Finally finished with Finals.

The hard part of Finals is ... finishing them.

I completed my Ancient Sexuality paper just in time. In my haste to take a nap, I sent a "Yay, here you go!" email to Professor-Captain Kirk Ormand, but forgot to include the attachment with the actual paper. It had been a long night.

I've spent the past few days on the paper, focused on seductive lyric poetry in Greece and Rome. I argued that the poems weren't seductive at all. Generally, the poems demeaned the person they were hoping to woo. The pieces, in my view, were intended for something else entirely: asserting the masculinity of the narrator/author. The paper was called "Boyfriend Training."

I muddled through the Astronomy final, nailing the math problems, but totally forgetting how to find supernovas and any useful data about quasars. I'm still working on finished David's paper. The day after the Sexuality paper, I worked on the drama paper, but for some reason, I didn't save it at the end of the night. I lost about 4 hours of work. Pleasantly, I also found that when I opened the document, my paper was awful. Really, quite awful. So I spent the past 5 hours trying to make the paper more coherent.

And then, I worked on novella. And worked. And worked.

And now, I'm done! I've been to the library, bought my parents Christmas presents, worked out at the gym for a really long time, gotten dinner with my grandmother, and slept.

Overall, I fought really well in the War Against Procrastination, battling the axis of academic apathy:
1. Friends
2. Webcomics
3. Events

Friends
These are the Clytemnestra of my life, the sweet dangers who may lead to academic disabling. Pretty, kind, intelligent, bearing tasty things and good ideas. We all cluster in the academic commons of the library, cozy ourselves and chat. I must be wary of them.


Webcomics
A laundry list of foes:
XKCD, Questionable Content, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, Married to the Sea....


Events
Around the end of the year, most folks have their recitals, final projects, and all sorts of ridiculous study breaks. Some days, the "Study Breaks" start at 10:00AM and end at midnight. If you attended all, you'd be in trouble. I focused on a few: a three-band show, the Dead Hear Footsteps (WOBC radio noir drama), the Storytelling EXCO's final show, and Artwalk.

Artwalk is one of my favorite events at Oberlin. The art students of all levels and mediums take over studios, the classrooms, and the hallways of the building. Any empty space is snatched up and covered with photos, sculpture, or paintings. Hallways, furniture, doorways... last year, there was a sculpted boat made of passports sitting between two of the art wings. It's free, open to the public, and packed.

Some of my favorites:
Seth's photos. Seth is one of my coworkers for Academic Ambassadors and his project was perfect. Obies are not very... formal people, in action or in decor. We wear comfy clothes. We're pretty chill. So when there's someone who behaves in a more formal manner, it's pretty interesting. Seth's pieces explored his own formalism, with two black and white photos selected from his set. In both, he was dressed like a young power-broker, tied to a chair or wearing a dunce cap.

Natalia's Quinceañera photos were brilliant.

I asked my friend Izzie if she had any pieces for Artwalk (she's an art major), and she ducked her head and said, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. Don't go for me." Izzie is modest. And highly ridiculous as her piece was beautiful--a dual-layered piece using transparency sheet with the physical form and an underlayer with the skeletal structure, shaded to show a sense of emptiness. Still, Izzie was better than Liz, who forgot to tell me that she had a mixed-narrative piece up--a giant mural with a woman waiting on a road, Wyeth-esque, with a story she told playing on an old walkman.

Many of the pieces were interactive games. A crowd favorite was the Cat Chess Board:






(Anna and Sandhya)

Speaking of Anna, she also had a piece up that gorgeously blended about 10 different cartooning styles, from Ramona Quimby to Eloise. I got lost in it for a while.



Besides this, there were a wall of faces, an installation piece on the divide between Palestine and Israel, colored vials, comics (one by Nick Wirtz, a design/artist/video genius). Antonio built a tank.

The work was so imaginative--being able to see it really helped me through the tedium of Finals.

Afterwards, I went to the Cat and danced to OSTEEL, Oberlin's awesome steel drum band.








Happy holidays!

** Photo Credits to Ma'ayan "Gorgeousface" Plautand the OSTEEL website!

Work it for Women was sponsored by 4 different organizations: SURF (Students United for Reproductive Freedom), ACTS (Advocating Choice Though Spirituality), ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), OC Democrats, and HIV Peer Testers. Outside of the Sco, each group set up tables with information, selling brownies and snacks to raise money for local abortion funds. And inside of the Sco, after a donation, was really excellent music.

As Medicaid covers the procedure only in cases of rape, incest or life endangerment, abortion is functionally inaccessible for low-income women in this area. The money raised by Work it for Women was to help women with the costs of an abortion: travel, overnight stays and child care. At one count at the end of the night, the event raised over 2,000 dollars and also educated hundreds of students regarding the difficulties of obtaining an abortion, showing ways in which students can help.

After talking to a few SURF workers, I went inside to the concert. I caught the tail end of Like Bells, Will's really amazing band, and stuck around for The Sauce and The David Bowie Cover Band.

The Sauce is the high-quality funk jazz that play really solid sets. If there's an official school function in which dancing would be good... the Sauce is there. They're mostly jazz studies majors who have their licks down, so when they play, it's obvious that they're having fun. The guitarist, Jamey Arent, was particularly on, wearing this incredible look of rapture during his solos. The lead singer, Alex Birnie, did an amazing job working up the crowd. I had slid to the front and stood near Mike King on keyboards, who looked zen for the whole show, even when the tempo picked up.

And then, the Bowie Cover Band. Confession: I love David Bowie.

When I was still a bump in my mother's womb, my dad made my mom an excellent Bowie mixtape for her hour-long drive to college. Twice a day, she played the mixtapes, for my entire fetus-hood. I gestated through Space Oddity, Ashes to Ashes, Modern Love, John, I'm Only Dancing and Young Americans. My brain formed with saxophone solos. Now, as an adult, I know the lyrics to Bowie songs that I've never heard before. I've watched Labyrinth, the Prestige and The Man Who Fell to Earth. I know all the different stages of Bowie, from Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke.



The David Bowie Cover Band shook my world.

First, it was a big band: two sax players, two guitarists, a violinist, a drummer, a pianist, two back-up singers and a front man. They were all very attractive. Very, deeply, poignantly attractive. I needed to fan myself as they did sound check. The whole band were all in some form of Bowie regalia -- Andrew, one of the sax players, had the Aladdin Sane face-paint; Derek, the guitarist, wore a man-dress; the drummer wore faux-snakeskin pants. And the lead singer embodied Bowie, his blond hair slicked back and his eyes rimmed with eyeliner. Throughout the set, the Lead Bowie adopted the trade-mark mannerisms perfectly. He only left the persona for a few minutes during a break in the set to read a PSA about abortion statistics.



The crowd responded very, very positively: fans howling lyrics back at the band. Some of us jumped onto the step in front of the stage, just to get a little closer. Most of the folks in the audience were dancing in a crazed exuberant way: arms flying, hips shaking, legs kicking. You don't grind to Bowie; you dance. At the end of the show, the line for the water fountain was impressive.

After the concert, I walked one of the organizers home, to Johnson House, then back to North, which is the longest walk one can take on campus: 15 minutes.

The next day, after a tour and two circus meetings, I went to Ed Underhill's senior recital. As mentioned here, the composition students at school are top-notch. Ed's focus was on evocative, narrative pieces -- after college, he's going to grad school for film musics. From his concert, it's pretty clear that he's already on his way. Also, he plays the accordion. What can be better?


