At 12:21am in Mudd Library, John Andreoni, scholar and gentleman, composes a syllabus addition for his Environmental Justice Literature class, recommending his teacher add “The Hunger Games” to the reading list. At some point, Benjamin George-Hinnant, man about town, joins him and discusses the difficulties of memory. Mike Rauscher, philosopher-king, joins them, and speaks about the nature of thought, bicycling, and nature.
Engaged in this conversation, I compiled some of Mr. Rauscher’s thoughts, the ones simple enough for my sleep-slowed fingers.
Please think of our conversation as: “MIKE RAUSCHER TELLS THE TRUTH.”
_
Nature:
You can take an environmental justice class to tell you that capitalism is wrong, but it doesn't tell you why nature is wrong for all the same reasons.
Think of the sun just shitting out all that power. Plants are the short-sightedness of Nature. So much of culture puts them on the pedestal of vitality, but they're a local energy minimum. They limit like the market.
Destroy the plants.
Permaculture is the rotten end of culture.
Centralization is beautiful.
[At 1:21am, Messrs Rauscher, Andreoni, and Hinnant discuss whether the earth must be round. That conversation involved engineering detail far beyond my stenographic skill. If memory serves, they were able to suggest other viable shapes.]
Thought:
That’s all there is to learning: computation built out of cell activity.
Trust in the false prophets. Introspection is lying to you,
All decision making is just the embellishment of what happens when you grab a potato chip.
Bicycles:
“It is all carrot, no string.”
“You cannot commune with it, you can only be it.”
Nature II:
My research into Pony Magic have revealed to me that we are the precipice of the apocalypse.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Thanksgiving with Four Part Harmony and Feeling
“Before we get covered in mildew, I suggest we go get pancakes. All in favor?”
Kayte and I raised our hands quickly.
“Settled!” Rayne announced, and we bounded away from the tofu factory for fresh pancakes.
Thanksgiving started out golden, with vegan pancakes stuffed with chocolate and banana. After breakfast, we returned to the tofu hut, suited up, and attacked the strange molds that feast on soy.
While I’m happy that Twin Oaks has a tofu factory, working there is not my favorite task. When tofu is being processed, the factory is loud and muggy, with a hint of okara in the air. On my first tofu shift, I had a low level panic attack for 2 hours. Being around large garbage buckets of very, very hot water makes me very uncomfortable. Having to reach into the buckets is similarly troubling, even though the green elbow-length gloves we wear are incredibly sturdy.
Kayte and I raised our hands quickly.
“Settled!” Rayne announced, and we bounded away from the tofu factory for fresh pancakes.
Thanksgiving started out golden, with vegan pancakes stuffed with chocolate and banana. After breakfast, we returned to the tofu hut, suited up, and attacked the strange molds that feast on soy.
While I’m happy that Twin Oaks has a tofu factory, working there is not my favorite task. When tofu is being processed, the factory is loud and muggy, with a hint of okara in the air. On my first tofu shift, I had a low level panic attack for 2 hours. Being around large garbage buckets of very, very hot water makes me very uncomfortable. Having to reach into the buckets is similarly troubling, even though the green elbow-length gloves we wear are incredibly sturdy.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
A Letter Home
The visits to Oberlin are hard to write about – they’re too intense, too wonderful, too concentrated. This one especially so.
First: the long distance relationship dream come true -- holding the one you love and realizing that they’re real. You didn’t dream them up. They aren’t an abstraction, a perfection, an invisible friend. They’re them, and all the silly little bits of them: homework, stuffed noses, messy rooms and math tests. No bread or skim milk in the house. Terrible vodka in the cupboard.
But those unpretty parts are the best. Hell, they’re more beautiful than you remembered. You kiss the salt on their skin, you touch their shoulders and recall sculptures of Adonis or Aphrodite. You watch them move, watch them dance, and the world just feels more right.
you kiss.
you hold.
you make love.
and everything is better. everything will be alright.
everything is just perfect. you love them.
(and i do love you.)
... But it was more this time – there were other salient details. You know when the sun hits a leaf, and the glow warms the edges and you can see the veins of the leaf? And it’s no longer simply beautiful, but very, very IMPORTANT. It’s staring at the sky in early fall, and knowing that this is THE horizon. This is the earth you live in. You want to tell the world about the way that a snake hurries away from you, then looks back, invitingly, inquiringly, before darting into the brush.
It is the details.
I’ve never felt much attachment to the architecture of Oberlin – though I do like architecture, and Oberlin’s strange unplanned landscape. The trees in Tappan Square evoke a stronger awe than elegant Talcott, the sandstone Disney magnificence of Peters, or the neoclassical Memorial arch. I don’t feel flushed by Cass Gilbert, or Silsbee, or the religiosity of the Science Center. But the stillness of the Reservoir gets me, every time.
It is in my friends, who make me feel real. They give me form, structure, and a valid self. I’ve grown worse at engaging large groups, but more amazed by the comfort in sharing time with one. When I visit, I always want more time to hold hands and walk with my friend-family, from cousins to siblings. They are so beautiful and they give me so much. (My name feels safe in their mouths.)
It is Ma’ayan’s face softening, thinking about the poster, thinking about the future and the past.
Harris reading Annie Dillard aloud to me, and poems like “Aubade” written onto scrap paper on his wall.
It is Amanda straddling a log, becoming a “sex panther” with me. It is Amanda, her hand on the small of my back, moving with me to Nina Simone, her eyes insatiable.
It is Greg, self-possessed, grounded: living, teaching, and playing.
It is a Gimlet. It is a sip of Guinness. It is a glass of milk after a day of dancing.
It is muddling through the basic of West Coast Swing, trying to move on the third beat of a triplet (that probably isn’t a triplet.) It is the classically-trained instructors, and their care for each other, arm in arm at the airport.
It is Kate’s face, covered in freckles, exuding comfort and calm.
It is Mari’s knee causing her pain, but the smoothness of the workshop easing her mind. Monica’s grace. Fiona’s charm. My inability to lead them, but simply stare at their loveliness and be overwhelmed.
It is Lily’s infectious grin and incredible warmth. It is Scout’s vibrant honesty.
It is Mineh's understanding that I am an immature pervert, and the way he leads me around.
It is Ali’s goofiness, her maddeningly gorgeous eyes, and how she and Patrick joke with each other.
It is Brandi's focus behind the wheel, her integrity so clear.
Jeff Hagan’s messy desk, even with Brandi’s tidying, and his enthusiasm for my future.
