder their struggles.
"They address certain issues like where and when to trust," Pichardo said of anime characters, "where to set your goals, and the importance of knowing your limits."

The Bay Area's large and diverse population of immigrants, drawn from countries all over the world, is fueling enthusiasm for World Cup soccer games -- and it's also enriching the region's mainstream culture.

Bay Area residents, like many Americans, have spent the past decade only beginning to embrace an event, or rather, a culture, that to others is so much more than just soccer. Regarded by many nations as the biggest sporting event in the world, the quadrennial World Cup, held in Germany this year, is igniting fervor all over the globe. With fans hailing from Mexico to Australia's "Down Under," interest in the World Cup is growing so intense it could one day match the passion gripping fans in the immigrants' homelands.

In recent weeks, World Cup fans have been flocking to Bay Area restaurants, bars and cafes to watch the games. Recently, in the back of San Jose's newly reopened Latino sports bar -- Futbol, Antojitoes, y Mas -- Martin Garfias and his wife, Candy, waited anxiously to see whether Mexico would beat Portugal.

They woke up at 5 a.m. to join their fellow fans in watching what they called the "best sport in the world," at a small but cozy place they say is "like Mexico." By 7:15, the restaurant was filled with early risers in green jerseys and sneakers, with the Mexican flag draped over their backs. By halftime, Martin Garfias buried his face in his flag, disappointed at Portugal's lead. But he laughed and said, "I have Portuguese friends and we talk about it. They say 'We're going to win.' I say, 'No, we're going to win,' " Garfias said. "It's like a big friendship."

The reopening of the Latino sports bar, owned by Francisco Maciel, coincided with the World Cup.

"Since the World Cup, I have European, South American, and Latino fans" coming to my restaurant, Maciel said. An immigrant himself, Maciel said he's glad that his business has allowed new and longtime fans alike to enjoy the event.

Maciel's bar is one of many in the region catching World Cup fever. Mick Galvin, co-owner of downtown San Jose's Britannia Arms, turned on all 12 of his televisions at 7 a.m. last week to show the United States' game against Ghana and the Czech Republic's game against Italy.

"I grew up in the UK watching soccer, and we idolized many of our national players," Galvin said. Many people here "still play soccer when we can." His pub's consistent coverage of the World Cup has allowed him to attract many new customers from different cultures. Galvin understands their devotion to the World Cup and to their national teams.

It "has allowed us to bring some of the national pride to the United States," he said.

The enthusiasm has infected longtime Bay Area residents as well. Darryl Ospring, who held a season pass to the San Jose Earthquakes soccer games and is a member of a "big soccer family," has joined many local fans at Brittania Arms.

"I wanted to watch the World Cup with everyone because it is so much fun like this," Ospring said. "Except today, because we lost ... but now I'm going for Mexico."

The World Cup has become more than an exciting sporting event to Michael Raj, 38, who said it has enabled him to connect with his co-workers. Raj went with a group of them to watch the World Cup match between Brazil and Japan at Double D's Sport Grille in downtown Los Gatos. He immigrated from India 10 years ago, and now works at Xilinx in San Jose.

"Before this game, I didn't know many of my co-workers, and it has helped me connect with these guys here," he said. "We talk a lot about it in the office now. When I first came, I was the only guy in the office that had soccer posters all over my cube. The Bay Area is a lot more diverse, and that helps build a strong interest in the World Cup here."

Raj's co-worker Frank Kurosaka agreed. Kurosaka, 41, is rooting for his home country of Japan. He came to Double D's during his lunch hour for a World Cup game with his Xilinx co-workers.

The World Cup scene at Double D's also attracts business travelers from all over the world. Peter Single, a systems architect from Australia, was one of the very few watching the Australia vs. Croatia game at the Los Gatos restaurant.

Darren White, 31, an Irish businessman who was part of the Xilinx crew, says Ireland has a very different soccer culture -- a culture that can become too intense.

"Back in Ireland, we hate the English team," he said, adding that he hasn't seen that type of tension in the Bay Area.

Mark Massoumi, 50, said the World Cup has the ability to resolve cultural tension.

"When you discuss the World Cup, other issues will come up, such as politics," he said.

Massoumi has found that people who are watching World Cup games together often get an eye-opening look into other cultures. During the Italy vs. Korea game, he said, some people learned that Koreans bow when they greet each other as a sign of respect.

"Other things come into the conversation," he said.

It is uncommon to hear someone say, "That’s so straight." Yet, somehow, the phrase "that’s so gay" has become commonplace in everyday speech.
"I hear it a lot, more than once a day,'' said Jessica LaFrank, a senior at Cupertino High School who will attend De Anza Community College's Middle College program in the fall. "I hear it at high school daily. And at the mall, too. Anywhere there is youth around."

The phrase has become synonymous with terms like "stupid," "lame" and "annoying," and even worse, it's hurtful to people like Jessica, who recently acknowledged her homosexuality.
"It's become habitual, and people don't think about it unless they think it will offend someone. And they usually don't believe it will offend. But it does, " the 17-year-old said.
According to Shannon Turk, the director of Mountain View's Outlet Program to help gay, lesbian, bisexual and transexual youths, "more than 80 percent of the time, the language hurts."
So how has this term become a staple of daily conversation for teens? According to online encyclopedia Wikipedia's entry on sexual slurs, whether the slurs come to exist in society is "determined by a society's or subculture's set of values, especially its biases against genders or sexual orientations."
In simpler terms: The usage of the phrase may be masking a form of homophobia. Gay isn't the only word that may be used inappropriately and hurtfully but is in constant use in daily culture. Another common phrase? "That's retarded," and the psychology behind that phrase goes even further.
"We've started using all these more politically correct terms: disabled, handicapped, special ed. The term "retarded" is less of a mainstream word and left for teens to use as more negative slang," said Dr. Swathi Vanniarajan, a professor of linguistics at San Jose State University.
Leftover terminology isn't the only reason behind these secondary uses. The world's history of intolerance has snowballed to allow some terms to become more acceptable.
"There have been other times in history that dominant groups have used ethnic, religious, racial, sexual slurs against other groups and have been allowed to just by saying they 'don't really mean anything.' But they all come from a place of oppression. It speaks for a greater problem in society, " Turk said.
Peer pressure and the media also play a role.

It was a wild ride Josh Hernandez will never forget. He jumped into his friend's trunk and went for a quick spin.

"The driver made a sharp left," the 18-year-old Evergreen Valley High School graduate said, "and my body hit the wall."

"Trunking," or riding in the trunk of a moving car, was once an underground activity borne out of necessity -- too many kids and not enough room for passengers. But now it's become a growing phenomenon partly driven by a recent law that bans teen motorists from transporting minors in their cars.

Trunking has caught the attention of law enforcement agencies and legislators after two 15-year-old boys from Glendora were killed last year in an accident while riding in trunk of a car driven by an unlicensed 17-year-old driver. An Assembly bill to outlaw trunking and increase punishment is pending in Sacramento.

Many of the teens interviewed by Mosaic said they understood trunking is against the law, and its inherent dangers, but that they weren't dissuaded.

Talia Gragert, a 16-year-old Evergreen Valley student, has been in cars with friends who have ridden in trunks.

She understands that trunking is not "the safest thing in the world," but believes that it is "more convenient and a way of saving gas."

She feels that teens often struggle to find methods of transportation and simply have to go with what they have.

The back-seat passengers, Talia said, "kept folding down the seats to make sure'' the people in the trunk "were OK."

Emily Sanseki, 17, a Cupertino High School senior, hopped into a trunk of her friend's crowded car to go to a party about half an hour away. Another friend accompanied Emily in the trunk, too.

The ride, she said, wasn't so bad. She had someone to talk to and share the experience with. "It's just like sitting inside" the car, "except you're lying down," she said.

She wasn't worried at the time.

"They make trunks with emergency latches so I wasn't afraid of getting stuck, and I've never been in an accident,'' Emily said, "so that possibility hadn't occurred to me at all. We all got where we wanted to go, that's all that really mattered at the time."

Not every teen enjoys trunking.

Sixteen-year-old Adina Avram, a Branham High School senior, went trunking after she and her five accompanying choir members piled into a Honda Accord. Somebody had to go into the trunk and, because Adina was the smallest, the others told her to ride in the trunk. She reluctantly got into the trunk and they closed the lid. Because the trunk was dark, small and hot, she felt claustrophobic and a wave of anxiety hit her when she realized that she had no idea what was happening outside, she said.

She also didn't realize that the car's trunk was designed to absorb the impact of a rear-end collision to protect passengers in the cabin.

"I didn't know that the trunk could crumble," Adina said.

Carolyn Grover, 17, a Cupertino High senior, recalled driving seven friends to a birthday party two weeks after obtaining her provisional driver's license. Two of her pals rode in the trunk of her Honda Civic.

Her licensed barred her from driving any person under 18 without a licensed driver 21 or older also in the car.

"I was terrified of being pulled over by the cops because I wasn't supposed to be even driving my friends in my car, much less my trunk,'' she said, chuckling.

But since then, she has driven with teens in the trunk more than a dozen times and said she does so because she likes to "live on the edge."