(Ed playing with Erika Oba in the Circus)

His first few pieces were solos and duets, but his final two pieces incorporated a small orchestra -- there were up to 19 people on the Warner stage. The final two pieces were incredible; the word "soaring" was described for those pieces. Best of all (for me), the pieces told a story. More than many pieces of writing, Ed's music had a strong narrative arc, which really grabbed me. The entire audience sat rapt, completely enraptured. I read an article in Slate that pinned down the feeling: "elation."

It was a good weekend.

+ Photo Credits: Kate Ettinger and Ma'ayan Plaut

Contra Dancing: What, Where and Why You Should Do It

As mentioned, I'll do anything for a contra dance. But what is a contra dance?



Well, depending on who you ask, it's a line, social, square dance, or barn dance, built out of English folk dance traditions. A caller reads out instructions for the dance, walks everyone through it once, and calls out moves throughout the dance. Everyone partners up, but also dances with every other couple on the line. I think it's all a metaphor for infidelity within small towns: you'll stay with your partner, but you'd really like to take on your neighbor.




The contra theme was "Formal," so I wore my little black dress and went out to dance with fine-frocked ladies and buttoned-up gents. I've been getting into leading, as well as following, which is helping me with my overall frame. The contra scene here is very cool with non-standard gender pairings: women leading women, men as follows... it's all good. It also leads to better dancing all around, when you understand why your partner makes the movements that he/she does.





It's a very easy dance to learn. The essential move is the "swing," where each partner faces the other, rests their arms on the other's back and spins around. It's awkward for the first few times -- you feel as if you're skipping while attached to another person -- but with practice, it comes easily enough. The other moves are deliciously simple: the allemande, the do-si-do, circles, stars... all of which the caller's say in time with the music, so the entire room of dancers moves in unison with their separate partners.

And of course, there's live music. The contra band has a rebellious streak, changing its name for each gig. Tonight, they were "Stretchy Rhino." Or "Chewy Rhino." Or "Tasty Rhino." Besides a fiddler, there's sometimes dulcimer, banjo and percussion.







It's also a great way to make friends. Rather than club dancing, contra has space to speak with your partner, rather than just whirling around. I've gotten to meet some amazing people: not only other Obies, but folks from around Ohio. As I've been doing it since I was a wee first-year, I've gotten to see people change. One girl who started going when she was 12 has now hit puberty and talks to me about middle school -- another partner has just fathered a child. It's a different slice of life.

One of my favorite partners is Glen, who I've been dancing with for about 3 years. Besides being a supremely kind and generous landlord to college students, Glen works as an electrical engineer. His workdays start at 5:00 AM and end at 6:00 PM. Strangely, he's a relaxed, easy-going guy. Over the summer, we got coffee and chatted about progressive radical baptists, permaculture, music and peace movements. As much as I love college students, it's nice to be able to connect with someone who's in their 50's.

The dances typically end with a waltz, but this one had a special ending show, from the rapper sword Exco, dancing with huge bendable swords in gorgeous patterns!




*Images courtesy of Dale Preston, Ma'ayan Plaut and the Oberlin College Contra Dance Club!

Don't Let Go of the Coat

When I was a freshman, I got to campus a day early before Orientation started. Mom and I took the day to walk around town and dedicate ourselves to one vital task: buying a winter coat. This was, of course, in August, but my mother is Norwegian and believes (understandably) that one could not live without a good coat.

So, we strolled through town. The college and the town are literally built into each other, founded in the same year. There's no set point where the town "starts" and the college "ends": no wall, gate or door. Initally, this confused the hell out of me, but now seems normal. In about 5 minutes, Mom and I passed a café, comic book shop, two hair salons, two banks, an ice cream shop and a dozen different restaurants - Asian Fusion, Chinese, Mexican, breakfast, classic Americana... but precious few clothing stores. Curious, we asked the saleswoman at Ben Franklin's, the town five and dime. She smiled at us and waved us down the street to Bead Paradise.

The store right next to the official college bookstore, Bead Paradise has huge glass windows and three sections: on the main floor, an upscale clothing and jewelry section; upstairs, an eastern section; and downstairs, a dirt-cheap vintage section. While my mother briefly dallied at the beads, I ran down to the vintage floor. It was gorgeous. Each inch was packed with discount dresses, skirts, slips, rubber boots, leggings, hatpins and winter hats.

We ooh'd. We ahh'd.

In the back stood a wall of coats where my mother was waving her arms, saying, "It's you! It's you!" My mom is a hard lady to ruffle-up, so this behavior was pretty exceptional.

It was a good coat, camel-colored, made off a recycled fleece-type material. I walked over and tried it on. The sleeves were long, giving my fingers had a lot of wiggly-space. The inner lining had a shiny and very soft front layer holding back a small woolen layer, the thickness of an eraser.

We did the jacket's longevity by dropping it repeatedly on the ground, then jumping and stomping on it. I warmed my hands in the pockets. I popped the collar, buttoned, unbuttoned and re-buttoned. I rolled up the sleeves. We wanted something lovely that would last. I tried on other things, to test the waters, but returned back to the original.

Perfect. Twenty Dollars.

I've worn it nearly every cold day, for the past 3 years.

It's my defining piece, from when I was a gothic first year, to a shaved-headed sophomore, a harried junior and now, a senior. Whenever I've slept on one of the comfy couches of a dorm lounge, it's been my blanket. When I went camping on Fall Break, it was my pillow. I've used it as a towel, when my real towels were still in summer storage. I used it as a bandage when I've fallen on my face, the time I went "skating" on the ice in the Arb. I've worn it to see renowned speakers, like Michael Pollan. I've traveled in it, across the country, from New Orleans to Dallas, Poughkeepsie, Pioneer Valley and San Francisco.

Last year, the pockets wore away. By now, there are long rips at the side, making it look like a fashionable lab coat rather than something meant for wind, rain and snow. There are mud and salt stains on the edges and the cuffs are frayed. Worst of all, the inner lining, so soft and delicate, has ripped almost entirely away. The coat is just canvas now.

Last week, someone on my tour asked, "Is your coat meant to make a statement?"

I stared dumbly at her and burbled out, "Uh... Not really, no. It's like my skin now, y'know, I can't really not-wear it. ...Yeah." Which was potentially the weirdest thing I've said on a tour in recent memory.


So today, Black Friday, day of national capitalism, I went to buy a new coat. The vintage store in the bead shop has since closed, but most of its goods have gone to Ratsy's, the antique store just past the public library. Ratsy's has a more focused selection than the old vintage store, targeting '50s era Americana. Inside its homey walls lies everything from old-time Life magazines, wooden furniture, china, plastic dolls, and ancient Oberlin College yearbooks. Given my height, nearly six feet, and proportional hips, '50s Americana is not my era. But I did find a coat.

I love it. It's red, long, warm with unnecessary buttons and belt. The inner lining isn't as soft, which is probably good, and the overall material is hardier, a bit closer to wool. It cinches in the back, so I can look ladylike if I want. The sleeves are a bit shorter, so I'll potentially get less wear on them. It looks like it can take a few years of not-so-tender care, wherever I may be.

The owner, the eponymous Ratsy, was at the cash register and gave me a free toy! I also purchased: a hat and a present for Ma'ayan.



I'm keeping the original coat, of course. There's a lot of life in that bit of fleece.

To Do List

To Do:
(I think you can tell a lot about someone by their To Do list.)