A crowd dancing. The circus on a Friday afternoon. A large coffee from Slow Train. The golden tree in Tappan, and the tree that belongs to Kris.
My friends.
I love them.
First: the long distance relationship dream come true -- holding the one you love and realizing that they’re real. You didn’t dream them up. They aren’t an abstraction, a perfection, an invisible friend. They’re them, and all the silly little bits of them: homework, stuffed noses, messy rooms and math tests. No bread or skim milk in the house. Terrible vodka in the cupboard.
But those unpretty parts are the best. Hell, they’re more beautiful than you remembered. You kiss the salt on their skin, you touch their shoulders and recall sculptures of Adonis or Aphrodite. You watch them move, watch them dance, and the world just feels more right.
you kiss.
you hold.
you make love.
and everything is better. everything will be alright.
everything is just perfect. you love them.
(and i do love you.)
... But it was more this time – there were other salient details. You know when the sun hits a leaf, and the glow warms the edges and you can see the veins of the leaf? And it’s no longer simply beautiful, but very, very IMPORTANT. It’s staring at the sky in early fall, and knowing that this is THE horizon. This is the earth you live in. You want to tell the world about the way that a snake hurries away from you, then looks back, invitingly, inquiringly, before darting into the brush.
It is the details.
I’ve never felt much attachment to the architecture of Oberlin – though I do like architecture, and Oberlin’s strange unplanned landscape. The trees in Tappan Square evoke a stronger awe than elegant Talcott, the sandstone Disney magnificence of Peters, or the neoclassical Memorial arch. I don’t feel flushed by Cass Gilbert, or Silsbee, or the religiosity of the Science Center. But the stillness of the Reservoir gets me, every time.
It is in my friends, who make me feel real. They give me form, structure, and a valid self. I’ve grown worse at engaging large groups, but more amazed by the comfort in sharing time with one. When I visit, I always want more time to hold hands and walk with my friend-family, from cousins to siblings. They are so beautiful and they give me so much. (My name feels safe in their mouths.)
It is Ma’ayan’s face softening, thinking about the poster, thinking about the future and the past.
Harris reading Annie Dillard aloud to me, and poems like “Aubade” written onto scrap paper on his wall.
It is Amanda straddling a log, becoming a “sex panther” with me. It is Amanda, her hand on the small of my back, moving with me to Nina Simone, her eyes insatiable.
It is Greg, self-possessed, grounded: living, teaching, and playing.
It is a Gimlet. It is a sip of Guinness. It is a glass of milk after a day of dancing.
It is muddling through the basic of West Coast Swing, trying to move on the third beat of a triplet (that probably isn’t a triplet.) It is the classically-trained instructors, and their care for each other, arm in arm at the airport.
It is Kate’s face, covered in freckles, exuding comfort and calm.
It is Mari’s knee causing her pain, but the smoothness of the workshop easing her mind. Monica’s grace. Fiona’s charm. My inability to lead them, but simply stare at their loveliness and be overwhelmed.
It is Lily’s infectious grin and incredible warmth. It is Scout’s vibrant honesty.
It is Mineh's understanding that I am an immature pervert, and the way he leads me around.
It is Ali’s goofiness, her maddeningly gorgeous eyes, and how she and Patrick joke with each other.
It is Brandi's focus behind the wheel, her integrity so clear.
Jeff Hagan’s messy desk, even with Brandi’s tidying, and his enthusiasm for my future.
A crowd dancing. The circus on a Friday afternoon. A large coffee from Slow Train. The golden tree in Tappan, and the tree that belongs to Kris.
My friends.
I love them.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Newest Transplant to Washington, DC
I just moved to Washington, DC.
Though each item has a bit more detail, the basic TO DO list is this:
1. Get a job.
2. Get a place to live / sublet / rent.
3. Take chances.
If you would like to assist me in any way with these tasks, that'd be very much appreciated.
I fit the contents of my life in a suitcase, 2 shoulder bags, and a backpack. There are 4 small boxes in UPS storage, and 3 small items in Brandi Ferrebee's storage area. That's all I own. That feels good. There will be less and less of it, as time goes on.
The things that matter most are my laptop, cell phone, mp3 player, and a children's book called "Love is A Special Way of Feeling."
After hours of packing, with the great patience of Brandi, we left Oberlin at 10:30pm to arrive in Brandi's home just-outside-of-Winchester, VA at 4:30am. It's fascinating, to see a home, as opposed to a house. Brandi's family built the whole thing, and when they get old, they'll convert the downstairs office to a bedroom. There's something beautiful in that commitment.
Right now, I'm not so clear on life commitment. I'm excited to be free, to be living and working, and taking chances and having adventures.
I don't know where I'll be after the summer. If I get a year-long job, that will dictate this year, but if I don't, I'll be wild and mobile. There's a whole world, and I want to learn about it. I'll visit Oberlin -- it's where my friends are. I'll try to visit the rest of you, wherever you are, if you'll have me. If you'd like to reach me, the best bet is my email: aries.indenbaum@gmail.com.
And when I have a place, I love guests. I want to be a good host.
I was happy to see Lilly, Matt, Sandhya and Anna, and also what they represent: being able to be connected with my friends. The act of running into people at a subway stop. In the car with Ma'ayan and Brandi, I realized how much I trusted them. How I filtered nothing, and didn't think about our relationship as a game, or something where I had an objective, but natural. Comfortable.
This year at Oberlin has been good for me in many ways. Though it's not as learning-centric as student life was, it taught me good lesson. I learned values, not vocabulary. Mostly from my friends. I don't have a strong sense of external value-passing: I'm not affiliated with any church, I have a small family, and no strong roots to a given place. I've learned a lot from my parents' values, but I love learning from my friends: their generosity, their bravery, their loyalty, their honesty, their ambition.
I'll have done it right if my tombstone says, "She was a good friend."
Though each item has a bit more detail, the basic TO DO list is this:
1. Get a job.
2. Get a place to live / sublet / rent.
3. Take chances.
If you would like to assist me in any way with these tasks, that'd be very much appreciated.
I fit the contents of my life in a suitcase, 2 shoulder bags, and a backpack. There are 4 small boxes in UPS storage, and 3 small items in Brandi Ferrebee's storage area. That's all I own. That feels good. There will be less and less of it, as time goes on.
The things that matter most are my laptop, cell phone, mp3 player, and a children's book called "Love is A Special Way of Feeling."