It's this type of attitude that is bound to get teens into trouble or, worse, hurt or killed, authorities say.

According to the California Highway Patrol, riding in a part of a car not designated for passenger use has caused 153 collisions, resulting in 250 injuries and nine deaths since the year 2000.

From 1982 to 2003, 96 people were killed in trunking-related accidents, according to statistics compiled by the U.S. Department of Transportation.

The deaths last year of the two Glendora high school students, Chris Snyder and Scott Atchinson, underscored the dangers of trunking.

The boys hitched a ride with a teenage driver of a passenger-packed Mazda Protege to go home. The driver attempted to change lanes, hitting a tree-lined divider on Route 66. The boys were ejected from the trunk and onto the highway, where they were run over.

The accident is the catalyst for a proposed tougher law to stop trunking.

A bill introduced by Assemblyman Dennis Mountjoy, R-Monrovia, and supported by the families of the Glendora boys, would increase penalties and fines for both the driver and the passenger in the trunk. The total fine can reach up to $400 and violators will receive a traffic violation "point" on their records.

Under existing law, the fine does not exceed $100 and there are no points levied against the driver's record. And the person in the trunk faces no punishment.

The bill could be approved in August, said Dave Snyder, Chris' father and also the head of a foundation geared to educate 15- to 24-year-olds about the dangers of reckless driving, including trunking.

"Trunking is more of a problem than the public knows,'' Snyder said. "Parents need to talk to their children and make them realize that driving is not a right but a privilege and when they drive, they are responsible for themselves, their passengers and everyone else on the road."

Snyder's biggest challenge is to force youths to remember the potentially fatal consequences of trunking before they pop the trunk lid. Sometimes they seem only to remember after they climb out of the trunk.

"It was really fun," Hernandez said about his trip in the trunk. "We didn't know what could really happen because you don't really think of it when you're in the trunk."

One would expect 20-year-old Iraqi war veteran Eduardo Rivera to be fazed by his nine-month combat experience in Iraq. But as he speaks about his perspective on life after fighting on the front lines, he sounds optimistic.

"The fact that I'm still alive is very positive," Rivera said. "I like to serve, it's my duty and I take pride in it."

Rivera has been back in his hometown of San Jose for six months and is awaiting deployment to the Mexican border as part of President Bush's plan to secure U.S. borders. Rivera joined the Army National Guard when he was 18 and was sent into combat two months after he completed boot camp. During his tour north of Baghdad, he witnessed scenes few young men have.

On one occasion, his Humvee hit an improvised explosive device and veered into a ditch. The impact shattered one of his fellow soldier's legs and broke another's collarbone. Because Rivera suffered only minor injuries, he was able to provide medical aid to his comrades. The smoke and darkness made it nearly impossible to dodge incoming fire from an enemy he could not see. The concussion he suffered as a result of the crash still gives him headaches.

On another occasion, Rivera's Humvee collided with a suicide bomber's car. The Humvee was blown apart and it burned to the ground. Shrapnel penetrated Rivera's arm, leaving deep scars. He received a Purple Heart for injury in combat, a Global War on Terrorism medal, and an article of commendation for valor, as well as other awards that acknowledge his work in combat.

"We shoot stuff, blow stuff up, get blown up in the process as well," he said. "That's how it works. It's war."

Rivera says people want to know whether he has killed anyone but he said it is a very personal question.

"I have never answered that," he said. "I am not going to brag about it because I value human life. No matter who they are, a life is a life."

In May, Bush called for 6,000 soldiers to be stationed along the U.S.-Mexico border to help the U.S. Border Patrol reduce illegal crossings. Rivera is waiting to be deployed. It may occur within the next three months or he may not have to go at all. The irony is that he is a Mexican immigrant.

"It makes me laugh," he said about his next possible assignment. "I am Mexican, but my loyalty lies with the U.S. It's my job. I am an American soldier fighting for my country. Whether my country is right or wrong is not up to me to discern."

RIIINNGGG!! It's 7 a.m and Siddhartha Oza, a student at Palo Alto High School, sluggishly reaches for the snooze button. Oza is desperate for five minutes' more sleep having been up past midnight doing math homework, studying for tests in physics and Spanish, and preparing for a mock trial competition later in the week.

He's exhausted.

All across America, teenagers are repeating this scenario, not getting the proper amount of sleep. The average teenager requires nine or more hours of sleep each night, but most get far less, according to the National Sleep Foundation. Only 20 percent of all adolescents get the recommended nine hours of sleep on school nights, and 45 percent of adolescents get less than eight hours on school nights.

Among those adolescents who report feeling unhappy, tense and nervous, 73 percent said they don't get enough sleep at night and 28 percent said they feel too tired to exercise, according to a poll from the sleep foundation.

"This poll identifies a serious reduction in adolescents' sleep," Richard L. Gelula, the foundation's chief executive officer, said in a statement released in March with the 2006 Sleep in America report. "This is particularly troubling as adolescence is a critical period of development and growth -- academically, emotionally and physically."

As teenagers undergo physical changes, sleep patterns change, too. The body's "biological clock" shifts so that teenagers fall asleep later and wake up later. Also, high school is a time when students develop more of a social life and therefore stay out later. This normal development collides with classes for some students that begin as early as 7:30 a.m.

"Kids are not getting the full benefit of school when they are sleep deprived," said Dr. Rafael Pelayo, an assistant professor at the Stanford Sleep Disorders Center.

Sleep is supposed to be when the body recuperates. It is also when the body develops, and this is especially important to teenagers because their bodies develop so rapidly.

"I would never do well on the tests anyways, since I was tired because I didn't get enough sleep the night or morning before," Oza said. "I simply didn't learn anything after my brain shut down at 1 in the morning. I would continue to "study" until 2 or 3, but I wouldn't really learn anything.

"In my opinion, sleep deprivation is truly one of the most pressing teenage issues today. I, myself, consistently went to sleep after 1 or 2 in the morning throughout my junior year of high school simply because I needed the time to study for tests or finish my homework."

Sleep deprivation may also result in irritability, slurred speech, memory lapses and overall confusion. Many of these symptoms are similar to those of a person who is drunk or high on drugs. These impairments of judgment can have serious and, in some cases, fatal consequences. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, drowsiness and fatigue cause more than 100,000 traffic accidents each year, and younger drivers are at the wheel in more than half of these accidents.

Insufficient sleep also has been shown to cause problems in school because students find it more difficult to concentrate.

"Sending students to school without enough sleep is like sending them to school without breakfast," Dr. Jodi Mindell, the associate director of the Sleep Center at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, told the Associated Press recently. "Sleep serves not only a restorative function for adolescents' bodies and brains, but it also is a key time when they process what they've learned during the day."

Teachers, too, are noticing the effects sleep deprivation on their students.

"A lot of the students seem tired during class," said Tyler Hansborough, a teacher at Bellarmine College Preparatory in San Jose. "It can affect their participation, which is important in a language class. The amount of work they have is really demanding, especially at a school like Bellarmine."

Some people have suggested later start times for school as a potential solution to easing sleep deprivation. In Connecticut and Massachusetts, lawmakers are considering bills that would prohibit public schools from starting before 8:30 a.m. In Minneapolis, the starting time for school was changed from 7:15 a.m. to 8:40 a.m., and research showed that Minneapolis students went to sleep at almost the same time that they did before the time switch. This means that students slept almost an hour and a half more because they were getting up later.

Developing better sleep patterns can also help teenagers cope with sleep deprivation. Strategies include:
1. Avoid heavy studying or video games, which can be stimulating, before sleep.
2. Avoid sleeping while a computer or TV in the room is left on.
3. Don't sleep more than two or three hours beyond your usual wake-up time because it will disrupt your body's clock. Binge sleeping is seldom a good idea, because lost sleep is not something that can be made up on weekends.
4. Maintain a consistent sleeping pattern.
5. Be more efficient with time and cut down on procrastination. Wasted time needlessly contributes to later nights for increasingly stressed teenagers.

"Looking back on it, sleeping late or simply not getting enough sleep is a terrible idea," Oza said.

Cheers, claps and laughter filled the air as people in purple T-shirts moved up to the starting line. They were ready to begin the first lap of a 24-hour relay where team members took turns walking around the track to raise money for the American Cancer Society.

Relay for Life, held June 24 at Newark Memorial High School, raised $137,000 and attracted 500 people. But the relay had one emotional dimension that most sports events don't: Most of the walkers had battled cancer and survived.

These cancer survivors were there for one life-affirming cause: raising money to find a cure. As they walked around the track, the survivors were cheered on by friends and relatives. Stories of life after cancer mingled with the chatter of those walking just to help. Some knew their future was uncertain, and others were sure they had a long life ahead. But the hundreds of people walking to help find a cure for cancer agreed that it was an exhilarating way to help others.

Josh Harner, 15, was diagnosed with a brain tumor at age 7. He suffered from seizures constantly before he underwent surgery, removing the tumor. He has taken pills for eight years and, although his right ear is completely deaf, his optimistic outlook on life has not dimmed. He smiles as he talks about the relay.