Memorize and Block Scene from Arcadia for David Walker's Contemporary British and Irish Drama class.
There are many reasons that David Walker's class is amazing. It's the quintessential discussion class at its most effective. David makes sure the conversation avoids becoming cyclical, but doesn't lead discussion too forcefully, save to have us focus on individual scenes at some points. Discussion moves swiftly, as everyone in the room cares. The class has an interesting mix of Theater and English majors, two very different groups with very different concerns. When we do check-ins--a quick go-round-the-room of each person's gut response to the play--I hear an incredible flurry of comments addressing everything from structure, to gender, a character's particular motivation, intellectual ideals, trouble with staging, one's emotional response, use of language, social implications and a million other things.

We're reading Tom Stoppard's Arcadia this week, so a familiar phrase in check-in was "My mind is blown." Chris Sherwood has spent years telling me about how amazing this play was, and how he needed to do it as his honors project. Then, he would start babbling about gardening, budding sexuality, hermits, historical revisionism and how staging it in Hall Auditorium would be the best thing in the history of the world excepting the invention of Legos. And for years, I would nod and say, "Of course, Chris. Absolutely."

Except Chris was correct. Arcadia is amazing.

The other repeated check-in question was: "I wonder how this looks staged."

That's my homework. Each week, two folks in the class present a scene--blocked, memorized and polished. It's really incredible to watch the classroom get transformed into a stage and to see my demonstrative, passionate classmates become a rapt audience. I'm up for this week, playing 13-year-old prodigy Thomasina as she plots fractals, plays the chaos game and gets googly-eyed over her tutor. I'm excited, but I'm awful at memorizing. I love doing "research"... which is to say, reading about chaos theory.

I'm also doing the scene with Alex Huntsberger, one of the best actors at Oberlin. Normally, Alex is a pretty relaxed guy. But when he goes into character, it's incredible. The Alex-ness of him goes away, and someone completely different peeks out from behind his eyes. I've seen him in shows before--but to watch the transformation from 2 feet away is ... mind-blowing.

PS: When I botched one of the monologues, I kept my face down for a large part of the following discussion. Damn you, overdeveloped sense of shame.


Write More for my Novella Class
Right now, I've churned out 47 pages of a dystopian love story criticizing big box culture called "Wasteland." It involves sewage, child labor, the 1939 World Fair, engineering and romance. I need about 20 more pages, and need to polish it up before my Novella class eats it alive. Novellas are "baby novels," so we're aiming for stories between 50 to 75 pages, which is pretty demanding.

After years of workshop classes, I've got a pretty thick skin, so I'm none too worried about my class of 12 brutalizing my little baby story. But they're all really smart, so I want to make the best use of their time. So the more story I have written, the more effective their commentary. The class has a fascinating mix of writers, all with very different tastes and styles. Some of the novellas are solidly realistic; others more stylized, experimental and surreal. Many of my classmates are taking really big risks--writing through unreliable narrators, or doing fascinating things with form. It's fascinating to watch them through the process.


Paper for Ancient Greek and Roman Sexuality Class!
- Decide whether writing on Catullus or Tibullus.
- Choose poems: read the naughty parts of Catullus out loud to friends.
- Think up brilliant thesis. Smile contentedly.
- Write outline, then discuss with Professor-Captain Kirk Ormand.
- Write first draft, go to Writing Center, weep, rewrite.
- Get an A on paper.
- Rejoice!


The Rest of the List:
- Borrow Nikki's astronomy notes from day missed due to illness. Read about black holes.
- Write lesson plan on Busking for Circus Arts Exco.
- Go Rock Climbing.
- Go to Tumbling Club.
- Go see Jesse's Senior Recital, The Illusion, Cinderella (Cendrillon, an opera), David Bowie movie The Hunger.
- Lead a few circus meetings.
- Run the Turkey Trot?
- Get some sleep?

Is this safe? Safe enough.

Most events at Oberlin start a little late. Timeliness is a virtue, of course, but most shows are friendly to stragglers. Especially at the Cat in the Cream - the line for cookies gets pretty insane. Given that, we expected to close the doors at 8:10, anticipating that by 8:00, the show's start time, we wouldn't have much of a crowd.

Except by 8:00, every seat was taken. And by 8:05, the room was packed.

When Ed started playing accordion with Erika on piano - meant as background "settle it down now" music - the audience took it as an overture. They sat still, went quiet and rapt. I choked down a blissful squeal as Chris and Greg ran up from the audience, yelling, "Welcome, to the Johnson Family Circus!"

Because I'm in an act, I don't watch the whole show. But the parts I saw were brilliant. Jim's act was phenomenal - he worked the crowd into a screaming ball of delight as his LED poi cut new colors into my eyes. The jugglers nailed most of their throws. Amanda's facial expressions were priceless. Greg and Chris added new lines to their scenes, so the dialogue was even punchier.

There were no disasters, no missed cues, the step didn't break this time... It was polished. And good. I felt so proud of every single person involved.

The show's tone was well-balanced. There were cute acts, like the hula-hooper with self-esteem issues, the stepdancer who triumphs over other bullying steppers, the bellydancer who gets the stagehand-clown, an independent mermaid and a ballet act. Then, there were more mature acts, like mine... a bed of nails act.

Over the summer, I saw a circus cabaret in NYC called Vicious Vaudeville that incorporated a bed of nails into a strongman sideshow act very successfully. We like success; we wanted to emulate. So, over Fall Break, Yoshi, Amanda, Nikki, Erin and Atty built this terrifying looking object with the nails spaced an inch apart. It was meant for Yoshi.

But when Yoshi lay down on it, it hurt him. A lot.

But when I lay on it, it didn't. It tickled.

The way a bed of nails act works is basic physics. The amount of surface area you have spread over the nails, the easier it is. Weight and pressure gets distributed evenly - the more nails you cover, the less painful it is. If you drop an apple on the bed, the nails will rip through the apple. If I walked on the bed, the nails would go through my feet. That would be bad.

But, if I lie down on them with my torso flat, my weight more or less evenly distributed... all is well. It's also a helpful thing that I'm really tall (nearly 6 feet) and have a bit of flub around my stomach. It hurt Yoshi most because he's both smaller and slimmer than me. When he lies down, the nails hit bone and muscle, with less surface area to compensate. On me, they hit flub and muscle. Flub is malleable - bones aren't.

Of course, enough people have seen the county fair boards where any volunteer can lie on a bed of nails without a whit of pain tolerance or training. This is why I complicate things, by using less surface area, doing low-level contortion and by ... uh... not wearing a lot of clothes.

Is this safe? Safe enough.

Do I have a spotter? I have two at the ready, a bit offstage!

Does it hurt? Yes, but no.

Should I worry about tetanus? Yes.

Am I going to worry about tetanus? No.

Is it fun? Yes. Oh, yes. In the audience's glare, my adrenaline peaked and my ability to feel pain decreased. For the full houses we brought in, I landed two moves I hadn't before - a split with my hands up, and a cool stretch on my belly. I felt like a million bucks.

I love the circus. I love this show. I love all of you weird, incestuous bastards. It is my great pleasure to work with you all.


--


(Regarding Stress)
Aries: It's super weird, my nose randomly started bleeding in class. It was like my face was menstruating.
Yoshi: It could be humidity change. Or a brain tumor. Hopefully not the latter.

Johnson Family Circus!

There's an expectation in circus that you have a life... outside of circus. While theater shows demand hours and hours of presence at rehearsals and such, circus is always a bit more low key.

What do I mean, low key?