After hours of packing, with the great patience of Brandi, we left Oberlin at 10:30pm to arrive in Brandi's home just-outside-of-Winchester, VA at 4:30am. It's fascinating, to see a home, as opposed to a house. Brandi's family built the whole thing, and when they get old, they'll convert the downstairs office to a bedroom. There's something beautiful in that commitment.
Right now, I'm not so clear on life commitment. I'm excited to be free, to be living and working, and taking chances and having adventures.
I don't know where I'll be after the summer. If I get a year-long job, that will dictate this year, but if I don't, I'll be wild and mobile. There's a whole world, and I want to learn about it. I'll visit Oberlin -- it's where my friends are. I'll try to visit the rest of you, wherever you are, if you'll have me. If you'd like to reach me, the best bet is my email: aries.indenbaum@gmail.com.
And when I have a place, I love guests. I want to be a good host.
I was happy to see Lilly, Matt, Sandhya and Anna, and also what they represent: being able to be connected with my friends. The act of running into people at a subway stop. In the car with Ma'ayan and Brandi, I realized how much I trusted them. How I filtered nothing, and didn't think about our relationship as a game, or something where I had an objective, but natural. Comfortable.
This year at Oberlin has been good for me in many ways. Though it's not as learning-centric as student life was, it taught me good lesson. I learned values, not vocabulary. Mostly from my friends. I don't have a strong sense of external value-passing: I'm not affiliated with any church, I have a small family, and no strong roots to a given place. I've learned a lot from my parents' values, but I love learning from my friends: their generosity, their bravery, their loyalty, their honesty, their ambition.
I'll have done it right if my tombstone says, "She was a good friend."
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Mammoth Cave: the longest entry in the world.
Oberlin is a small town. A lovely, charming town, but a small town nevertheless. And sometimes, it's great to just get out of town. Thus: Spring break in Mammoth Cave!
Our Heroes: Yoshi, Erika, Andrew, Iris and I
Our Place: Kentucky, Mammoth Cave and Louisville
Our Enemies: Winter, rain, nighttime.
Highlights of Our Adventure:
Mammoth. Mammoth Cave is the world's longest cave. Its held a tuberculosis hospital, a Methodist church, saltpetre (an element of gunpowder) and millions of tourists. We took two tours of the cave - a total of five hours underground. One tour guide was amazing: Jo Duvall had been working in the cave since the '60s and knew everything about everything. When President Reagan visited the cave, he talked to Jo to get information for his soundbites. He was a self-identified hillbilly with the articulation of a college professor.
The other tour guide was less amazing, but did have a great sense of humor. When we entered a wet portion of the cave and started seeing stalactites and stalagmites in formation, he explained, "When stalagmites and stalactites conjoin, we call them columns. Some people call them pillars, but I'm a Kentucky man, so pillars are what I sleep on."
We camped out about 10 minutes away from the main cave entrance. Our tent and a bunch of our supplies came courtesy of the Outing Club. Outing Club is so cool - they give free camping funds for food and gas, as well as backpacks, tarps, tents and anything you need for a week/weekend away from school. They've sponsored trips to the Rockies, the Adirondacks and places near and far from the college.
Team Family. Our second tour of Mammoth Cave was a lantern tour - we were given one lantern per family. Given we weren't a family, but yet we were a group, we bunched together and declared ourselves Team Family™.
Friendliness aside, groups take a while to bond. I'd never hung out with Erika, Andrew or Iris before for a long period of time. There's an easy way to tell when an Oberlin group bonds (cite: Yoshi) - it's when we all say we're from Ohio. Decisively. For the first day or so, the "Where are y'all from?" question yields... "Ohio, but-" "California" "Texas" "Wisconsin" "Pennsylvania, by Philly" "California, then New York."
After another day, we are from "Ohio." No ifs, ands, or buts.
Not us. Still, it's a big cave.
Delicious food. The benefit of going camping with co-opers is that they can cook like nobody's business. With excessive amounts of rice, pasta, potatoes, mushrooms, garlic, olive oil and mozzarella as bases, Erika/Andrew/Iris made some pretty incredible food. Also, there was much less snacking than other road trips I'd been on. The focus was much more on meals and eating together.
Flutes. Andrew, a double-degree classical saxophone/anthropology major, was playing in the pit band for Reefer Madness. Though he has very little flute training, they wanted him to play a specific line from Peer Gynt for the show. So, he needed to learn flute in two weeks. Who better to teach him than Erika? Apparently, Erika played classical flute for over a decade. So, each morning, as breakfast cooked away, Erika would teach Andrew how to relax his embouchure and play gorgeous music. It was amazing to watch how fast Andrew learned the instrument and how well Erika taught it.
Badass Hiking. I am virulently afraid of falling - I have trouble with any sport involving mountains. I love hiking, though, as long as the paths don't try to kill me. On our first real day, we went hiking, in search of the river. An ice storm had ripped through the parkland in late January and had felled thousands of trees and blocked off a number of roads. As a result, we had to take a more circuitous path to get to the river - a windy little path past tiny waterfalls and giant downed trees. Andrew found a tick on his leg, but the rest of us escaped (I hope). While there were hundreds of birds near the campground, we didn't hear so much as a peep up in the hills. Just miles and miles of woods.
Late March is not the gorgeous time in KY - it's still winter, there's not so much green. But there was gold. Some of the trees held little golden leaves that make a whooshing sound in the wind, similar to rain. It reminded me of the wobbly-headed tree spirits (kodama) in Princess Mononoke.
Kodama! Keep reading, it gets cooler.
After a while, we got a bit bored of this. We couldn't see the river, but according to the map, it was all around us. We went off the trail, which meant a sliding descent.
Given my violent acrophobia, this excellent idea turned uncomfortable very fast. Fear is a somatic emotion - I can feel my heart speed up, sweat pour, and a redness settle over my face. My voice becomes harsher, stomach acid sloshes around my gut. I wanted to be alone. I stared at the river for a few minutes. It was a shining aquamarine, gorgeous and clean.
However, it turned out that Erika was also afraid of heights. After a few minutes of descent, we crawled up to the trail.
Below us, the trio kept going: Iris and Andrew are rock-climbing geniuses and Yoshi has massive upper body strength. We could hear their voices, but not what they said. After about 15 minutes, they rejoined us on the trail, Andrew looking sheepish.
"What happened?" Erika asked. "Did you get to the river?"
"No. Andrew did something really stupid - " Iris said.
"For the sake of testosterone, can we replace stupid with badass?" Andrew interjected.
"Okay. So?"
Andrew had been climbing and saw a steep drop a few steps ahead of him. Aloud, he said, "This will be so much easier if I drop my bag down first."