"I like seeing all the people who survive," he said. "I come out here with my grandpa, a survivor from lung cancer." Josh has a message for any other young people who get cancer: "Don't be afraid to come back to school."

Vernon Lucas, 63, was hospitalized seven years ago when a routine kidney check-up turned into a diagnosis for prostate cancer. Given that daunting prospect, Lucas didn't give up, and persuaded himself not to think of the diagnosis as a "death sentence." He is clear of cancer now. He said a lot of people don't feel like fighting when they find out they have cancer. Although he goes through dialysis regularly, he has kept his happy go-lucky spirit. He said he was proud to be giving back to the community in events like the Relay for Life, and living his life to the fullest as a survivor of prostate cancer. He takes life as it is, adding, "I'm not going to worry about it. The more you worry, it doesn't help."

Brenda Boston, 53, has been free of cancer for 18 years after finding a cyst on the right side of her chest about 20 years ago. When it was evident that the cyst was breast cancer, she decided to have both breasts removed. The decision was radical at the time, and Boston's plastic surgeon had to persuade her general surgeon to go through the process. Boston said her family had a history with cancer, and although this particular cancer targets the breast, it could develop into brain cancer, lung cancer, skin cancer or other cancers.

Her sister, Sandra Boston, 52, who also battled breast cancer, had a much tougher time. The effects of her cancer treatment were so severe, "I should have died three times," she said. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she opted to have only one breast removed, and underwent radiation. She said the radiation destroyed her skin cells and left her with a five-inch hole where her breast had been. Doctors had to remove a muscle from her back to cover the hole.

Although she has to undergo surgery in September for more chest problems, she still goes on. At the relay, she urged others to fight cancer as hard as they can and added, "Remember that you can beat it."

After all her struggles, she was ecstatic to have recovered enough to be in the relay.

"There is life after cancer," she said, teary-eyed.

Even casual sports fans know that professional athletes aren't exactly law-abiding citizens. Sure, most pro athletes dedicate most of their lives to attain abilities most of us can only dream about. But when it comes to using the muscles in their heads, some athletes are pretty much beginners.

Recent reports of athletes getting into serious motorcycle crashes have made headlines. A few weeks ago, Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback and Super Bowl champion Ben Roethlisberger crashed his bike into a car, suffering a broken jaw, broken and chipped teeth, a mild concussion and other facial injuries.

Roethlisberger was warned repeatedly by his head coach Bill Cowher to wear a helmet while riding, but Big Ben just wouldn’t listen. The injury was neither life- nor career-threatening, but Roethlisberger has said that if he rides again, he will wear a helmet.

To add insult to injury, Roethlisberger was fined almost $400 for not wearing a helmet and not having a motorcycle license.

If a near-death experience won't teach Big Ben, nothing will.

Former Chicago Bulls guard Jason Williams went through a horrific motorcycle accident in 2003, crashing into a light pole and fracturing his pelvis while suffering nerve damage to his leg. Before the crash, Williams was on his way to a promising career with the Bulls.

The former No. 2 overall pick has not played in an NBA game since.

You've got to feel bad for Williams, who is working on a comeback. At the same time, you must blame him for driving without a helmet and license. How can you declare yourself fit to drive such a dangerous vehicle without having the proper qualification or protection?

Cleveland Browns tight end Kellen Winslow also was on his way to a successful NFL career, until he almost threw it all away -- surprise, surprise -- by crashing his bike.

The sixth pick of the 2004 draft, Winslow cut short his rookie season with a broken leg. In the off-season, he crashed his bike while doing tricks in a parking lot. The incident was caught on tape, giving everyone a chance to see how bone-headed some pro athletes can be.

What thrills could you possibly get from riding a bike that you can't get from catching a touchdown pass in front of 70,000 people, or soaring up to the rim to dunk a ball while the crowd goes crazy?

Unfortunately, it's not just the way athletes drive that gets them in danger, but also what's in their system when they're driving. You give me a week of the year, and I'll give you an athlete who did something stupid because of alcohol.

Either they drive when they drink, they slap their wives when they drink, or they give it to underage girls who shouldn't be drinking it.

Even athletes who we think are squeaky clean, like Duke University guard J.J. Redick, are not immune to the powers of booze. Redick was arrested for drunken driving a few months after leading his squad to the NCAA tournament.

Cincinnati Bengals wide receiver Chris Henry was charged with providing three underage girls -- ages 15, 16, and 18 -- with alcohol and he also was charged with speeding and drunken driving. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

The sad part is it seems athletes are screwing up, but that they are not learning from their fellow athletes, or even their own mistakes.

I want to sit Chris Henry or Virginia Tech quarterback Marcus Vick down and ask them both how they can get handcuffed so many times in so short a time span. If athletes keep going the way they are, I don't think we're too far away from hearing about an athlete who loses his life because he drank a little too much and rode his bike a little too fast.

Most people know the words "challenging" and "best" don't mean the same thing. But that hasn't stopped Newsweek from confusing the two in a recent article that ranked every public high school in the United States. Not only are these rankings a ploy for publicity, but they also are flawed and misleading.

When I first saw these rankings, I believed them, until I looked deeper into the issue. Newsweek ranked schools according to a ratio devised by Jay Mathews, an education reporter at the Washington Post, based on the number of Advanced Placement tests taken by all students at a school, divided by the number of graduating seniors. AP tests are supposed to demonstrate to colleges that a student can handle a college-level class, and many students use AP tests as tools for getting into good colleges.

If you haven't noticed already, there's a serious problem with this formula. It's based on the idea that the more a school pushes a student to take AP tests, the more a school challenges a student, and hence, the better the school.

But the rankings don't consider how well a school does on these tests. A school ranked very high on the Newsweek list can have students getting low scores on AP tests, while a lower-ranked school can have most of its students getting high scores on AP tests. It doesn't make sense to rank something on quality when the actual performance doesn't matter. When the NFL season ends, do you see the Lombardi trophy given to the team that has the most grueling practices and training camps? No, because results and performance matter.

When 70 percent of students at a school ranked highly by Newsweek perform poorly on AP tests, as the New York Times found, the purpose of education and learning is defeated. There is no point in doing something if it isn't done right. Otherwise, all you're going to end up with is an incomplete final product and a bunch of wasted time.

Also, some schools have prerequisites for taking an AP class, while others don't. This bars many students from taking an AP class and hence, schools without prerequisites have advantages in the Newsweek rankings. These prerequisites exist so students don't overburden themselves and find themselves in situations they can't handle. This is a worthwhile approach, but it leads to a lower ranking under the Newsweek method.

Mathews, the creator of the rankings, acknowledges that his method doesn't include factors such as how well a school performs in math and science competitions because such things can't be quantified. In that case, why try to measure something that is inherently unquantifiable? Ranking schools against other schools is a subjective process.

People should put little weight on these rankings because they're created with the intention of selling more magazines. "I know last year's issue sold very well and that's why we did it again," Mathews told the New York Times.

"I would have preferred we call the list the most challenging schools. But I will defend 'Best.' 'Best' is a very elastic term in our society."

So, does everybody get to pick their own method to rank the best schools? If so, I'll just go out on a limb and say that my school, Palo Alto High, is the best school in the entire country. But instead of using the ranking that Newsweek gave us -- 300-something -- we like to think as ourselves as No. 1 -- the title granted to us by being state basketball champions for 2006.

I look at Mischa Barton or Jessica Alba and think, "Life is just not fair." It makes no sense that they have "perfect" figures and I don't. That is just the way it is. Some people are built thin and sleek, others heavy and curvy. It's called genetics.

But images in popular culture create the mindset that being 5 feet 11 inches and 110 pounds is realistic and that Nicole Kidman's physique is completely reasonable to attain.

Yeah right.

The average American woman is 5 foot 4 inches and 140 pounds. Not really a comparison there.

It is impossible to pinpoint the perfect figure, if there is one at all. The ideal body has changed throughout history. Although I'm sometimes dismayed over my less-than-ideal figure, I'm reinvigorated by the notion that my body would have been at the height of fashion in the 1950s and that it was once widely considered beautiful. But guess what? It still is beautiful, along with every other body trend this world has seen.

Look back at the art of the ancient Romans and you will see androgynous woman with toned physiques and a strong persona. This image of perfection is found in Academy Award-winning actress Hilary Swank, a strong woman who took on the roles of a boxer in "Million Dollar Baby" and a transgender teen in "Boys Don't Cry."

The ancient Greeks' idea of perfection, as seen in their statues, was streamlined and soft, much like pop culture's golden girl, Charlize Theron.

Jump forward to the 16th century with the paintings of Peter Paul Rubens and you will see that a completely different body type was glorified: heavy and voluptuous. Our modern-day counterpart to a Rubens painting? Queen Latifah. Full-figured and loving it, she proves that skin and bones is not the only kind of beautiful.

The 17th century also emphasized shapelier figures, with women wearing corsets and bustles to create the illusion of a small waist and big hips. Sound familiar? Think Jennifer Lopez or Beyonce. They both created pop culture movements with their big booties and fit upper bodies.

Skip ahead to the 1920s, and the trend changed yet again. Having a boyish figure was ideal; women resorted to taping down their breasts to have the boxy shape. Nowadays, itsy-bitsy Nicole Ritchie exemplifies this look.