Well, the show is a week away and we still haven't choreographed the finale. The set loads in today; the performers use the space on Monday. We go up Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

We're putting up the show in my favorite venue on campus - the Cat in the Cream. The Cat in the Cream is the best coffeehouse / jazz / folk / poetry venue that I could imagine. It's big, yet intimate, seating about 200 people tops. On the stage - which has taken a lot of abuse - there's a Steinway. The back wall is covered by a huge mural of musicians, in a style reminiscent of a more upbeat Orozco. The light and sound operating boards aren't too hard to use, the space gets pretty warm. All the shows are free.

And, they sell cookies. Big, homemade cookies.

The premise for this show is pretty sweet - we're the Johnson Family Circus, a slightly campy vaudeville traveling show. It's got a nice meta quality to it, describing Oberlin (and the circus) to a tee - we may not be blood relations, but we are a family. It's going to be fun - the Mother and Father emcee characters have great chemistry. The acts are solid.

It's a funny bunch - circus always attracts an interesting mix of dance-theater types and math-science types. The folks who bellydance and the folks who juggle share the stage. We've got a nice mix of ages for this show; there were some really talented first years who gravitated towards the circus: Joe is a professional clown, who's traveled from Sri Lanka to South America, doing clowning with Patch Adams; Greg is a relaxed Conservatory student who's a great improviser. We have live musicians - Erika on the piano; Ed on accordion and Jim on drums - all of whom composed music for the show. The leadership is pretty democratic: we determined the show's theme by popular vote, there are 3 directors (Liz, Rachel and Daniel) and a producer (me) who workshop all of the acts. Everyone does their own choreography- the directors and I just clean things up.

Everyone has the same attitude: this is fun.

You need to have a lot of good humor to get through circus, because performances are uncertain. The trick might fail. The jugglers may botch their tricks. The gymnasts might hurt themselves; the acrobalancers might drop each other; Ed might not land his backflip; I might spear myself on my bed of nails... there's a lot of built-in nervousness. That's why folks watch with baited breath for us to fail... and that's why we do it. If you're too serious, the act is dull; if you're too silly, you might hurt yourself.

It's all about balance - sometimes we fall, sometimes we don't. As long as we have fun (and don't fall too hard), everything is okay.

Halloween, the best holiday.

Halloween on a Friday Night. A great thing.

Earlier in the week, the college's costume "shop" sold the old costumes from shows and operas past. I clocked in pretty well, nabbing a leather dress (!), suspenders, shorts, a skort, a black blazer, a shirt/sweater and a hat for $22. I really love the feel of these clothes- most of them were used for about 3 weeks at most on an opera; I like feeling like a "character," sometimes. The costume sale itself is always a lot of fun, and a study in co-operation. Too many people cram into the lobby of Hall Auditorium; there's one bathroom, 2 mirrors, and not much privacy. There's a problem that when you put your own stuff down to try other things on, someone might unknowingly try to purchase your clothes. Although there's so little space, so many pairs of amazing cheap clothes and so few opportunities to see what you look like, students get more polite. There was a quiet line by the mirror to scope out how well the new top hat (or blazer, or pants) looked.

Sadly, I used none of those clothes for my costume. I went as Bettie Page, which is hard to do, in public. For the sake of Oberlin College, I won't do too much description. Suffice to say, I looked classy. Bettie Page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bettie_Page

We had a special day in astronomy- Prof. Stinebring had to go to a huge conference, so the observing staff taught a lesson about the life cycle of our sun. To make things a bit more exciting (Halloween and all...) they wanted some circus stuff there. So, I gathered a few jugglers; Ali was already in Astronomy and prepared to spin poi for glory and honor. The performers did an awesome job; they were used to show different fazes of solar activity, as stars move from the Main Sequence, to Red Giants, Planetary Nebulae and White Dwarfs.

After class, I finished my weekly response for Professor "Captain" Kirk Ormand, then went to TGIF. During the warm months, TGIF is a big outdoor party in Wilder Bowl, right by the Student Union. Sometimes there's a dj, sometimes, a live band. Students chill out, relax after a week of work. The circus uses the time to give lessons, juggle and mess around for a while. Given the oncoming train of winter (despite the 65* temperature)... there was no outdoor music, as normally, but there were still many people about.

A bunch of folks were in costume - Poison Ivy, Rorschach, Dr. J and Mr. Hyde, a Romance Novel Character, Harley Quinn, Starbuck, Scarecrow, Spider Jerusalem. There was a Belle and Prince Charming who kissed theatrically in the center of the quad; we applauded. I sat on the grass and listened to a folk duo on fiddle and guitar for a while; a Tuxedo Mask gave me a slim rose.

Orville taught me some new acrobalance moves, so I can lift more tiny people around. My favorite was the "lazy man's sit-up," in which I, the base, lay on the ground, knees bent and arms up at a 90 degree angle. My flier (tiny person = flier) stands on me in a funny way, a foot on each of my thighs and their hands on my hands. When they lean back, I do a sit-up and move to standing, with them standing on my thighs. Basically, it makes the Tiny Person look super-strong, when it's actually physics that's super-strong.

In preparation for Halloween, Ma'ayan took out the media lab in the library. Mudd Library is an absolute fantasy castle- there are a kazillion little rooms that all have magical purposes, that you never know until you need it. There are screening rooms, a computer store, a theatre, statues, writing centers, study carrels, womb chairs, group study rooms, huge computer labs, a silent floor, a sunbathing roof, rainbow couches, storage, old printing presses, a "dock" and a photo studio. A hundred Rooms of Requirement.

This one was on the fourth floor and was a full studio, made for photoshoots. It looked like something for Hollywood, not our very 70's library. About 20 people filtered in and out, throughout the night. It was a blast; there were posed gunfights and cross-canon flirtations (Mrs. Lovette + Poison Ivy). We got pretty giggly under the bright lights.

I love this holiday.

After photos, I went to The Breakfast show at the Sco and danced for 2 straight hours. The Sauce opened and were incredible, as usual; the Breakfast was very danceable, rock-jazz-jam with little openers of songs from cartoons. Looking around the crowd was surreal: elves danced with cavemen, Clockwork Orange droogs moshed around, zombies and faeries flowed around the sides of the stage, a dinosaur waggled its tail to the beat.

As for me, I thrashed. Thrashing in Bettie Page shoes... was a poor choice. I staggered home, brushed my teeth and collapsed.

I woke up 20 minutes before work, still in my Bettie Page costume. It's amazing how fast I can shower, change clothes, brush my hair and put in my contacts. I took an extra minute to fold my costume, giving my respects to Ms. Page.

Fall Break in Oberlin

During Fall Break, there is nothing going on on campus. No concerts. No dining halls open. The libraries close at 5:00 PM, not 2:00 AM. Most people go home, take road trips, do service projects, practice...

Me? I love Oberlin when it's quiet. It's relaxed, and the sleep debt of midterms boils away into a well-rested calm. There are still a few scattered students around -- reading at Java Zone, doing research in the Science Center, putting books in the shelves, sipping cocoa at Oberlin Market, petting kittens at the Ginko Gallery... but mostly, it's a small town. And when it's so quiet, I enjoy my hard-won free time. I take up my whims.

After my tour yesterday, I had lunch with an air traffic controller and an airplane pilot at Agave. The controller lived in Medina and his daughter was interested in Music Education; the pilot had flown over Oberlin thousands of times and had always wanted to stop by. They were an interesting pair- real friends, who went on adventures, taking trains across the country and seeing little slices of the world. When I "grow up," I want to still have voyages.