After dropping the bag and hearing the smack a few minutes later, he said, "Shit. Guys? I need to get my bag back."
So Andrew jumped down and found he had no way to get back up the sheer cliff. There were a few minutes of frustration.
In order to retrieve Andrew, Iris gripped onto a tree, Yoshi hung onto one of her legs, and Andrew climbed up their human ladder.
"Badass," we said.
Our Heroes!
Iris. I didn't know Iris at all, before this trip. But over the days, I started to really enjoy her company. She's from Madison, Wisconsin, and is a life-long co-oper. When she was younger, she lived in a family-focused cooperative and grew up in a much larger family than most other people. We talked about co-ops a lot; I'm thinking of trying to live in one after I graduate for cost/community purposes.
Iris was a founding member of After Midnight, Oberlin's only coed a capella group that sings jazz standards. Whenever Iris or Andrew sat next to each other in the car, they would practice "Lush Life," one of the saddest ballads of all time. Gorgeousness. Iris also had some of the most insane camping stories of going out to odd little islands in Wisconsin to see gorgeous lakes and climb giant rocks. She's also one of the most cheerful, strangely ethereal people I've met -- someone who doesn't get brought down by the little things.
Iris wants to save humanity from becoming extinct. Like this guy to her left.
Yoshi. You know all about Yoshi, gentle viewers. He's my favorite person. On the second day, when he was driving, turkeys attacked the car. Yoshi was terrified. Whenever he drove after that, we pantomimed turkeys, playing into his gobbler-trauma. Though he hadn't gone camping as much as he'd like to, being outside of the school-world is good for him. When we told stories by the fire, I really loved to hear his. I know most of them, but he's a really skilled speaker, so it just gets better and better. He's really good at pausing.
I like him a lot.
Sleeping Yoshi is unaware of the panda about to devour him.
Andrew. I met Andrew as my co-lead for a play that Erika's girlfriend Sarah wrote for David Walker's Playwriting class. We portrayed wanna-be cultists who would do whatever it takes to get into "The Order." Andrew's character kicked the snot out of me while I creepily insisted that he do it. It was so much fun. But that show was at the end of the semester, so we never got a chance to hang out. (Also, I had a gigantic crush on him at the time so I found it difficult to speak in full sentences when he was around.) We did a lot of singing along in the car to Cake songs. Andrew was also a super-mega-tastic outdoorsman. He worked at a nature camp for seven years and thus knows all the less-dangerous ways to have an excellent time. He knows the dangerous ways too, but sometimes keeps mum on them.
And he speaks Czech. This boy is too hardcore.
Timmy and Andrew (Andrew on the right, looking like a Scottish folk hero. Timmy looks pretty foxy.) Credit: Ma'ayan.
Erika. Erika's been composing/playing for circus for as long as I've been around, but as a double-degree student, she's been busy. This year, she's sharing a house with Liz Hibbard, one of my favorite people in the world. Despite her practicing five hours a day, I get to see her more often when I chill in her house. This is excellent, as Erika is simultaneously chill and focused. She's got the easygoing Bay Area feel (her parents are Japanese hippies) but the ambition of a pianist. She's also endlessly curious, charming and considerate. We spoke about environmental politics for a while and I found out that Erika went to MLK Jr. Middle School, Alice Water's Edible Schoolyard. I've read about her middle school in academic papers on sustainability. Craziness. Also, as a shout-out to the project, she's working on urban food sustainability and wants to work in that field after college. Pay it forwards?
Erika, looking chill, photo courtesy of Yitka, who takes sweet pictures.
Our Heroes: Yoshi, Erika, Andrew, Iris and I
Our Place: Kentucky, Mammoth Cave and Louisville
Our Enemies: Winter, rain, nighttime.
Highlights of Our Adventure:
Mammoth. Mammoth Cave is the world's longest cave. Its held a tuberculosis hospital, a Methodist church, saltpetre (an element of gunpowder) and millions of tourists. We took two tours of the cave - a total of five hours underground. One tour guide was amazing: Jo Duvall had been working in the cave since the '60s and knew everything about everything. When President Reagan visited the cave, he talked to Jo to get information for his soundbites. He was a self-identified hillbilly with the articulation of a college professor.
The other tour guide was less amazing, but did have a great sense of humor. When we entered a wet portion of the cave and started seeing stalactites and stalagmites in formation, he explained, "When stalagmites and stalactites conjoin, we call them columns. Some people call them pillars, but I'm a Kentucky man, so pillars are what I sleep on."
We camped out about 10 minutes away from the main cave entrance. Our tent and a bunch of our supplies came courtesy of the Outing Club. Outing Club is so cool - they give free camping funds for food and gas, as well as backpacks, tarps, tents and anything you need for a week/weekend away from school. They've sponsored trips to the Rockies, the Adirondacks and places near and far from the college.
Team Family. Our second tour of Mammoth Cave was a lantern tour - we were given one lantern per family. Given we weren't a family, but yet we were a group, we bunched together and declared ourselves Team Family™.
Friendliness aside, groups take a while to bond. I'd never hung out with Erika, Andrew or Iris before for a long period of time. There's an easy way to tell when an Oberlin group bonds (cite: Yoshi) - it's when we all say we're from Ohio. Decisively. For the first day or so, the "Where are y'all from?" question yields... "Ohio, but-" "California" "Texas" "Wisconsin" "Pennsylvania, by Philly" "California, then New York."
After another day, we are from "Ohio." No ifs, ands, or buts.
Not us. Still, it's a big cave.
Delicious food. The benefit of going camping with co-opers is that they can cook like nobody's business. With excessive amounts of rice, pasta, potatoes, mushrooms, garlic, olive oil and mozzarella as bases, Erika/Andrew/Iris made some pretty incredible food. Also, there was much less snacking than other road trips I'd been on. The focus was much more on meals and eating together.
Flutes. Andrew, a double-degree classical saxophone/anthropology major, was playing in the pit band for Reefer Madness. Though he has very little flute training, they wanted him to play a specific line from Peer Gynt for the show. So, he needed to learn flute in two weeks. Who better to teach him than Erika? Apparently, Erika played classical flute for over a decade. So, each morning, as breakfast cooked away, Erika would teach Andrew how to relax his embouchure and play gorgeous music. It was amazing to watch how fast Andrew learned the instrument and how well Erika taught it.
