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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!