In the '40s and '50s, people returned to embracing their curves with Marilyn Monroe as the prototype. Jessica Simpson and Scarlett Johansson are just two of our most beloved modern celebrities who typify this look.

With the 1960s came a new wave of stick-thin models and waiflike icons, including supermodel Twiggy. Sienna Miller is our Twiggy, along with actresses such as Barton and Mary-Kate Olsen.

The '80s symbolized the aerobics generation with people like Jane Fonda leading the way for women to be thin but toned. This also describes the buff yet beautiful Angelina Jolie. Her stint as Lara Croft in "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" proved that she was not merely slender, but she also was fit.

The '90s were a time where health and fitness were thrown out the window and replaced with "heroine chic," as represented in the still-popular model Kate Moss.

All of these modern women are, were and will remain beautiful. Regardless of trends or shifts in public opinion, women should not get discouraged because they do not fit into the mold of the perfect body at that moment. The closest you could possibly reach to perfection is you, in whatever skin and shape you were born to have.

Mireya Valez's cell phone bill was spiraling out of control. She needed money fast but she was afraid to tell her mother. She turned to a familiar place for help: the San Jose Flea Market.

"I basically went vendor to vendor and tried to find a job," the 17-year-old Foothill High School senior said.

A week later, she was hired to sell shoes full-time on the weekends and was being paid on commission. Her problems were over.

"On an average Saturday or Sunday, I leave this place with about $50 to $60," she said.

Mireya is just one of dozens of teenagers, and a handful of even younger children, who work at the Berryessa Road flea market, a bustling bazaar of goods and commerce. To some, a job at the flea market means money to spend for fun and clothes. To others, working means pitching in to help their families. But they all learn about the value of patience and responsibility, and working hard under tough conditions.

A sea of white tarps acts as canopies over Space 401, where she and three other teen-agers sell men's Oxfords, women's sandals and high heels. But the tarps can't spare her from the sticky heat of a 95-degree day.

"It's all right. It's just hot,'' she said, while admitting she'd rather be working in an air-conditioned mall.

For Mireya, looking for work at the flea market was almost second nature. When she was a child, her mother often took her along while shopping there.

Eight-year-old Mahmoud Radi is already creating his own memories at the flea market. Mahmoud, 4-feet-11 with light-brown hair and dazzling green eyes, plays an integral role in the clothing stall that his family operates -- the boy translates Spanish and English to his Arabic-speaking father, Husam Radi.

"He speaks for me when I can't communicate with the customers,'' said the elder Radi. "I like this job for my son because he used to be afraid to speak English when he was first learning, now he is confident. I watch him. Everything he needs to know he can learn here. I try to give him help so he will be successful in his future."

Mahmoud, who grew up in Guatemala, learned to speak English during school at Forest Park Elementary in Fremont.

"I can sell just about anything,'' he boasted while his father listened and shook his head. "I can trick customers into paying a lot. I'll put prices high and then bring them down and still make money."

And he does make money, about $15 to $20 a day on the weekends. Currently, Mahmoud has about $135 saved up.

He pointed to a vendor across the way that sells motorcycles. "Just $70 more and I can get that motorcycle," he said.

Around the corner, past produce row where you can smell the scent of cherries, mangoes and fresh bread, is Space F101 and Gurpreet Kaur, a.k.a. Preety, a 12-year-old incoming eighth grader at Martin Murphy Junior High.

As her mother's main assistant for the past three years, Gurpreet has seen it all at "Hardware and Canopy,'' a stall that sells equipment to other vendors who need tarps and poles to set up their businesses.

"The customers can be annoying sometimes, but I've learned to deal with it," Gurpreet said, referring to some who complain about prices. "I have learned patience and, of course, responsibility."

The black-haired girl works weekends and Wednesdays -- during the summer -- from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m.

"I don't get paid," she said. "My mom doesn't hand me money at the end of the day but she does buy me all my clothes and everything I need, so in a way I do get paid."

Once in a while, Gurpreet's mother will give her a day off. But in reality, Gurpreet has little to say about it.

"She doesn't really have a choice, I'll ask her to help sometimes, but either way she's coming to work with me," said Gurpreet's mother, Randeer Kaur.

For Gurpreet and her mother, working at the flea market has been a time for bonding. Since they are the only family members working the stand, Gurpreet tells her mom anything and everything -- boys and school. She may not be sitting on stacks of money but the memories are everlasting and make her work experience worthwhile.

Like Gurpreet, 17-year-old Thien Le works at the flea market to help his family. He gives the $50 to $60 he earns while working the weekend at his uncle's gardening equipment stand to his parents.

The James Logan High School senior said his parents need the money more then he does because they are still getting on their feet here in the U.S. after emigrating from Vietnam two years ago.

"I'd rather work at the flea market than anywhere else because my family works here," Thien said.

With the renewal of the immigration debate in early May, I observed many of my peers at Willow Glen High School walk out of classrooms in protest of the immigration bill in Washington that threatens to punish many of their undocumented friends, relatives and even them. While I objected to rash and unorganized protesting, I admired their passion for the issue. It had never occurred to me that in the same schools and neighborhoods walked teens who may share my ambitions, but not the same legal opportunities to pursue them.

A new perspective had come to light. It initially seemed too subjective for my often rational way of thinking -- which would in any other case prompt this kind of response: If you are illegal, you have no legal rights. But a re-evaluation of their cause provoked me to recollect memories of my own experiences with immigration and helped me shape a better perspective.

For the first seven years of my childhood, I lived in a province on the outskirts of Hue, Vietnam. I was rarely perplexed with the problems that were permanent facts in the daily lives of my family. I never realized that for every day I played, my parents labored in sweat and tears. Summer days were when my dad spent countless hours in the sweltering crop fields and my mom, in her fragile health awoke, at the crack of dawn to sell household items in the village market. School days never inspired individualism, but preached impossible goals centered on the good of the community, or rather, the good of the Communist Party. The regime and undemocratic traditions it fosters are responsible for the misguided progress of my country, the harsh lives of my hardworking parents and the unpromising futures of my friends. Yet my country has not strived for democracy since the tragic Vietnam War. My parents never spoke out their complaints and my peers never showed signs of individualism.

All this I did not realize, until my family legally immigrated to the United States with the help of my father's role as an officer in the South Vietnam coalition during the Vietnam War. It was a turn of fate I now value more than ever.

It was not easy. My siblings and I struggled to learn English to help ease the culture shock while my parents continued to overwork to pave paths for our futures. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment in downtown San Jose where airplanes flew so close that they seemed almost at arm's reach. I remember always wanting to jump high enough to grasp their wings, fleeing hardships and returning to the familiar Vietnam.

Yet daydreams like these were impossible and, as I later learned, not true dreams to begin with. I realized that my ambitions and dreams extend beyond the limited opportunities of Vietnam and the expectations I grew up with. Living in the United States has given me both knowledge and opportunities to pursue passions and dreams.

This experience connects me directly to the immigration debate and to the people potentially affected by the bill. I share with many illegal immigrants, especially youths, a desire to pursue dreams and achieve what our homelands could not offer us. But the law sees us only as two kinds of individuals, legal or illegal. Two letters make all the difference. I was lucky, and they were not. I came to realize how much people tend to forget that the immigration debate is more than just a yes or no on HR 4437. The heart of the debate lies with the people.

It is so easy for critics to cite unemployment and crime rates when they argue against illegal immigration. And I can only say that not all illegal immigrants are deserving of the opportunity to pursue their dreams in America.

But what's not so easy is becoming a victim of human trafficking -- suffocating in ships and boxcars and wilting in the barren deserts of the Southwest, in pursuit of unfulfilled dreams. Such an experience is beyond me, and perhaps even beyond the toughest critic.

What I end up with is an uncertainty, but a good kind of uncertainty. I find peace in knowing that the understanding I have now is a result of a deeper introspection into my life as well as theirs. Some may never come to realize what I have, and I don't have the power to change this. But I do urge open-mindedness.

In early June, our representatives in Congress voted themselves a $3,300 pay raise by not voting against it.

Allow me to elaborate. Each year, Congress members get money force fed to them because it's the law. Back in the day, congressmen received up to $2,000 for giving public speeches. Soon, congressmen realized they could make more money doing speeches than passing good laws.

So, they came up with the Ethics Reform Act of 1989 to give Congress a 2 percent cost-of-living raise each year.

The only way this raise isn't given is if an elected official goes well out of his or her way to petition against it.

If every business doled out an automatic raise like that, capitalism wouldn't exist and strip club owners would rule the world.

The worst part about it is, while Congress was refraining from voting against its own pay increase, it did vote against two other increases: Democratic and Republican bills for raising the federal minimum wage. Ironically, that may have been the closest the two parties have been to agreeing on anything this year.

Yes, it was the same meeting. And yes, they voted against what would benefit the greater population -- raising the minimum wage either $2.10 or $1.10, and adding select benefits.

Never mind that the total of what congress has received from just seven years of these annual 2 percent salary increases is almost triple what a typical minimum wage worker makes in a year, $10,712.