Badass Hiking. I am virulently afraid of falling - I have trouble with any sport involving mountains. I love hiking, though, as long as the paths don't try to kill me. On our first real day, we went hiking, in search of the river. An ice storm had ripped through the parkland in late January and had felled thousands of trees and blocked off a number of roads. As a result, we had to take a more circuitous path to get to the river - a windy little path past tiny waterfalls and giant downed trees. Andrew found a tick on his leg, but the rest of us escaped (I hope). While there were hundreds of birds near the campground, we didn't hear so much as a peep up in the hills. Just miles and miles of woods.
Late March is not the gorgeous time in KY - it's still winter, there's not so much green. But there was gold. Some of the trees held little golden leaves that make a whooshing sound in the wind, similar to rain. It reminded me of the wobbly-headed tree spirits (kodama) in Princess Mononoke.
Kodama! Keep reading, it gets cooler.
After a while, we got a bit bored of this. We couldn't see the river, but according to the map, it was all around us. We went off the trail, which meant a sliding descent.
Given my violent acrophobia, this excellent idea turned uncomfortable very fast. Fear is a somatic emotion - I can feel my heart speed up, sweat pour, and a redness settle over my face. My voice becomes harsher, stomach acid sloshes around my gut. I wanted to be alone. I stared at the river for a few minutes. It was a shining aquamarine, gorgeous and clean.
However, it turned out that Erika was also afraid of heights. After a few minutes of descent, we crawled up to the trail.
Below us, the trio kept going: Iris and Andrew are rock-climbing geniuses and Yoshi has massive upper body strength. We could hear their voices, but not what they said. After about 15 minutes, they rejoined us on the trail, Andrew looking sheepish.
"What happened?" Erika asked. "Did you get to the river?"
"No. Andrew did something really stupid - " Iris said.
"For the sake of testosterone, can we replace stupid with badass?" Andrew interjected.
"Okay. So?"
Andrew had been climbing and saw a steep drop a few steps ahead of him. Aloud, he said, "This will be so much easier if I drop my bag down first."
After dropping the bag and hearing the smack a few minutes later, he said, "Shit. Guys? I need to get my bag back."
So Andrew jumped down and found he had no way to get back up the sheer cliff. There were a few minutes of frustration.
In order to retrieve Andrew, Iris gripped onto a tree, Yoshi hung onto one of her legs, and Andrew climbed up their human ladder.
"Badass," we said.
Our Heroes!
Iris. I didn't know Iris at all, before this trip. But over the days, I started to really enjoy her company. She's from Madison, Wisconsin, and is a life-long co-oper. When she was younger, she lived in a family-focused cooperative and grew up in a much larger family than most other people. We talked about co-ops a lot; I'm thinking of trying to live in one after I graduate for cost/community purposes.
Iris was a founding member of After Midnight, Oberlin's only coed a capella group that sings jazz standards. Whenever Iris or Andrew sat next to each other in the car, they would practice "Lush Life," one of the saddest ballads of all time. Gorgeousness. Iris also had some of the most insane camping stories of going out to odd little islands in Wisconsin to see gorgeous lakes and climb giant rocks. She's also one of the most cheerful, strangely ethereal people I've met -- someone who doesn't get brought down by the little things.
Iris wants to save humanity from becoming extinct. Like this guy to her left.
Yoshi. You know all about Yoshi, gentle viewers. He's my favorite person. On the second day, when he was driving, turkeys attacked the car. Yoshi was terrified. Whenever he drove after that, we pantomimed turkeys, playing into his gobbler-trauma. Though he hadn't gone camping as much as he'd like to, being outside of the school-world is good for him. When we told stories by the fire, I really loved to hear his. I know most of them, but he's a really skilled speaker, so it just gets better and better. He's really good at pausing.
I like him a lot.
Sleeping Yoshi is unaware of the panda about to devour him.
Andrew. I met Andrew as my co-lead for a play that Erika's girlfriend Sarah wrote for David Walker's Playwriting class. We portrayed wanna-be cultists who would do whatever it takes to get into "The Order." Andrew's character kicked the snot out of me while I creepily insisted that he do it. It was so much fun. But that show was at the end of the semester, so we never got a chance to hang out. (Also, I had a gigantic crush on him at the time so I found it difficult to speak in full sentences when he was around.) We did a lot of singing along in the car to Cake songs. Andrew was also a super-mega-tastic outdoorsman. He worked at a nature camp for seven years and thus knows all the less-dangerous ways to have an excellent time. He knows the dangerous ways too, but sometimes keeps mum on them.
And he speaks Czech. This boy is too hardcore.
Timmy and Andrew (Andrew on the right, looking like a Scottish folk hero. Timmy looks pretty foxy.) Credit: Ma'ayan.
Erika. Erika's been composing/playing for circus for as long as I've been around, but as a double-degree student, she's been busy. This year, she's sharing a house with Liz Hibbard, one of my favorite people in the world. Despite her practicing five hours a day, I get to see her more often when I chill in her house. This is excellent, as Erika is simultaneously chill and focused. She's got the easygoing Bay Area feel (her parents are Japanese hippies) but the ambition of a pianist. She's also endlessly curious, charming and considerate. We spoke about environmental politics for a while and I found out that Erika went to MLK Jr. Middle School, Alice Water's Edible Schoolyard. I've read about her middle school in academic papers on sustainability. Craziness. Also, as a shout-out to the project, she's working on urban food sustainability and wants to work in that field after college. Pay it forwards?
Erika, looking chill, photo courtesy of Yitka, who takes sweet pictures.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Swing Dancing > "Real World"
I never bought any of that "greatest years of your life" crap in high school. Sadly, it seems that sentiment might be valid as far as college is concerned.
This terrifying thought struck me last weekend at a Mardi Gras party at French Language House. It wasn't a great party. The venue was too small and didn't have the best acoustics. Still, it was $2 to see an amazing New Orleans-style jazz band ... with beads, tasty king cake and masks. While dancing, I realized it wouldn't be this easy in the "real world." Music wouldn't be ubiquitous; conservatory players would be hot, expensive commodities. Friends would be harder to access, communities harder to join.
In fear of the real world, I resolved to do as many excited, ridiculous things as I can this semester. Especially new things. Like swing dancing.
This weekend I spent a majority of my time at OJDF - Oberlin Jazz Dance Festival. All in all, I took five classes and attended four dances. The classes were perfect: equal follow-lead ratio, strong teaching, good dancers. Very few folks were raw beginners, but we all needed a bit of help, so we could all teach each other. It takes me a long time to learn anything dance-related, so my ability to pick up lindy hop, charleston, Suzie Q's, turns and swivels was surprising.