After finishing my coffee, I wrote a little bit for my Novella then walked to Baldwin. Sadly, not all dorms on campus have bathtubs. Baldwin has a nice tub. And though I had neither towel, nor soap, I decided to soak as long as I could. It was so quiet, just me in the big bathroom.

In the break periods, I work out until I'm exhausted and my arms are numb. I can chat with Elizabeth as long as I like, not having to worry about the paper, the meeting, or the class. Elizabeth is pretty amazing, one of the people who I would not have met but for blessed chance that her work hours in the weight room were in line with my work out times. I like being able to talk while I lift- I like it when exersize isn't a chore, but a thing to be enjoyed.

I ran in the Arb the other day and took a break to dunk my feet in the chill water in the Reservoir. I couldn't feel my toes for the rest of the run, but it was worthwhile.

I've worked every day this week for Admissions, from about 8:30 until 1:30. All of my interviews were wonderful- the prospies were awake, interested and really awesome. It was a pleasure to talk to them. Saki was working at the same time as me, so in between answering emails, we chatted. I shot the breeze with Jen, my tour guiding boss.

I got a bit tired of the daily tour question--
Prospie: Where is everyone?
Aries: It's Fall Break. Most people go home or have adventures.
Prospie: So there's no one here except except for boring people?
Aries: ... I'm going to talk about the architecture of Mudd Library now.

But overall, it's my place. I've been able to have long, long talks with my friends, decompressing from the semester's half. I've been able to sit in bed and dream. I've read plenty: Stoppard's "Arcadia," a book of Bukowski, the new "Flight" graphic novel. I feel so comfortable here.


I'm excited for classes to restart again, but sometimes, there's nothing better than a break like this.


The other question that I only get sometimes:
Prospie: Why didn't you go home?
Aries: This is my home.

Chorale at 2:45 minutes in...

I listened to Jim's piece "Chorale" this morning.

Damn, it was great.

At first, I'd imagined it would be like the music I normally listened to- something to hear while doing something else. But no. It was challenging, difficult, in a way that literature should be. It was also miles away from my normal listening style, much more electronic. Jim's a TIMARA major (Technology in Music and Related Arts), his sound is deeply divorced from my ordinary mix of Ben Folds/Decemberists/Muse/Cake/David Bowie/Scissor Sisters. I can only compare it to the soundtracks from "Children of Men": without being in a lyrical form, it's deeply emotional and jarring. There's an apocalyptic sorrow that hangs over it, a thrash of echoes.

Most of the folks I know in the Conservatory are Composition majors- overall, they're a splendid, friendly, eccentric group. But strangely, I've heard very few of their official pieces. Even Eric, who I've known since freshman year-- I can remember hearing only two of his official composition, one at a departmental function, and the other at his Senior Rock Concert. I've heard some of Sean's pieces, but few-little of Ed, and none of Kurt, who I spent 30 hours a week with. Secretive bunch.

It was nice to listen to Jim's piece in the sanctity of my dorm room, rather than the concert hall; wondrous to hear my beloved computer, Kiwi, belt out music I would call art, not entertainment. There's also some innate pleasure I take in knowing that my friends are really freakin talented. Somehow, I know folks who can make music out of nothing.

Good way to start the day. I had to sit down for a while afterwards.

---


Midterms are squeezing in on us all- I ran into Erin and Daniel after working (albeit distractedly) in the library for a bazillion hours and we chatted, in that timeless way that finals/midterms enables. The ends of the conversation get stretchy and long, gasping into some deep revelations on the Way People Are. It's like a dream, 3AM conversations feel so profound when they happen, but afterwards, I'm left disoriented- "What did we talk about? Why? I don't know." My mind gets fuzzy at night.

The crux of my work is a paper for David "Brilliant" Walker on the play "Blasted" by Susan Kane. Blasted is playing in NY- if you're there, you should see it. But I'm terrified of the paper. Papers are not my strongest suit- my analytical style is scattershot, or more geared towards oral presentations than written documents.
My thesis: all love in "Blasted" is communicated through violence. It's not a difficult argument, but I struggle with the presentation of it. My theses are not always too strong or revolutionary; I hesitate to be overly critical of a text. I'm also not an expert on formal dramatic analysis and JSTOR yielded only one paper on the topic I could look to as a model.


I think I'm going to throw the paper at the Writing Center tonight, and ask for their tender mercies. Phew.

Night you can't remember

My Mom is here, my Mom is here!

She got in on Thursday, and we spent much of Yom Kippur in the Arb. This is a trend for me. We chilled in the stone circle, we walked around the reservoirs, we talked.

It was a strange call-back to my freshman year. Tom had a tradition of going hiking with his Dad on Yom Kippur. After Services, he and some friends went off to the Arb; I ran into them on the way. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was amazingly bright and the air seemed impossibly clear. All of my friends were in formal wear, looking dapper and official. We sang off in the woods, both jewish tunes (that I didn't know) and standards (that I did, like Origin of Love).

I remember singing in the river. I remember being nervous.
--


My Mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on absolutely everything, but otherwise, we do good. We've had a lot of long chats. My Mom often gives me the good prudent advice I don't take (think, do things slowly). Thinking, prudence and acting in moderation are not my strong suits. They serve their place in my more professional life, but in my social life, I swing towards effusive. I'm trying to think. I'm trying to plan. To plot. To play.

We saw the Shape of Things together, before rushing off to Techno Night.


Mom: I don't really like Neil LaBute. Is one of your friends in it?
Aries: Anna. She's the director and she's really good.
Mom: So she owns the play, more or less. It's all her.


Shape of Things was excellent- I loved the set, lights, staging and acting. All the characters rang true, in their own strange way.

But the script itself wasn't really my thing- there weren't really any lines I'd say I'd recall, independent of their staging. The characters, though played realistically, were all one-sided. Outside of the storyline, they didn't seem to have lives. The characters seemed to be written in their late 20's, not college age. The double-date scene looks like something talking about young marriage, not a scene from a small Midwestern college in a smaller Midwest town. There are no papers due, there are no sports games, no outside world, no ephemera.

I think that made the actors and directing look even better. The fact that I still felt for these characters who were otherwise... unbelievable... that was good. I didn't write off Adam as a shlub because Donny reminded me (and the audience) that we've all been there, been Mr. Pathetic In Love, Willing to be your Anything. Evelyn was stone-cold... and sexy. There was never a point when I didn't understand Adam's fascination with her, even if I didn't share it. Jenny's sweetness, her awkward, silly averageness were elevated; Phil's assholishness was rooted in jealousy. It was well done. And I love to watch my friends, my peers act. There's a recognition of "oh, you're my friend, I trust you!" when they move on stage. Donny's a skilled actor; he's damn good. But I know that on a certain level, I always love his characters a bit more because it's him playing them.

The set. The museum lights. Oh, god.

The final scene... I could have done more with the clinical. The concept of base material gave me shivers, but I wanted a bit more. The ideas of modification, of shaping, of how ones' love changes another are of intense interest to me. The use of sex and sensuality as tools are not lost thoughts for me, nor the sad, desperate inferiority of the beloved to the lover. I'm a fan of the ideas, but the way LaBute executed it... I don't know. There are more profound and terrifying ways that love changes people.

I'll remember the bedroom scene for a long time. Dammit, Anna Strasser. Dammit. You kill me.

Mom!

My Mom is visiting! Yay!



The Argument:
Con: No work accomplished, I'd bet.

Pro: Mom.

Con: You have a test!

Pro: MOM!

Work Ethics

Bad idea: Working on a Friday night.