Congress could benefit the greater good by raising minimum wage to $7.25 or $6.25 with select health benefits.

The opposing side will say that small businesses will not be able to survive if a pay increase were mandated. They will be unable to support a higher wage for workers and therefore go under.

However, this argument is not credible, as the state of the poor in our country is sub-par. The benefits of raising minimum wage would solve a few problems:

More Americans could invest more heavily in the economy because they would have the means to buy more and save more. People would take greater interest in stock or invest more in banks.

People would feel they were being treated more fairly by their government and, most importantly, have more confidence in their representatives.

Many families on the high-end of the welfare scale will be bumped over, taking them off the government's payroll and enabling them to make their money for themselves.

Raising the minimum wage would stimulate the economy and create more customers and revenue for American businesses, as well as stop the need to compete with cheap imports.

Businesses could make up for higher employee wages by increased sales. The number of people under the poverty line would decline and Americans would feel better about their government's concern for their well-being.

It will be difficult for Congress to do this because it takes a conscience to help others before you help yourself. I believe they can find theirs hidden behind a hefty stack of taxpayers' money.

A friend in my orchestra class once asked me, "How do you know that you have courage? Why try something if you know you can't do it?"

She's only 14 but already she's one of those people who feel they're the worst at everything. Even when I tell her she's improving at her music, she simply can't believe it. We spend hours arguing about whether it's really possible to make our dreams come true.

I refused to believe anything is impossible and raise my sister as an example.

My twin Alice Chen, 17, is legally blind and an amazing artist.

While we both love art, she puts a lot more effort into it. Her art teacher at Cupertino High School adores her work, and she's begun entering competitions, winning one honorable mention and passing the first round of the InSights Art Exhibition, an art competition for visually impaired students hosted by Lighthouse for the Blind.

Every piece of art has its own feeling, an emotion she is trying to show by drawing it. When she places a stroke on paper, she may not see it but she knows where it is and what's supposed to come next --- the whole and the heart. It's about taking the image in her head and translating it onto canvas, so it doesn't matter if she can see it or not. After the rough outline, she'll refine the details under an electronic magnifier, and no one will ever know that the artist is disabled.

Still, my friend remains skeptical. She plays the violin but is so afraid of sounding terrible that she never dares to volunteer for more prominent roles in our orchestral concerts. She wants to be a great musician yet she can't come to terms with the fact that she has to start somewhere.

It's embarrassing how she idolizes my violin skills as First Chair. But she's never dared to ask me straight out how I do it -- people are always afraid of offending me by bringing up such matters.

You see, like my twin, I am also a legally blind student.

Learning pieces takes me two to three times longer than it does other people. All my music has to be enlarged to two or three lines a page. Before we could afford one of those hulking old copy machines, my parents had to draw every note by hand on huge sheets of construction paper. I have been frustrated and tired. Notes sometimes mix themselves up in my vision and I can't play anything resembling music until I have everything memorized, but I never give up.

Music is the universal language, and I love being able to express my emotions through my violin. I work hard and worry harder, but it all pays off when I step onto that stage.

As a violinist, I have attended three competitions alongside people with healthy vision and walked away in the top three every time, as well as with an award for best Chinese piece for a folk song called "Yu Zhou Chang Wan," or "Singing the Night Among Fishing Boats." If I had never tried to play violin because of my visual impairment, I would never have known how well I could play.

Everyone has their weaknesses, whether it's my eyes or my friend's lack of confidence. It is different for everyone and we each have to find our own ways of dealing with it.

Besides, exceeding expectations is half the fun.

When people look at me and my twin, they see people with serious problems. We're legally blind so they don't expect us to excel at anything. We delight in showing them how wrong they are.

Being better than average is satisfying enough. Being disabled and knowing that they didn't think we could do it makes the victory that much sweeter.

An inconvenient truth may prove to be an ineffective one.

The movie "An Inconvenient Truth," documents former Vice President Al Gore's simplistic approach to the complicated threat of global warming. Using only a slide show and his own personal accounts, Gore explains the potentially detrimental effects of the United States' energy-consuming lifestyles.

The movie aims to educate and warn the public about daily energy-use habits, but the movie may not be as eye-opening as it was intended. For viewers leaving the theater at a late-June screening in Campbell, the movie seemed to reinforce what they already knew and practiced.

"We're very ecology-minded now and we do an awful lot environmentally. We use solar panels, purchase hybrids and recycle," said one moviegoer leaving the Campbell screening. "We do all these things because we believe in the environment."

Similarly, others in the theater responded that they already use fuel-efficient cars, buy energy-saving light bulbs, take public transit and recycle.

At least one viewer said he had made a drastic lifestyle change before the film's release.

Alphonse Grunenwald of San Jose said he contributed to the movie's message of conservation by moving downtown for "easy access" to his destinations. As a result, he said, he no longer has to commute far for social activities.

Those in attendance who say they already are taking part in the fight against global warming were still glad to have seen the "truth."

"The film was informative, interesting, thought-provoking and depressing," said Rachel Sack of San Jose. " It's something everyone should see."

Sack added that "everyone" should include San Jose city officials.

"The city needs to improve public transportation - it's popularity, efficiency and emissions," Sacks said.

City officials responded that although there has been progress, more could be done to improve the city's energy efficiency.

"No, we're not 100 percent," conceded Anna Jatczak, who helps oversee the city's fleet of vehicles. "But in this generation, constant improvement never stops."

Jim Cogan, chief of staff for Councilwoman Linda LeZotte, explained some of the city's accomplishments in pursuit of a more environmentally safe city. LeZotte has earned a reputation as an environmental advocate on the council.

"San Jose is the first municipal city to join Sustainable Silicon Valley, an organization committed to lowering carbon dioxide distribution," Cogan said. "We also have what we call the 'Green Building Policy,' which deals with alternative ways to develop and make buildings more ecologically efficient. We use single-stream recycling and have one of the highest diversion rates in the country."

Single-stream recycling refers to a method for picking up curbside recycling that requires fewer garbage trucks and less sorting by residents. The diversion rate refers to the percentage of solid waste that is recycled rather than sent to landfills.

Regarding transportation, San Jose's airport is integrating certain alternative fuel vehicles, using compressed natural gas and decreasing the use of petroleum-based gasoline.

More motorcycle parking spaces will be available in city parking garages, encouraging motorists to use the more fuel-efficient alternative. A recent grant from the Bay Area Air Quality District will help modernize the city's diesel vehicles and cut down on emissions.

When asked how he thinks San Jose as a city is progressing environmentally, Cogan said, "Well, we're doing a lot, but we can always do more."

Although San Jose has worked to become greener, significant progress -- in San Jose or across the planet -- may not be seen until those with the information can give it to the public.

And "An Inconvenient Truth," with its built-in environmentally conscious audience, could merely be preaching to the choir--a choir that may not be around much longer if the public ignores the global warming problem.

Nobody cares anymore.

Youth in the early 21st century are definitely a new kind. They listen to hip-hop and rap. They wear outrageously showy clothing, whether at nightclubs or school. They get intimate at early ages and, oh - they don't give a damn about politics.

Teenagers these days couldn't care less about voting and government. The late 20th century saw a sharp decline in the number of young people who vote, read or watch the news.

How many 18-year-olds run to the nearest ballot box to cast their vote in presidential elections? The amount of 18- to 24-year-old voters has dropped from 50 percent in 1972 to an appalling 32 percent in 2000, according to the U.S. Census Bureau -- a record low since 1964, when the bureau began keeping records.

It's like a time bomb. As each generation gets more apathetic, we will reach a point where we are so detached that we don't realize the government has become unaccountable.

My generation is more independent than ever. Families aren't as close as they were in the TV-dinner years. Then there's the music, blaring profanity. And the fashion, with girls wearing close to nothing. And the Americanization of immigrants; I'm pretty sure my progeny three generations from now won't even know how to say "hello" in Chinese.

These combine to form the finger-flipping, school-ditching, constantly cussing, politically indifferent kids we call the teens of the 21st century. As a detached generation, these attitudes make us care less about political conventions and Supreme Court rulings and more about the latest punk rockers.

I'm not saying that everyone is indifferent. I'm not saying that nobody cared about 9/11 or that nobody has an opinion on the war in Iraq, global warming, immigration restrictions or wire-tapping. No, there is reaction to these matters; there always will be. I'm just saying that it's been decreasing, and that when protests do happen, they don't seem to occur in the same magnitude as they did in the past.

We have to do something. We have to take the initiative.

The situation is not hopeless, though. Despite this huge decline of youth voters, between 2000 and 2004 there was an astonishing 11 percent increase in voter turnout ages 18 to 24, according to the Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement.

Some young people have begun to realize that terrorist attacks, the war in Iraq, catastrophes and insurgencies might actually have an impact on them.

It's not enough though. When compared to demonstrations in the past, it's nothing. Look at the black-armband wearing decade of 'Nam. Look at the millions of blacks and whites who stood up (or sat down) for the civil rights movement. Look at those tree-huggers clinging onto Sequoia sempervirens for their lives.