The Saturday night formal dance was incredible. Obies don't get gussied up all that often, but when they do, it's a sight to be seen. I can still see the shimmer of Ploy's red silk dress ruffling in the hot air. We destroyed that gym floor - the floorboards rattled when the whole crowd danced. The festival hosted two competitions, one individual and one for couples. Competitors weren't only Obies - a few pros entered in, as well as some folks from Kalamazoo who visited for the weekend. It was incredibly well run and the collective skill level was amazing.
I'd always liked swing, both participating and watching. In my first year, I took the Swing Dance Exco but I didn't keep up afterwards after busting up my ankle. Freshman year was a long, long time ago, so I thought I'd lost it all. But this weekend, a lot came back, and I found it pretty easy to pick things up. I've still got a long way to go to feel proficient or be a tolerable follow, but this weekend was so energizing and inspiring. I want to do it. OSwing organizes a jazz dance every 2 weeks, and does a smaller jam each week, as well as blues dancing.
And sometimes, they just do ridiculous stuff... Example: Brett and Haley.
Normal dancing
Preparing for something?
Hot damn.
So much air!
Awwww.
(Photo credits: Ma'ayan "Freakin' Awesome" Plaut)
The attitude of Swing, like Contra, is super-social. I must insist on the superiority of contra for friend-making, due to its inherent silliness, but swing is a social dance. I feel as if I understand my friends I've danced with... in a different way. Sometimes, even watching them dance is enough to get a bigger view of them. When some people dance, they drop their guard. They laugh, they smile, they sweat, they mess up and keep going.
This terrifying thought struck me last weekend at a Mardi Gras party at French Language House. It wasn't a great party. The venue was too small and didn't have the best acoustics. Still, it was $2 to see an amazing New Orleans-style jazz band ... with beads, tasty king cake and masks. While dancing, I realized it wouldn't be this easy in the "real world." Music wouldn't be ubiquitous; conservatory players would be hot, expensive commodities. Friends would be harder to access, communities harder to join.
In fear of the real world, I resolved to do as many excited, ridiculous things as I can this semester. Especially new things. Like swing dancing.
This weekend I spent a majority of my time at OJDF - Oberlin Jazz Dance Festival. All in all, I took five classes and attended four dances. The classes were perfect: equal follow-lead ratio, strong teaching, good dancers. Very few folks were raw beginners, but we all needed a bit of help, so we could all teach each other. It takes me a long time to learn anything dance-related, so my ability to pick up lindy hop, charleston, Suzie Q's, turns and swivels was surprising.
The Saturday night formal dance was incredible. Obies don't get gussied up all that often, but when they do, it's a sight to be seen. I can still see the shimmer of Ploy's red silk dress ruffling in the hot air. We destroyed that gym floor - the floorboards rattled when the whole crowd danced. The festival hosted two competitions, one individual and one for couples. Competitors weren't only Obies - a few pros entered in, as well as some folks from Kalamazoo who visited for the weekend. It was incredibly well run and the collective skill level was amazing.
I'd always liked swing, both participating and watching. In my first year, I took the Swing Dance Exco but I didn't keep up afterwards after busting up my ankle. Freshman year was a long, long time ago, so I thought I'd lost it all. But this weekend, a lot came back, and I found it pretty easy to pick things up. I've still got a long way to go to feel proficient or be a tolerable follow, but this weekend was so energizing and inspiring. I want to do it. OSwing organizes a jazz dance every 2 weeks, and does a smaller jam each week, as well as blues dancing.
And sometimes, they just do ridiculous stuff... Example: Brett and Haley.
Normal dancing
Preparing for something?
Hot damn.
So much air!
Awwww.
(Photo credits: Ma'ayan "Freakin' Awesome" Plaut)
The attitude of Swing, like Contra, is super-social. I must insist on the superiority of contra for friend-making, due to its inherent silliness, but swing is a social dance. I feel as if I understand my friends I've danced with... in a different way. Sometimes, even watching them dance is enough to get a bigger view of them. When some people dance, they drop their guard. They laugh, they smile, they sweat, they mess up and keep going.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Flying and fooding
Everyone I know has some flying rituals. Little things they think about -- places they get milkshakes or coffees. Stretches they do, people they call. Me, I always stay up too late packing the night before and spend much of the airport experience in a half-dead daze. I sleep on planes, curled up like a little child.
Once we landed at Cleveland-Hopkins Airport, I woke up and raced for the LCT stop. After waiting outside for 10 minutes, I huddled indoors and discovered I had missed the last bus by 15 minutes. Gahhh.
The LCT, or "Lorain County Transport," is a cheap bus running between Oberlin and Cleveland Airport, as well as other points in the area. The LCT runs seven times a day normally, and more so during special days (i.e. end of semester). If you can make the LCT, life is easy. If not, you're stuck with a taxi with a flat rate of $64 before tip & tax. Again: gahhhh.
If you've missed the LCT, it's customary for Obies to hang out at the airport to find someone to carpool/taxipool with. It's a nice way to make friends and save a bunch of money.
This time, I ended up meeting Lucas, a freshman from Oakland, who's really cool. He deferred for a year, taking a job for half the time and spending the rest of the year on Amtrak, seeing the country. He had spent his WT writing up and editing his journal from the travels. It was really interesting to see how his trip had differed from mine -- while Lucas went solo, I've normally had companions when exploring new areas. While I can be by myself without a problem, having company gives me a lot of perspective.
--
Right now, Yoshi and I are at home, on Pleasant Street. Oberlin is snow-covered, the college officially closed down for the day. It's good to be home, too. We notched the thermostat up and are putting away candy from Theo Chocolate, the only free-trade and organic chocolate-makers in the US. It's tasty chocolate. We just had dinner with the "Harkness Foodship," a group who stayed in Oberlin for Winter Term.
Everyone summed up their Winter Term in five words or less. I remembered these:
"Herodatus was a badass." (Greek Language Intensive)
"Playing with Legos." (Child development)
"Hip-hop is a one-word contraction." (Music and Spoken Word Readings)
Eliza wrote a limerick on her neurophysiology research:
A neuron, E1, had a mission
To excite all its neighbors' condition
Except, on occasion
In retaliation
'Twas paralyzed with inhibition.
... Though I forgot the words, I remember the other projects -- technical director for a play, building a super-computer, and Ma'ayan's Story Pirates.
As Ma'ayan can do a better job explaining the Harkness Foodship, I can sum up: it's an unofficial, Winter Term dining co-op where friends break from their projects to cook delicious meals. Last night's dinner was shish kabobs, cucumber salad, and couscous, with chocolate dipped fruits for dessert. The shish kabobs were either made of lamb or seitan, depending on preference. It was all very, very tasty.
