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.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Mom!
My Mom is visiting! Yay!
The Argument:
Con: No work accomplished, I'd bet.
Pro: Mom.
Con: You have a test!
Pro: MOM!
The Argument:
Con: No work accomplished, I'd bet.
Pro: Mom.
Con: You have a test!
Pro: MOM!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
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.
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.
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