This week, I had a paper due on Friday – a fairly normal thing. But it took forever. On Thursday, my computer imploded, killing off my draft. This slowed me down. But what really dogged me was my ambition to make The Best Paper Ever.
I've got a strong love of learning, writing and reading. During breaks from college, I read for fun. Writing is my passion. But what keeps me at Mudd Library from dinner past midnight, is my all-consuming fear of having my professors think less of me. Kirk Ormand, my Ancient Sexuality professor, is Just Too Cool. I would rather eat a baby bunny than disappoint Kirk.

So, I'm working. I'm working. 4:30 rolls around- it’s Friday. TGIF. Outside in Wilder Bowl, there's a really great DJ and about 300 people are talking, relaxing, and getting out the stress of the week. Most of my amazing friends are outside, frolicking in what could be the last gorgeous day before fall drops its terrifying curtains of chill across campus and we're all wearing sweaters and sniffling inside. The last lovely afternoon.

And I'm writing about male vs. female poets in 6th Century Greece. Sappho. Mostly Sappho, given she’s the only woman poet we have- fortunately a good one:

“Or if she flees, soon she'll pursue,
she doesn't accept gifts, but she'll give,
if not now loving, soon she'll love
even against her will."”

Then it's 6:00, and my friends are going to Pizza Night, at Harkness. Apparently, Eliza’s dessert pizza is just out of the oven- it has cinnamon. There'll be live music, one of my friends mentions. There's an Open Mic night later. And a Contra Dance.

And I'm inside writing: "For many Greek women, their house marked their boundaries- they were indoor creatures, not expected to live outside."

I think about Kirk, Coolest of the Cool. Captain Kirk. King Kirk. Commander Kirk. I am his deputy, his knight, his homegirl. This paper is mine. I keep on typing.

I get hungry, stop into the Decafe and get an amazing mozzarella sandwich. Other sandwiches get freaked out by how amazingly cheesy my sandwich is. They quail. I eat my sandwich in a hurry. Sappho waits for no woman.

I return to typing and I get lost in the readings. I scramble for my thesis. I retype some ugly phrases. I bemoan my lost draft. I look at the clock. It's 9:00, and I'm tired. I should keep working. I really should. I just have 2 pages left.

But there's a contra tonight.


So… I go contra dancing. It's better than expected- the new callers are great! I dance with Glen, Catherine, Sean, Yoshi, Aaron! One of the dances go horribly awry and Glen and I run to opposite sides of the floor to spin our neighbors! The musicians are great! I take off my shoes to waltz! I spend about 20 minutes play-fighting with Yoshi after the dance finishes at 11:00! Sappho, Kirk, I know you'd want me to do this!

I return to my dorm, sweaty, exhausted, and overjoyed. I bang out the paper and fall asleep, around 3:30 AM.

Woman who fell from the sky

Letter from Ms. C, teacher at Prospect Elementary School:

Aries,
You were the hit of the day! As you could tell from their behavior, my students were enthralled, and your creation story fit perfectly with our studies.

Thank you so much,
C


On Friday, Liz and I went down to two fourth grade classes and told Native American creation myths, to finish up one of their social studies units. I came a tad early and saw them in reading lab. Watching twelve children reading novels made all my sappy places get a bit more gooey.

Once class started, I told the "Woman Who Fell From the Sky," an Iroquois story about how the earth was built off of a Turtle's back. The kids really liked it: the boss fight with Mosquito, any form of domestic violence, happy cows being butchered.... I forgot how amazingly morbid children are. Liz and I had worried about the distracted nature of children and the fairly static form of tale-telling (one person, talking, go). But they seemed to get into it, to understand the brother's fight and the mother's frustration. At the end, they asked for another ("Encore! Encore means more!" one of them shouted), so I told them the Ash Lad story. It was nice to always have something ready, off-the-cuff. It makes me feel all... professional.

Storytelling has been the pillar of my college experience. I took the Storytelling ExCo my first semester, and it opened me up. I told things to my peers- not strangers, but not friends (at least, not yet) - that I didn't tell anyone else. Club was outer performance and inner therapy; it was comedy and tragedy. In a tiny room in Wilder, always too warm, we told scary, cultural and personal stories.

When Liz and I taught the Exco, it made us into very close friends. We were only aquaintances at the start- Liz was the girl who baked amazing brownies and laughed like a giant. We had had possibly one real conversation, tops. Then, we saw each other at our best- doing the thing we cared about most. I know I'd be missing something if I hadn't taught with her.

-

For Sunday's Storytelling Club, Liz gathered information about professional storytellers. Apparently, you can live on it. I would love that. I would so, so love that. The national conference is this weekend, so no go for now, but maybe next year. This is a perfomance style I really adore, that works in all of the things I focus on: stories! theatre! public speaking! improv! fancy word play! rhetoric! And it gives me a community; it makes me real friends -- Liz, Amanda, Adam, Mog, Jenny, Brett, Andrew...

I transmuted part of my budding novella into story, which worked pretty well. It furthered my plan of not doing a Senior Reading, but a Senior Recital- an hour of stories.

Probably love stories.


"You're gonna be damn tired at the end," Liz said, who loved long-form epics. "But it'll be great."

I don't write my stuff anymore, I just kick it from my head.

Ratatat, playing at the Sco on Tuesday, was insane.

There were two starter bands: E-Rock and Panther. The former I really enjoyed- he came in wearing a black cloth over his head, covering his face with big sunglasses and a white bandanna holding it all in pace. He looked like a robber, if not a terrorist. On his arms, he'd drawn robot-style joints and a heart. Overall, an awesome aesthetic. His set was solid electronic dance music. I liked "teengirl fantasy" more, pound for pound, but it was an awesome way to start it off. I wouldn't hesitate playing it for my Dad when he asked what newfangled stuff I listen to.

Panther was a bit to indulgent indie, but with a solid beat and amazing drummer. The singer seemed like a self-absorbed dweeb- he made his voice echo on nearly every track- still, I danced.

The Sco filled to its sweaty brim as Ratatat set up. I was at the very front for the two openers; by the time Ratatat was ready to go, I was about 4 rows of people in after a bunch of folks pushed ahead of me.

Izzie looked around and said, "Guys, we're gonna get crushed," a mix of fear and excitement in her voice. The dance floor filled more and more.

The instant Ratatat started, the crowd became a huge, amorphous organism. We swelled, we danced, we jumped, we moshed. The Sco workers moved to the head of the stage and pushed the crowd back, away from the equipment. Despite the claustrophobia, the crowd was really pleasant, all of us swaying in the sweaty human ocean. Sweaty isn't the right word, but it approached the soaked-ness that described the whole audience.

I love Ratatat.

---

"What's so funny about attrition?" asked Prof. Kalyn, in a lesson on Zipcar for Entrepreneurship.
Yoshi and I looked at each other and laughed. I'm obsessed with attrition and Yoshi and I had a disagreement about the value of following up on new OCircus recruits through some alternative means. Yoshi wants us to build a solid structure and let the newbies settle as they will; I want to increase the social activities of the club to increase the cohesion of the club.

On Friday, we had an incredible showing at TGIF: it felt like a festival. There were so many freshmen learning, picking things up... I taught about 8 people beginning poi, including a girl who was the spitting image of Harper Jean. About a fourth of us, myself included, pulled off our tops and rocked out in our bras/skins. Given the number of people, it was pretty paramount in my mind to keep as many as I could around. New blood, my friends. New blood.