The company was also wonderful to have again. To have a full table of people, happily eating a home-cooked meal... my heart shudders with fuzzy good thoughts.
Once we landed at Cleveland-Hopkins Airport, I woke up and raced for the LCT stop. After waiting outside for 10 minutes, I huddled indoors and discovered I had missed the last bus by 15 minutes. Gahhh.
The LCT, or "Lorain County Transport," is a cheap bus running between Oberlin and Cleveland Airport, as well as other points in the area. The LCT runs seven times a day normally, and more so during special days (i.e. end of semester). If you can make the LCT, life is easy. If not, you're stuck with a taxi with a flat rate of $64 before tip & tax. Again: gahhhh.
If you've missed the LCT, it's customary for Obies to hang out at the airport to find someone to carpool/taxipool with. It's a nice way to make friends and save a bunch of money.
This time, I ended up meeting Lucas, a freshman from Oakland, who's really cool. He deferred for a year, taking a job for half the time and spending the rest of the year on Amtrak, seeing the country. He had spent his WT writing up and editing his journal from the travels. It was really interesting to see how his trip had differed from mine -- while Lucas went solo, I've normally had companions when exploring new areas. While I can be by myself without a problem, having company gives me a lot of perspective.
--
Right now, Yoshi and I are at home, on Pleasant Street. Oberlin is snow-covered, the college officially closed down for the day. It's good to be home, too. We notched the thermostat up and are putting away candy from Theo Chocolate, the only free-trade and organic chocolate-makers in the US. It's tasty chocolate. We just had dinner with the "Harkness Foodship," a group who stayed in Oberlin for Winter Term.
Everyone summed up their Winter Term in five words or less. I remembered these:
"Herodatus was a badass." (Greek Language Intensive)
"Playing with Legos." (Child development)
"Hip-hop is a one-word contraction." (Music and Spoken Word Readings)
Eliza wrote a limerick on her neurophysiology research:
A neuron, E1, had a mission
To excite all its neighbors' condition
Except, on occasion
In retaliation
'Twas paralyzed with inhibition.
... Though I forgot the words, I remember the other projects -- technical director for a play, building a super-computer, and Ma'ayan's Story Pirates.
As Ma'ayan can do a better job explaining the Harkness Foodship, I can sum up: it's an unofficial, Winter Term dining co-op where friends break from their projects to cook delicious meals. Last night's dinner was shish kabobs, cucumber salad, and couscous, with chocolate dipped fruits for dessert. The shish kabobs were either made of lamb or seitan, depending on preference. It was all very, very tasty.
The company was also wonderful to have again. To have a full table of people, happily eating a home-cooked meal... my heart shudders with fuzzy good thoughts.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Circus Parties and Finales
"It must be Thursday," Ben said. I poked my head up from my straddle-stretch and saw most of my classmates taping their wrists and putting leg braces on their ankles. We were getting bedraggled, after countless handstands, cartwheels, and rope climbs. Yet as the weeks wound down, we got closer and closer as a group. In class, we were taught not to be competitive. We were never set against each other -- we were partners, coaches to each other. Afterward, I didn't feel jealous or inadequate towards my peers. It made it easy to be friends.
At the beginning of the month, we had class, ate lunch together at some local restaurant, and then split up, either to shadow classes or to wander Seattle. It wasn't a very cohesive group -- outside of circus, we didn't have so many similarities. Some of us were extrovert-dance-party-dance people, others were more... chill. When we went to an arcade, I forgot that not everyone likes shooting zombies, playing pinball, and rocking out on DDR. I believed these were intrinsic "good things," like sunlight and cotton candy. It seems that not everyone enjoys large dark rooms with flashing lights, violence, and loud noises.
But as the weeks went on, we gelled. There were circus parties on Saturday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday with dancing, massage circles, cooking, and games. Part of getting good at various circus skills is learning how to hyperextend your shoulders, arch your back, and make your abs hard as stones. Games become absurd and physical -- flexibility tests involving a broom, a push-up game with beer bottles, a bending game with a paper bag, and tipsy handstand contests. We did the things you aren't supposed to try at home.
On Thursday, we got in to see Teatro Zinzanni, a lavish dinner theater circus. Through school, we got a massive discount so the whole class and four teachers went. Teatro Zinzanni is a real-life Moulin Rouge, the stage and seated areas overlapping with mirrors, red velvet, elaborate costumes, feathers, glitter, and hats. The acts collide with a 5-course dinner, with acrobats doing flips off the tables, and the dinner plates being spun.
Though we were sitting in the outer ring (yay, discount!) we still saw an amazing show. The highlight was Les Petits Freres, three incredibly skilled acrobats with a great slapstick routine. Their finishing move was a three-high (person on another's shoulders, on another's shoulders) that they got into from lying down. The whole circus-school crowd, squashed into two booths, erupted with applause. We stood, cheered, and didn't sit down. After weeks of practice, we all knew, in every tired little muscle, how hard that move was.
Les Petits Freres!
Chef Caesar!
Audience participation was integral to the show. The maestro, Chef Caesar, pulled up a number of people, mostly women, to flirt with. But the big deal was when he needed a replacement and needed to find "three virile men" to choose from. Our group all pointed at Terry, one of our teachers who's a really gifted physical performer. He's Charlie Chaplin, if Chaplin could do aerial rope. We pointed at him, cheering. Except rather than Terry, the "Chef" winked at Yoshi. Yoshi, your narrator's boyfriend, was one of the selected.
The other two guys were big, all-American boys, blue-eyed and straight-haired. One was big and manly, the other was young and manly. Yoshi is 5'3'', slim with long hair and a goatee. The odds seemed a bit stacked. "Chef Caesar" serenaded the two other guys first, cooing over their bulging muscles and masculine charms... then approached Yoshi. I waited for the seemingly-inevitable barrage of short jokes.
Instead, Caesar started singing Jesus Christ Superstar. He finished a few verses of the theme song as well as "I Don't Know How to Love Him." The host hugged him, yelling, "You're back! I'm so glad you're back! Baby, baby Jesus, you sacred stud!" In the audience, the circus crowd exploded with laughter. Yoshi isn't a very Jesus-like guy. He's a neuroscience major from Texas.
In order to win Caesar's crown, the three guys had to dance to "She's a Lady (Woah, Woah, Woah)." The game: every time Tom Jones sung the word "Lady," the man would have to point to a lady. While looking sexy. The first two guys went up, one by one and did an okay job. In the back, one of the waitress/performers gave Yoshi two pieces of advice:
1. "Take it off."
