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.