-

Death of a Salesman was phenomenal. It was something special- the Theater Department brought in 5 Actor's Equity folks to put on a professional show. Adrian Brooks was Willy Lohman. Adrian Brooks, Captain Sisko in Deep Space 9, amazing actor and orator. His reading of Willy was painful and brilliant, making his dementia more explicit and grand than I imagine a lot of actors would do. Justin Emeka, who teaches theater was directing and playing Biff- he did an amazing job. The lead cast- the Lohman family- was entirely African-American, meant to highlight a racial component in the class struggle, so visceral by Miller's play. I stopped noticing race about 10 minutes into the show, going from "this is the African-American experience" to "this is the American experience." Bernard and Charlie were very Jewish refugees, an interesting choice- Josh Sobel, who's in my Drama Literature class, played Bernard and did an amazing job, especially with the age component of the play. Raphi was brilliant, as ever.

Walked around Oberlin after seeing Salesman, to go from Very Serious Theater, to a campus where music echoed out of every third house on a Saturday night. I'm glad I saw it. I cried afterward for about a half-hour.

---

Pertinent quotes:
"I'm a robot! I've always been a robot! Our relationship is doomed!"

Decline and Fall

Dear Wall Street,

Please, babe, get better. Do you remember that stock market project we did, back in the good old days? You know, the 90s? I miss that.

Yours,
Aries

--


Rebel Diaz, playing at the Sco, was so good. They were three singers, two of them siblings, who sang political populist hip-hop. The lone woman of the group was one of the tightest, most amazing rappers I've ever heard. Their beats were dance-able- if they hadn't been such a powerhouse performance, I'dve been rocking out in the back, trying out what I learned at SPARK.

SPARK was demented in a good, life-affirming way. Hip-hop is not my traditional domain, but I do like it. I didn't get a shuffle-step, but I got most of the rest. I'm a fan of top-rock; I'm not looking forward to pikes, except in the awful-bits that like when I fail at things. I take a long time to learn movement styles; I need a lot of repetition and things don't come naturally to me. Expecially... uh.. hard things. Like anything that involves balance.

Post-Diaz, we went to Agave for the coffee and burritos. It's nice that something other than Downtown Pizza and the Feve stays open past midnight on a weekend. Especially when that thing is Agave. Blessed Agave.

Clean prose.

In Novella class, we just discussed Hiroshima by Hersey, which appreared in the New Yorker in 1946. When it came out, "Hiroshima" took over the entire issue, there were no articles or cartoons. It sold out within hours. Hershey follows 6 survivors of Hiroshima and writes in an old-world literary journalism- not gonzo, or pretentious. It's not a long read, but it still takes a while time to get through. By page 20, I was bawling. You know the stage of crying when you lose control of your bodily functions, and express your sentiments in infant whines and moans? That.

After reading it... I've never felt more guilt of being an American. For the earlier atrocities (Middle Passage, genocide of Native Americans, slavery, imperialism), my family wasn't here. But in WWII, my grandfather was in uniform, an immigrant proud to fight for his new home. He was one of the first men to land in Osaka after the Japanese surrender. Grandpa believed he would have died without the bomb.

As I read, I kept thinking, "We all deserve to burn in hell." The discussion was excellent.

---

Thanks, atmosphere!

On Wednesday, I had my lab for astronomy. To call it a lab feels a bit unfair: we looked at the summer sky for about an hour after taking a long walk through the soccer fields. There’s very little air pollution in Oberlin, so the dark is really.. dark. I couldn’t see the crowd of Astronomy students (there were about 40 of us out there) until I was right next to them. Besides my professor, there were three helpers and two upper-level students who act as tutors for the class. One of them, Everett, who I met in my first year at a swing dance, explained some of the basics – Cassiopaea! Polaris! Then, I stared at the moon and Jupiter though these crazily powerful telescopes and listened to Professor S explain what caused stars to twinkle.
“Do you like to breathe?” he asked. We all nodded. “Well, thank the atmosphere!” he continued jubilantly, going on to explain how the density of the atmosphere (generated by the horizon, due to Earth’s middle-heavy shape) caused stars to glimmer as their light reflected through. Professor S is probably one of the most cheerful, jubilant lecturers I’ve ever heard. He also says the word “sky” in a very warm, sweet way.
With a green laser, so powerful that he had to put it away when a plane flew by, Professor S pointed out the Summer Triangle: Vega, Deneb and Altair. I can find it everywhere now.

---

Circus Arts Exco went really well today. We’re a day behind in the syllabus, but as a group, we’ve started to work together. There’s comradery growing between the circus core and the new folks. I love teaching this group; it’s gorgeous to watch folks work together. As we’re going to be doing a lot of constructive criticism later, it’s important to get to know each other.

Otherwise, OCircus is kicking-off. We’ve got a weekend booked for the Fall show at the Cat and the Cream, so November will be a crazy, crazy month.

Diagnosis: Ridiculous, amazing day

Tuesday did not feel like a Tuesday.

Classes were grand. Discussing the play “Saved” in my British and Irish Drama class was excellent. In “Saved,” a crowd of men stone a baby to death… because they can. The ensuing talk about the relative merits of violent satire was pretty heated. Normally, discussion classes take about a week to get brewing- we spend the first two meetings being polite and wearing some kid gloves, just to get used to each other out. Not this one. It was refreshing to hear “I disagree completely,” followed by some interesting, evocative point… on the second class. We talked about everything from the duty of theatre, censorship, how graphic cruelty fits in and when it’s alright to laugh.

Immediately after class, I ran to the Storytelling meeting. Teaching an Exco Class isn’t difficult; figuring out logistics, like meeting times, that's hard. Liz told her “pirate story,” with the killer line: “What’ya do with 40 pirates... Get funding!” It's so fun to teach the Storytelling Exco to first years, having taken it as a freshman myself. The students seemed to get how it worked, automatically sitting in a circle and chatting, but getting really quiet once the stories started. Storytelling Exco is a workshop class, based around improving spoken performance. We meet once a week, tell 10 minute stories to each other, and give constructive criticism. And people really listen, because for 10 minutes- listening is their job. Not taking notes. Listening.

-

From there, I sped to the Tumbling Club, met some new gymnasts, and worked on flexibility. Carey taught me how to do funny things in a bridge; Zwasi pulled my limbs around. We watched the freshmen do some amazing things. One of the first years, James, is ridiculous. He can do a series of 10 flips in a row, in socks on wet grass, without warming up.

Carey: So, how did you learn that?
James: Well, I saw the gymastic floor competitions on TV and just... did what they did.
Zwasi: WHAT?! You didn't train?
James: Not really, no. It looked cool.
Zwasi: You just saw it on tv.
James: Some things on youtube.

-

The real Tuesday-buster was GZA, a founder of Wu-Tang, playing at the ‘Sco. I was in the front row, when the crowd of 350 started shouting “Wu-Tang, Wu-tang.” There was a girl who had a Wu-Tang tattoo dancing on the other part of the stage. There was so much energy in the crowd. I had slept little the previous night and started to feel a bit woozy, which quickly passed away after I got some water.

By the fountain, I ran into one of the members of “Teengirl Fantasy,” an Oberlin electronica band and gushed about how cool he was. Teengirl Fantasy had opened for the show and had gotten the crowd to a screaming, rocking peak. Given the audience was more a hip-hop crew than electronica, that's not so easy.

The concert continued, becoming a giant wave of arm-waving and dancing. I left at about 12:40, covered in sweat. A good Tuesday.

We are the Mystery Men.

Classes!

They are all so, so wonderful- Modern British Drama, Astronomy, Ancient Sexuality and Novella... and I'm auditing Entrepreneurship and German History.