What's ironic is that we live in a democracy that allows us to choose our leaders, but we are losing our voice because of apathy.

Interestingly enough, political people realize that this trend of youth indifference is increasing, and they're actually doing something about it. Senators and other political candidates are, for example, promoting themselves in a new medium that the generation has indulged in. Yes, it's the Internet. It's multimedia. It's "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart."

We're at a critical time in which we can swing back into activism. We can't let our political attention span plummet like Enron's stock prices. Let's get off our butts and start rebuilding our reputations as rebels. Keep holding immigration rallies even though May Day has passed. Keep writing letters to senators protesting the genocide in Sudan. Keep being active on your campuses.

Or you can just sit back on the couch, grab some chips and watch "American Idol." I mean -- who cares?

Vida Chen, 18, stands at Santa Clara and San Pedro Streets in San Jose, asking pedestrians, "Do you have a minute for the environment?"

Chen, a San Jose resident, works for Environment California, an organization that collects money from the public to influence state legislation on environmental issues.

At Smith College in Massachusetts, Chen was looking for a way to change the world as well as find a summer job. She stumbled upon Environment California; soon she was attending to the growing concerns over global warming.

"It let me get more involved with this issue," she said.

Many student organizations and youth activist groups are trying to show the world that global warming is serious and that it's having detrimental effects on the Earth.

The issue is gaining credence. On Monday, the U.S. Supreme Court entered the fight, announcing that it would take a case on vehicle emissions standards.

But the battle goes on at the local level. College students such as Chen, who wears a blue Environment California T-shirt, inform the public and try to persuade people to help campaign for a greener world.

Chen stood in 90-degree heat for five hours June 23 with Brooks Brandt and Christina Galvan, both 18. The three students cover the San Jose area as part of the Menlo Park branch of Environment California. They work five hours a day, six days a week, at different locations, talking to passersby about the environment.

"There are people who walk by who are willing to donate," Brandt said. And that's exactly what happens. Many people sign up for membership and donate to the cause. Their contributions are used to fund political campaigns.

Global warming could become "the largest environmental issue of this century," said Michael Hanemann, professor of environmental economics at the University of California-Berkeley. "It's a very large problem. It's going to increase in magnitude as the decades advance."

The phenomenon is caused by a buildup of "greenhouse gases," which mainly include carbon dioxide, methane and nitrous oxide, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. Released by the burning of fossil fuels, these gases build up in the atmosphere and blanket the Earth, trapping in heat from the sun.

The past few decades have seen an exponential increase in carbon dioxide, mostly generated by human activity, Hanemann said. As a result, the Earth's temperature has been rising. In the 20th century, the Northern Hemisphere's average global surface temperature rose one degree.

Although it doesn't seem like much, small temperature increases may have enormous ramifications. "It's a profound change in our climate that is unprecedented in human history," Hanemann said.

Former Vice President Al Gore contends in the documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" that glaciers and ice floes have been melting at alarming rates. He says that if it isn't controlled, Greenland would be iceless by 2050. That much water would raise the sea level by about 20 feet, drowning low-lying areas such as Manhattan or coastal India and affecting more than 100 million people globally.

Environment California is dedicated to preventing this. It has supported several bills that have passed through the Legislature; in January, a measure was passed that allocated $3.2 billion for installing solar panels on new buildings in California.

This summer, the organization is working on Assembly Bill 32, the California Global Warming Solutions Act of 2006, said 20-year-old David Wyman, citizen outreach director of Environment California's Menlo Park branch. The bill's goal is to reduce the amount of carbon dioxide emissions in California by 25 percent by 2020 and 75 percent by 2050. Wyman hopes for it to be passed by Aug. 31.

Other programs, such as the California Public Interest Research Group (CALPIRG) have similar goals.

"We want to have all campuses be carbon neutral, or to have a 90 percent reduction within the next 50 years," said CALPIRG Student Board Chair Tamasso Boggia, 19.

Like Environment California, CALPIRG also runs on donations. But the money comes from UC students, not the general public. To keep a CALPIRG branch running, at least 20 percent of a campus's student body must pledge at least $5 annually.

"The only way we manage to stay on campus and keep our funding is the pledge fee," Boggia said. "We have to take a week out of our activities each quarter and talk to all students."

One of the largest problems student activists say they face is the community's general indifference toward global warming. "It affects everyone," Galvan said, "and the sad part is that a lot of people are apathetic."

Nonetheless, students and organizations are working to imprint the seriousness of the matter on the public.

"It's the most important issue of our generation," said Dan Xie, 19, a UC-Davis student. "The human ramifications in the next 20 years would be huge." She coordinates her school's CALPIRG Campus Climate Challenge, a national program focused on making college campuses more energy efficient. Ultimately, she just wants to make a difference. "I hope I can make a little dent in the universe of politics," she said.

The next few decades will be strongly influenced by what is being done right now, Boggia said: "It is our future we're fighting for."

On May 1, more than 100,000 people from all over the Bay Area came to San Jose and peacefully rallied for immigrant rights. The march happened on a Monday -- a school day.

Among the mix of children, parents, immigrants and non-immigrants were many high school students who ditched school to make the event. Several other protests in March and April also fell on school days. High schools in the San Jose Unified School District saw a general decline in attendance whenever there was a rally.

While school officials don't mind students supporting the immigration debate, they don't want them to cut school for it.

Hilary McLean, spokeswoman for California Superintendent of Schools Jack O'Connell, said O'Connell "encourages educators to help students learn and express their views on the rallies and protests while in school."

Alex Barber, a 17-year-old student at San Jose High Academy, knew beforehand of the ramifications of cutting class. An ardent supporter of the immigration demonstrations, he ditched a few times to participate in the protests. He even cut class in April to promote a protest. He got in trouble for that.

"That made me clean the whole school for a week," he said.

School districts are paid by the state based on attendance; the more students are absent, the less funding schools receive. "Attendance is taken in two stages -- P1 and P2, respectively," said Karen Fuqua, public information officer for San Jose Unified. One check is in the fall, and the other is in the spring. The spring date was in mid-April, which fortunately was before the Day without Immigrants rally.

Because most rallies happened in the afternoon anyway, the financial effect on the school district was minor. Fuqua explained that cutting class affected the students academically because they were "missing out on preparing" for state tests.

Despite the downsides, many agree the rallies have been effective in demonstrating deep involvement in the immigration debate.

"It shows how many people actually know what's happening now and are against it," Barber said.

"We're very proud of our students and how they behaved," Fuqua said. "They led rallies downtown, led rallies of their own. I think it gained them respect."

Even though the bulk of the protests have ended, students like 17-year-old Braulio Gonzales, who attends Menlo-Atherton High School, are on the lookout for more opportunities. "It's a thing that you hear in the news and you keep your eyes peeled."

It's a long way down from the mayor's office on the 18th floor of San Jose City Hall to the first-floor booking center at the Santa Clara County Sheriff's Department.

The arrests of Mayor Ron Gonzales, 55, and his top aide on charges of bribery and conspiracy represent the lowest point in a political career that now looks ruined. From a once promising path that started in Sunnyvale and later led him to the podium at the Democratic National Convention, Gonzales now finds himself fighting for his reputation and to stay out of jail.

The indictment says the mayor was involved in covert actions to benefit the garbage company Norcal in changing their subcontractor's union and, in the process, issued an unnecessary $11.25 million dollars to the waste hauler. The mayor says he hasn't done anything wrong. Nevertheless, the unprecedented charges have put Gonzales and members of his team under the microscope and up against critics who say he failed to follow his father's example.

"My father, my mother, our family and I have lived in this valley for over 50 years," the mayor said at City Hall five days after he was indicted. "I think we've established a strong reputation for the name Gonzales and we're going to continue to have that strong name. What's at stake here is my reputation, my family's reputation, and the reputation of my staff."

Gonzales grew up in Sunnyvale, a town that evolved from acres of fruit orchards into a hotbed of the high-tech industry. He admired the work of his father, Bob, a devout Roman Catholic who served communion wafers to farm workers in the fields. It was Bob Gonzales who first got the mayor interested in politics by bringing him to school board meetings and trading notes with him afterwards.

Sal Alvarez, a friend of Gonzales' since before his college days at the University of California-Santa Cruz, said, "Ron was very attached to his father. His life with Bob was entrenched in the service arena. The two were inseparable."

It's a mystery to people who knew the father and son, but the mayor somehow developed a far different political philosophy. Bob Gonzales was a blue-collar social activist grounded in his community. Ron Gonzales became a white-collar, fiscally conservative, networking Silicon Valleyite. The son did not have his father's charisma. He relied on his father to reach out to the public.

After attending De Anza College and UC-Santa Cruz, Ron Gonzales became the first member of the Gonzales clan to receive a college diploma. He spent some time at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University, then returned home and ran for mayor of Sunnyvale in 1972. He lost by 300 votes. He tried again in 1978, running unopposed, and served as mayor of Sunnyvale from 1979-1987. Under his leadership, Sunnyvale won nationwide praise for efficient management of taxpayer money.