2. "Show them that Jesus could dance."
And Yoshi did. We've been doing dance warm-ups for the past 3 weeks -- both modern, ballet, and hip-hop. Yoshi served it up, stripped off his jacket, and pointed at ladies. The crowd crowned him victor and he got a little medal that said WINNER!
The next day, we had our final performance of "Look what I learned!" with individual acts and a big group number. Given none of us knew any of this before, it was amazing how much and how fast we had learned. Some of the others in the group excelled at one thing or another: rope, tightwire, trampoline, acrobalance, etc. For me... I didn't find a specialty, but I did find an area to improve in. For two weeks, I was scared of the trapeze. I couldn't get the most basic move, the "basket hang." It's not complicated, but I don't like holding myself upside down. Sticking my butt over my head is different from most other things in my life. But after I nailed the basket hang a few days ago... I got less scared of the trapeze. So, I made a short routine. Three of our coaches gave me advice on form and taught me some new moves (mermaid! bird's nest!). I shook out my newly-calloused hands and put on a little act.
We finished up with a few pyramids, doing slapstick-style interludes. The best was the "running man" number. Two duos stood face-to-face, grasping the other's wrists, making a little square platform that someone could balance a foot on. Or he could pantomime running a marathon, a la Prefontaine, with the duos whistling the "Chariots of Fire" theme. Then, we had a picnic lunch, did more handstands, went to a contra dance, and had a party.
This has been the best Winter Term I could imagine.
At the beginning of the month, we had class, ate lunch together at some local restaurant, and then split up, either to shadow classes or to wander Seattle. It wasn't a very cohesive group -- outside of circus, we didn't have so many similarities. Some of us were extrovert-dance-party-dance people, others were more... chill. When we went to an arcade, I forgot that not everyone likes shooting zombies, playing pinball, and rocking out on DDR. I believed these were intrinsic "good things," like sunlight and cotton candy. It seems that not everyone enjoys large dark rooms with flashing lights, violence, and loud noises.
But as the weeks went on, we gelled. There were circus parties on Saturday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday with dancing, massage circles, cooking, and games. Part of getting good at various circus skills is learning how to hyperextend your shoulders, arch your back, and make your abs hard as stones. Games become absurd and physical -- flexibility tests involving a broom, a push-up game with beer bottles, a bending game with a paper bag, and tipsy handstand contests. We did the things you aren't supposed to try at home.
On Thursday, we got in to see Teatro Zinzanni, a lavish dinner theater circus. Through school, we got a massive discount so the whole class and four teachers went. Teatro Zinzanni is a real-life Moulin Rouge, the stage and seated areas overlapping with mirrors, red velvet, elaborate costumes, feathers, glitter, and hats. The acts collide with a 5-course dinner, with acrobats doing flips off the tables, and the dinner plates being spun.
Though we were sitting in the outer ring (yay, discount!) we still saw an amazing show. The highlight was Les Petits Freres, three incredibly skilled acrobats with a great slapstick routine. Their finishing move was a three-high (person on another's shoulders, on another's shoulders) that they got into from lying down. The whole circus-school crowd, squashed into two booths, erupted with applause. We stood, cheered, and didn't sit down. After weeks of practice, we all knew, in every tired little muscle, how hard that move was.
Les Petits Freres!
Chef Caesar!
Audience participation was integral to the show. The maestro, Chef Caesar, pulled up a number of people, mostly women, to flirt with. But the big deal was when he needed a replacement and needed to find "three virile men" to choose from. Our group all pointed at Terry, one of our teachers who's a really gifted physical performer. He's Charlie Chaplin, if Chaplin could do aerial rope. We pointed at him, cheering. Except rather than Terry, the "Chef" winked at Yoshi. Yoshi, your narrator's boyfriend, was one of the selected.
The other two guys were big, all-American boys, blue-eyed and straight-haired. One was big and manly, the other was young and manly. Yoshi is 5'3'', slim with long hair and a goatee. The odds seemed a bit stacked. "Chef Caesar" serenaded the two other guys first, cooing over their bulging muscles and masculine charms... then approached Yoshi. I waited for the seemingly-inevitable barrage of short jokes.
Instead, Caesar started singing Jesus Christ Superstar. He finished a few verses of the theme song as well as "I Don't Know How to Love Him." The host hugged him, yelling, "You're back! I'm so glad you're back! Baby, baby Jesus, you sacred stud!" In the audience, the circus crowd exploded with laughter. Yoshi isn't a very Jesus-like guy. He's a neuroscience major from Texas.
In order to win Caesar's crown, the three guys had to dance to "She's a Lady (Woah, Woah, Woah)." The game: every time Tom Jones sung the word "Lady," the man would have to point to a lady. While looking sexy. The first two guys went up, one by one and did an okay job. In the back, one of the waitress/performers gave Yoshi two pieces of advice:
1. "Take it off."
2. "Show them that Jesus could dance."
And Yoshi did. We've been doing dance warm-ups for the past 3 weeks -- both modern, ballet, and hip-hop. Yoshi served it up, stripped off his jacket, and pointed at ladies. The crowd crowned him victor and he got a little medal that said WINNER!
The next day, we had our final performance of "Look what I learned!" with individual acts and a big group number. Given none of us knew any of this before, it was amazing how much and how fast we had learned. Some of the others in the group excelled at one thing or another: rope, tightwire, trampoline, acrobalance, etc. For me... I didn't find a specialty, but I did find an area to improve in. For two weeks, I was scared of the trapeze. I couldn't get the most basic move, the "basket hang." It's not complicated, but I don't like holding myself upside down. Sticking my butt over my head is different from most other things in my life. But after I nailed the basket hang a few days ago... I got less scared of the trapeze. So, I made a short routine. Three of our coaches gave me advice on form and taught me some new moves (mermaid! bird's nest!). I shook out my newly-calloused hands and put on a little act.
We finished up with a few pyramids, doing slapstick-style interludes. The best was the "running man" number. Two duos stood face-to-face, grasping the other's wrists, making a little square platform that someone could balance a foot on. Or he could pantomime running a marathon, a la Prefontaine, with the duos whistling the "Chariots of Fire" theme. Then, we had a picnic lunch, did more handstands, went to a contra dance, and had a party.
This has been the best Winter Term I could imagine.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
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.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 29, 2008
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."
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."
Thursday, September 25, 2008
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!"
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!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