Entrepreneurship bodes well. It's a strange class, with an odd, multi-pronged approach with lecturers, grant writing workshops and lessons in start-ups. The professor is a Conservatory Dean, who I did an Information Panel with over the summer with Admissions. She talks quickly but clearly about how to get funding for creative ideas.
In lighter news, I ended up sitting next to my best friend. I forgot that we can think... similarly. So, when the prof would prompt a class response, I would write a word down, and Yoshi would whisper it at the same time. These words were "niche" and "innovation." Not exactly the first words one imagines after an open-ended question.

I forgot which classroom my Modern British and Irish Drama class was in and raced up and down the 2nd and 3rd floor, looking for Professor Walker's face. It was funny to poke my head in and out of classes, hearing the little phrases: "patriarchy," "financial disincentive" and "Metternich." I arrived sweaty and 5 minutes late, and proceeded to chew out the play "Look Back in Anger." The class is stocked with theatre majors and some of the main male actors in my year (Mooney, Alex, Kevin, Sobel).

Ancient Sexuality and Astronomy promise to be brilliant; Novella starts on Monday.

---

Looking over schedules walks the careful line between exciting and terrifying. Logistically, I know I can't take a super-demanding schedule given my other responsibilities, but... I want to take everything. I feel odd thinking this when I've spent the last week convincing first years not to overload themselves.

Registration at Oberlin is a funny business for a first year. There are three rungs: over the summer, you choose a first year seminar and another class ; during Orientation, you register for your full schedule; and for the following week and a half, you can add or drop classes as you please.

The middle rung is the trouble. PRESTO, the online Registration system, is pretty easy to use, but it has a few pokey points. Chief issues: the course descriptions are on a separate site and there's no auto-updating list of the open courses. This is normally not a problem... but in the last registration slot, there normally aren't so many open slots to preserve small class sizes. So, it becomes a scramble.

Which is where I come in, pointing freshmen towards open classes as they register. It's one of my favorite parts of Academic Ambassador-ing- exploring the wild jungles of Presto with first-years, slicing through the course catalogue for those amazing classes- "Mass Politics and the Media Age," "Satire," "Climate Change," "Salman Rushdie"... and snagging spots in them.

Once class starts, and Add/Drop begins, everything chills out.

Still around

Exco Fair, staple of my college life.

For two glorious hours, the Root Room (the old Reading Room) becomes a mad bazaar of tables, stuffed with students selling their awesome classes. Excos (Experimental College Classes) are student and community taught- the popular ones are Swing Dance, Tango, Steel Drum and Calvin and Hobbes. The new ones- Swedish Language Exco, Astrology, Buffy, Knitting and Grass-Roots Organizing- looked pretty sweet too. I really want to play Calvinball before I graduate this fine institution.

I'm teaching Circus Arts Exco, to do both skillshare and individual performance work. I hawked for two straight hours in the vein of: "You, step right up and join the circus, miss, you're so pretty, I bet you'd look prettier upside down-backwards-on fire!" It was successful: I got about 40 names for a 12 person class. Gah. In the end, I had to waitlist people I cared about/wanted to accept. It was painful to have to pass over my friends to do a more random, equitable selection.

First meeting of the class went well. It had 16 people, which was a good size. I spent a bunch of time prepping and it all worked out. We did mostly improv/dance exercises.

-

Contra danced!

Emma was calling and stoked the crowd. I danced with Grey, Jeremy, Glenn, Nathaniel, Kokoteca and Sean and saw... the whole dancing crew, inclding some new, lovely freshmen. All of the town dancers thought I was set to graduate, so they asked variations of "How's the fifth year coming along" or "What the hell are you doing here still?" In a charming way, of course.

Left soaked with sweat. My feet are an unholy terror.

Day of Service!

In the name of all things holy: Ratata and GZA (founding member of Wu-Tang Clan) are playing at Oberlin. Life is too good to be believed.

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Day of Service!

When I was a first-year, Day of Service (DoS) was my favorite part of Orientation. DoS is meant principally for first-years or any early arrivals, and acts as a great way to connect firsties to the Oberlin environment and community in a meaningful way. My Day of Service was to do some parks upkeep and trail clearing- which I loved. I like to work outdoors, to sweat and get muddy. After DoS, I used to walk over to the George Jones farm- where Oberlin gets a lot of its produce- and work until it got dark. Also, working at George Jones meant fresh, right-off-the-vine tomatoes. And I will do some serious malarkery for good tomatoes.

Now, as a senior, I decided to be a Site Leader - the pointperson for my group. We were a small bunch- me and 4 freshmen- Emily, Gus, Rachel and Michael. They were very chill folks- all very relaxed and wonderful. We were working at Plum Creek, the river that runs through Oberlin, cutting right where "Downtown" ends, still within an easy walking distance. After playing 2 Truths and a Lie, we walked across the bridge lined with flowers and got to work: clearing out invasive species, weeds and beautifying the public park.

The site supervisors were Kate ad Robin, two amazing local ladies who had the words "Role Model" painted all over them. Kate, who looked more like a paintet than an activist, had started the Western Land Concervancy to safeguarded various properties around Northern Ohio from development, to be used as nature reserves. Kate mentioned the struggle of selecting sites to buy - a small beachfront or a huge farm- and the struggle of working with complex paperwork and with folks who distrusted the government and any associated organizations. She was also incredibly modest, glossing over the fact that she founded the Western Land Concervancy. Robin, who owned the property, was a trip: she raised 7 kids, worked 30 hours counseling in the local schools and ran a private psychiatric practice.


The work was fun. Robin and Kate gave us a variety of shears and rakes to take out as many weeds by the creek edge as we could, as well as removing any garbage we found. The creek was about 10 feet below street level, so we had to prune the stones that lead down to it. There were lots of big weeds, vines and elms that we battered away. We finished the job in record time, with less people than normal.
The only downside to the work was the prevalence of poison ivy. Found out I'm not allergic to PI... Yay!

Status reports

I met my new class dean today, Monique. Besides acting as a class dean (read: guidance counselor/life coach/godparent) she worked in Student Academic Services and Students with Disabilities Office. She's one of the best admins I've ever met- respectful, kind, engaged. She's good people.

There are few things better than a good Administrator. Systems exist for a reason- they give structure and power. When people know how to navigate the system with kindness, care and humanity- they are enormously powerful.

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After catering, I got my syllabus for Novella class with Sylvia Watanabe. It's pretty common for professors teaching upper-level classes to distribute their syllubai before class begins, so students can prepare the readings/homework early, or go bargain book hunting to make textbooks more affordable.
Verdict: this class will be bliss and rapture.

From the syllabus- "Class mantra: This is a workshop. "

Our final Paper Topic is: "Why this book sucks/does not suck."

This is why I love writing classes. Whereas in English classes, you talk about the social implications and various merits, the Creative Writing questions are: "Does it work? How does it work? Can we change it?"

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Catering for the International students is pretty righteous. Everyone is from everywhere! At the opening International Students Dinner, I found some folks born in the US, but educated entirely abroad, who had taken my tour in the spring. One was from the Netherlands, but had gone to school in Croatia, Britain, South Africa... and had an awesome sense of humor.

Aries: So, your parents are spies?
Nederlad: They don't like me to talk about it.
A: Does that mean CIA?
Nederlad: It could mean that. If you want it to.

I forgot that most foreigners eat.... slowly. It's a bit agonizing when you're waitserving. At least Americans, for all our piggishness, eat fast. And finish fast.