In 1988, he won election to the Santa Clara County Board of Supervisors. He soon found himself in the minority, outnumbered by social liberals. Gonzales was the only supervisor to reject a motion to rebuild the Valley Medical Center, upsetting many in the Latino community and other supporters of public medicine. He later floated a plan to privatize the hospital. The proposal went nowhere.

After serving two terms as supervisor -- the limit -- he cast his eyes on the mayor's seat in San Jose. Gonzales moved there and became an executive at Hewlett-Packard, Silicon Valley's iconic company. His time at HP proved to be a valuable networking forum, providing him with contacts he would rely on later.

After living in San Jose for four years, he ran for mayor. He used his ethnicity and his business savvy to win the corporate world's political support. He won the mayor's seat on his first try in 1998. Could the governor's mansion be next?

As the first Latino mayor of San Jose in modern times, he became an icon for that community, whether he wanted the role or not.

But soon after, he dropped a quote many would remember to this day. In response to a question on his status as a Latino leader he said, "I'm not a Hispanic mayor, I'm just a mayor who happens to be Hispanic."

This comment was "like a slap in the face" said Jose Montes de Oca, a community health and housing director who has known Gonzales for approximately 19 years. "It was like he was turning his back" on the Hispanic community. "We were all extremely disappointed."

The outside world didn't seem to notice. Hispanic Business Magazine named him one of the "100 Most Influential Hispanics."

Gonzales reached the pinnacle of his career on Aug. 14, 2000, when he delivered a keynote speech to the Democratic National Convention in San Diego. He represented the party's vision of the new, fiscally prudent and socially aware Democrat, one who would appeal to both mainstream and minority voters. He was a rising Latino star.

It was soon after that the star began to fall.

County Assessor Larry Stone probably knows Gonzales as well as anyone in politics. He served with Gonzales on the Sunnyvale council and has known him for 31 years.

"It is tragic to see what happened to him,'' Stone said. "He was so well-positioned for statewide office."

One month after the convention, rumors spread that Gonzales was having an affair with a woman less than half his age, a staff member in his office. Gonzales denied the accusation but in a Clinton-esque turn, later admitted he did have an affair with then 25-year-old Guisselle Nunez. She resigned three weeks later. Gonzales said he would put the affair behind him and make amends with wife, Alvina.

He didn't.

Gonzales later admitted that the affair with Nunez went on "a few months" after he had promised to cease seeing her. After 22 years of marriage, his wife filed for divorce in early August 2001. Gonzales and Nunez eventually married in September 2004.

Ever popular, Alvina Gonzales delivered votes, especially the women's vote. Some considered her more likeable than the mayor himself.

"The affair caused him to turn inward because he was being so attacked," said Terry Christensen, a political-science professor at San Jose State University. "Although he never has been the most outgoing, warm politician."

Despite the scandal, Gonzales still had Jude Barry.

Barry had known Gonzales since his early days as Sunnyvale mayor and was Gonzales' chief of staff. The two had a loyalty and confidentiality unlike any other of Gonzales' other staff members.

Together, they pushed through a successful ballot measure that promised to bring a Bay Area Rapid Transit extension to San Jose. They delivered low-income housing, after-school homework centers and shifted redevelopment money to neighborhoods.

Barry, however, left Gonzales in December 2000. The two haven't spoken in more five years.

"All they want is honesty," Barry said of San Jose's residents.

Stone said he witnessed a transformation in the mayor's abilities after Barry's departure.

"His turnaround was when he lost Jude Barry," Stone said. "Barry was perfect for Ron in office as far as staff goes. You need solid, trustworthy political people advising you. Losing Jude has been very detrimental to him. ... He is no longer getting the right advice."

Richard Robinson, a political consultant who has watched Gonzales, uses a popular line for describing Gonzales' decline:

"When he lost his father, he lost his soul. When he lost his wife, he lost his heart. When he lost Jude Barry, he lost his mind."

At the start of his first term, Gonzales' approval rating was 70 percent. Today it's at 23 percent.

Still, Gonzales has his defenders.

Dustin DeRollo, Gonzales' former deputy chief of staff, credits Gonzales for investing $100 million in neighborhood housing and tens of millions more in other new projects.

"People will try to sum up his career with" the Norcal scandal, "but they need to look at what he's accomplished since 1999," DeRollo said. "He's a good man."

However, losing Barry and his wife was just the start. Scandals erupted over Gonzales' involvement in a contract awarded to Cisco for work at the new City Hall, a project Gonzales had taken over, bloating the cost. Gonzales was accused of not telling the council all they should know and working deals behind closed doors.

That was all before his biggest headache.

With the Norcal indictment, a mayor who promised good government for the city and hope for its Latino citizens now clings to his wife's arms at news conferences.

His budget director, Joe Guerra, faces a five-year prison sentence and $54,000 fine. According to Barry and others, Guerra was the dominant personality in the office and wanted all issues or concerns to go through him.

Robinson put it bluntly: "Ron trusts Joe. Mainly because Joe gives him a lot of leeway, responsibility and power without questioning it."

Norcal, which has become known as "Garbage-gate," has also lost the mayor the support of his fellow council members. All but two have demanded his resignation.

Ron Gonzales, the defiant mayor, says he won't step down. Some would say he already has.

Arammaly Iem survived land mines, starvation and the Khmer Rouge, but it was gang warfare in San Jose that almost destroyed him. And his salvation would also be rooted in violence -- the drive-by shooting of a friend.

On an August night in 1994, Iem and three of his gang brothers had been drinking and then hopped into a pick-up truck. As they traveled south on Highway 101 near Tully Road, an Acura Integra carrying three people came alongside and fired shots that hit Iem's friend Son Nguyen.

A terrified Iem held Nguyen in his arms as they rushed to a hospital. The incident left Nguyen, who was shot in the face, a quadriplegic and forced Iem to confront his own gangster lifestyle.

"That was then that I realized, man, I have to get out," he said.

Now 32, Iem is working to keep at-risk kids out of gangs. He serves as a counselor for the Safe School Campus Initiative, a program funded by the East Side Union High School District that provides counseling for young gang members.

Iem was born into well-off family that grew mangos and oranges on a farm in Battambang, a province in Cambodia. His father, Meo, was a police officer who later became a soldier and fought the communist insurgents of the Khmer Rouge. His mother, Mi, stayed at home, taking care of him and his brother, Long.

As the ruthless Khmer Rouge assumed power and began its extermination of 1.7 million people, Iem and Long, one year younger than Iem, were separated from their family and forced to work in a child labor camp run by the government. His mother and grandmother, Som, were sent to a labor camp for adults. The family would reunite at night after the camps were closed.

Eventually, Long, 2, died from complications stemming from starvation, Iem said. The fate of his father is unknown, but Iem presumes he is dead, too. He last saw him fleeing from the Khmer Rouge.

"My dad disappeared into the forest without telling us where he was going. He didn't want to leave us, but he had to because if he, as a Cambodian soldier, were caught with our family -- we would have all been slaughtered," Iem said stoically.

Facing a hopeless future, the family decided to escape Cambodia. They headed to Thailand on foot, watching out for Khmer Rouge soldiers.

"That time in my life is embedded in my brain. It was harsh to lose family and to be surrounded by death. We were wary to step over the bodies of the dead that were everywhere, and even then we had to worry about the landmines," Iem said.

After more than a month of grueling travel, they found themselves in Thailand, living in a refuge camp operated by the United Nations near the Cambodian border. When he was 9, Iem and his family immigrated to San Jose after being sponsored by relatives. He became one of 150,000 Cambodians who migrated to the United States.

But in coming to San Jose, Iem soon found himself facing new problems: poverty and racism.

"People made fun of me and other refugees for not having the right clothes and for not being the right race," Iem said. "I was called a 'F.O.B.' and a 'Chinaman' for the way I looked."

His family's only source of income was government welfare. He found it difficult to communicate with them about the issues in his life

"It was kind of an Asian thing to find it hard to open up to my family and talk about issues like sex, drugs or gangs," he said. "It was just easier to talk to my friends.''

The racism and emotional separation from his family led him and many of his peers in similar situations to start a gang to "gain respect," he said.

"We were being called all these names and that's not what we were. We had to distinguish ourselves not only as Cambodians, but as people not to mess with,'' he said.

Iem and his friends formed the Cambodian Crip Gang, allying themselves with the Crips, a well-established black gang. The Crips adopted Iem's gang and they often hung out at each others' parties. The refugees even adopted the Crips' color, blue, while passionately resenting the color red and all gangs affiliated with it because of its association with the red communist Khmer Rouge.

"All of us had family members who were killed by the Khmer Rouge,'' he said.

Soon, the Cambodian Crips Gang graduated from "hanging out" to criminal activities such as selling drugs, robbery and stealing cars, stripping them for parts and selling them, Iem said.

Fights with other ethnic gangs were virtually a daily occurrence.

"We fought because we had to back up what we believed in, that we deserved respect," Iem said. "Being Asian, everyone wanted to test us, wanted a piece of us, we just had to prove ourselves."

As deep as Iem was in the gang, he deviated from the gangster norm by graduating from high school and avoiding drugs.

"I still had a sense of responsibility and didn't want to be a loser," Iem said. "I also never did drugs. I knew what they did to people, the addiction, the pain."

Iem's lifestyle took an emotional toll on his family. After Iem was stabbed in the arm by a rival Latino gang member during a fight, he avoided his mother and grandmother for several days and did not return home until his deep wound had healed.

"My commitment was more with my gang back then. Sometimes it makes me want to emotionally break down when I think about the pain I caused them," he said.

Then came the night Son Nguyen was shot, a turning point in Iem's life.

Slowly, he weaned himself off the gang life . Those close to him immediately noticed the change.

"He knew what his life was about after he left. He knew what to believe, spiritually and morally, and he became more calm," says Lavinh Vongsouvanh, a close friend and co-worker who has known Iem since his gangbanging days. "Leaving also helped him develop a sense of other people's cultures, when before, he would only care about his own."

With the help of an anti-gang outreach worker, who also happened to be Cambodian, Iem joined the Right Connection, a gang-intervention program that later became the Safe School Campus Initiative, in 2000.

Iem now works with many young people who come from various backgrounds and gangs. He offers legal advice, personal advice and even mediation truces for feuding gangs. It's rewarding work, he said.

"It's overwhelmingly frustrating at times, but when you make a connection with a kid and he starts to actually listen -- you can see in his eyes that you're affecting his life," Iem said. "That's one of the greatest feelings in the world, to know that I have the power to make a positive impact."

"One thing I've noticed about all of them is that they're all the same once you strip them of their colors.''

Iem now shares a close, loving relationship with his mother, and he knows firsthand how important a role communication between a parent and child plays in keeping kids out of gangs.

"I just want to shake parents sometimes," he said. "Some are completely clueless about the paths that their own kids are taking.

"Even worse, some are encouraging their kids to join them in the gangs that they themselves are a part of -- it's like a circle, the cycle just keeps going and going.''

According to Iem, about half of the kids that he works are lost to the streets while the other half -- the lucky ones, like him -- find a way out.

"It was possible for me to have killed someone back then,'' he said. "I thank God everyday that I never went that far.

"I feel like I'm blessed to have escaped, like there was a spiritual power that prevented me from doing anything else that I might regret. I must have a guardian angel somewhere."

Heart-shaped clouds decorate bright, blue skies. Heaps of teddy bears lie in mounds. Female construction workers drive flowery, pastel trucks and work in frenzied motion to construct a giant, high-heel shoe.

This is the world created by Katherine Aoki in her recent art exhibit, "The Cult of the Cute," at the San Jose Museum of Art. It is a world filled with the construction of giant monuments to girlhood and with teddy bears transforming into "glammed up" bears, adorned with nameplate necklaces labeled "Sex Slave" in gold. Aoki combines bright colors and the Japanese anime style in her art to explore gender stereotypes and the media's effects on women and young girls.

In an interview conducted by e-mail, Aoki gave some insight into her art:

Q: You named your exhibit "The Cult of the Cute." Why?

A: "The Cult of the Cute" exhibition features works on paper from my recent body of artwork titled "Construction of Modern Girlhood." The word "cult" suggests seductive danger -- in the images in the show, monuments of girlhood and super-cuteness are constructed and worshiped by anime female characters and teddy bears.

Q: The women in your paintings are performing empowering roles that do not necessarily fit into stereotypical gender roles of women, yet the tasks they are performing seem rather superficial, such as building a giant shoe. What is the message here?

A: The "Construction of Modern Girlhood" series is a visual allegory that depicts how the media affects girls. In particular, the media is selling a false sense of "girl power" by promoting sexiness or excessive cuteness in young girls instead of the true power that comes with skills, learning, self-confidence, etc.

Q: I would like to know why you chose to use the Japanese anime style in your paintings. Is it in any way used to contribute to the greater meaning of your work?

A: The anime construction girls represent the media. I chose the cartoon look of anime because it is ubiquitous in advertising and imagery aimed at young people, including girls. These construction cuties are overseeing the erection of giant monuments to girlhood for worship. I want the viewer to think "Right on! Girl Power!" initially, but then notice that the things they are building are not symbols of power at all. The teddy bear characters (who represent regular girls) are captured and transformed into sexy submissive workers who must help build the monuments.

Q: Is there an overall message you would like to send?

A: On one hand, I want the audience to be satisfied visually with the work, whether or not they get the message. I hope that the familiar format of cartoons, along with the color and detail in the imagery, will lure the viewer in for a closer look. At that point, I hope the viewer will recognize that there is something wrong with the system portrayed -- that being sexy/cute, or buying products of the same, does not translate into true girl power.

Day by day, Enrique Flores found himself falling into the gang life. And his brother inadvertently provided the gateway.

Flores, who grew up on San Jose's East Side, idolized his older brother and was always by his side. Soon, rival gangs assumed Flores was a full-fledged gangster. At that point, Flores joined his brother's gang.

"In seventh grade I began to go to gang meetings because I was getting chased'' by his brother's enemies, said Flores, 27, who eventually quit gangs, attended Santa Clara University and now counsels troubled teenagers.

For Flores and many others like him, their introduction into gangs wasn't a conscious choice but rather a path paved by a relative or member of their household. There were no initiation rites. Instead, they were forced into gangs by familial circumstances.

"Some get jumped in, others get 'sexed in' and others commit a crime to prove they're down, but I was just let in because of my mom's boyfriend," said Julie O., 30, a former gang member who now directs a teen services program for the YMCA in San Francisco.

She declined to be identified by her full name, fearing repercussions from the gang members she once ran with.

Her mother's boyfriend had a corrosive effect on her life, she said. She alleges he molested her -- and he also brought his Sureno gangster friends to her East Los Angeles home.

Julie soon compared what she saw -- gang members, guys who seemed to have it all, driving expensive cars with their flashy girlfriends -- with what she knew at home: her aunts cleaning house, picking up after their children and cooking for their husbands. It was an easy choice: She decided to embrace the gang life.

The decision led her to a year and a half at a Los Angeles County camp for youth offenders and also to San Francisco's juvenile hall.

At 14, she was convicted of severely beating a rival gang member. Julie said her friends also were involved in the fight, but they let her take the rap.

"I was the only pendeja," or dummy, she said, "that didn't change my story, so I was the only one who did time.''

Her homies turned their backs on her in another way, too, she said. They never phoned, wrote or visited her while she was in custody.

When she was released from the youth camp, a judge sent her to live with a foster family in Contra Costa County because of conditions at her East L.A. home, Julie said. After she arrived in Northern California, she attempted to join a Sureno gang in San Francisco.

""I didn't like it,'' Julie said, "because the gangs were prostituting the girls, and I was used to selling drugs. ... The gangs up here are different from the gangs in LA.''

At 18, when she left foster care, Julie dropped out of gangs for good, she said. She realized all her friends had either become drug addicts or were dead.

Julie is estranged from her mother, who now lives in Berkeley.

"I was mad at her for a long time and I was hurt,'' she said. "I really hated her but now I let it go.''

Conversely, Flores talks to his brother once a month. But they never discuss the past, he said.

Foster care children are dumped out of the system at age 18, ready or not. Now, experts are seeing more foster care teens thrust into the real world each year, with no skills to survive, trusting no one and having to fend for themselves.

Because teens are legally entitled to independence at 18, the foster care system stops supporting them at that age. Foster care officials in Santa Clara County say they have started classes to prepare foster care teens to live on their own. But the classes need more funding because social workers have too many cases.

For one teen, these classes have come too late.

"It's been crazy, very crazy," said one 21-year-old who ended up on the streets after aging out of the foster care system. The girl was taken away from her biological mother when she was 13; her stepfather had been molesting her. She withheld her name because she did not want her new employer to know her past.

When she entered foster care at 13, she did well in her new foster home, earning As and Bs in school and participating in sports. For three years she made progress and she remembers her foster parents getting "big fat checks.'' But they seemed dissatisfied with her and she felt depressed all the time. Then her foster parents grew so displeased that she was sent back to a group-care home. For her, that meant the end of all hope, and she began to get into trouble. By 18, she was sent from juvenile hall to the streets without the skills to succeed.

Belinda Ramsey-Quesada, a spokeswoman for Santa Clara County's social services agency, said children legally become adults at 18. But she also acknowledged that some teens might not be ready to live independently by then. Santa Clara County has initiated a program, Connected by 25, to support some of these teens.

The 21-year-old girl shows how much help some teens still need when they turn 18. After her first foster parents sent her back to a group home, she was introduced to drugs and alcohol and she ended up in juvenile hall. She enveloped herself in drinking and drugs because she felt her foster parents gave up on her. After she was released from juvenile hall at 18, she shrugged off an offer to join a support program, feeling the need to be independent. Although she has a job now, she still drinks at times in an attempt to cope with troubles in her life.

She feels sure she would be successful had her foster parents not given up on her. If they only had a little bit more trust, she said, "I wouldn't have had to come out such a bad way."

Some foster teens, however, succeed. Monica Simon, now 24, had more stable foster care than most children growing up -- she was able to live with relatives under foster care's "kinship care'' program. Still, when she was forced to leave her grandmother's house at age 18, she was homeless for two weeks.

But she found a room paying rent to an aunt an