Mike Rauscher Tells the Truth

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.

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.

That Alumni Interview

For some reason, I've never described my own Oberlin interview. This strikes me as peculiar, as I wrote this snazzy entry on things to do when you interview. But never about mine.

The Interns Prepare: Natalie and I, clinking coffee mugs and water bottles before a day of interviews.

On my college tour, I had a slew of unpleasant interviews. One alum wrote down what I said word for word, in a way creepily similar to Rita Skeeter. One student interviewer told me not to apply to her school; another only asked bizarre questions. One interviewer, an admissions officer, pulled up my file and started going through my academics, quizzing me about grades and classes.

But my worst was the weekend before my Oberlin interview. I'd had a terrible interview for Illustrious College*. My interviewer, a criminal lawyer, was deeply unpleasant. For an hour, he talked about the difficulties of his life, then quizzed me on the Iraq War.

He mispronounced my last name in three different ways: Indebam / Inderberg / Aydeenboom. In. Den. Baum. In, like Inn. Den, rhymes with hen. Baum, meaning tree, as in "O Tannenbaum" or L. Frank Baum.

It annoyed me a bit.

Worse, his office was boiling. Even before he started talking about Iraq, the sweat oozed off my forehead. Somehow, he was still wearing a blazer. I'd long-since slipped mine off, and was debating taking off my overshirt, but I didn't want to look tacky. Was the time for clothing removal over? Would he assume that I was making some cheap pass at him?

While we discussed elections, bombings and his quest for admission to Illustrious College's Well-Renown Law School, I wondered if I should subtly start talking about my interests. Should I mention to a lawyer that I did Mock Trial? Should I somehow tie this topic to academics and my great AP Government class? Should I ask pointed, hopeful questions about Illustrious College? Was I going to drown in my own sweat?

He asked me, "But what do you think about the relevance of the electoral process in third-world nations? I don't think it's possible. It's just not a part of their culture."


In the car ride home, I sunk into the seat.
Aries: That was awful.
Mom: Did you say something stupid?
Aries: No, it just... I don't really want to go to Illustrious College now.
Mom: You can't judge a whole school on one person. They can't all be jerks.
Aries: But he was supposed to be a representative! And he was a self-centered [several very obscene expletives deleted] jerk!
Mom: He's also been out of school for a while. It's probably not the college, it's him.




Two days later, I was scheduled to interview for Oberlin. Given the last experience, I was worried. The interview was at the Friends Seminary, a Quaker school in NYC.

The Friends Seminary! 222 East 16th Street, for all you New York types.

The day was bitterly cold. On the way over, my mother and I stopped at two different pharmacies to warm up. To give context: my mother is from Norway *. They invited Vikings, Svalbard, and endless winter. Even my mother, with her Viking-blood, thought the New York City wind was a bit nippy.

Svalbard, one of the only places Norway colonized. Note the closeness to the North Pole.

Once I entered the Friend's Seminary, every muscle relaxed. The space was warm and cozy, with canary yellow walls dotted with childrens art. Big signs that said OBERLIN! lead the way to a lounge, filled with anxious students, parents, and a few admissions folks.

Even after a few minutes to thaw, I still couldn't feel my feet. Gingerly, I asked one of the admissions folks, "How cold is it in Ohio?"

"Well," she said, "It's not worse than this."

"Oh," I sighed. 'Svalbard,' my toes whispered.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

"Yes." I replied. Cream. Splenda. Stir.

When the official alum talked to someone else, I scoped out the waiting room. As I'd dressed for the cold, I hadn't really thought to dress shmancy. I was wearing a nice tee-shirt, but also my normal goth pants. And green military boots. Happily, most of the other applicants didn't look too fancy: nice and casual, without being very preppy.

Generally, the college waiting rooms unnerved me. Like an actor at a casting call, I would look around, wondering how good my competition was, continuously aware that said competition might become castmates. Must be friendly, but not too friendly.

But this time, I felt more relaxed. The boy next to me was reading Zadie Smith. The girl across from me was studying for AP Chem-- I recognized the textbook.

"What unit are you on?" I asked.

She grinned ruefully, "Everything, technically. We're doing a practice AP on Tuesday."

"Shit," the boy said, looking up from his book. "That's awful."

We all started talking and didn't stop until we each got called for our respective interviews.






My interviewer was Peter, an alum who worked in the restaurant business. He smiled easily.

For the first time, after about 12 interviews, this was actually a conversation. For the first twenty minutes, we talked about cooking. And dining. And music. And why people do foolish thing. He was a fascinating guy -- completely self-effacing, funny and snarky. Strangely enough, he actually seemed to think that I was interesting too.

We joked about building a time machine... to create time. Just more and more of it. In little sugar packets you could drop into tea or coffee, so your day would stretch out more and more, until all the time-sugar was gone. Also, a music-language scrambler, so that all pop music would sound like Cirque du Soleil soundtracks.

Though I still minded my p's and q's, I didn't feel like he was judging me. He didn't take notes. He didn't ask for my GPA. We were just chatting. Even though we sat in tiny plastic desk-chairs, made for 7 year olds, I felt incredibly at ease. When Peter described Oberlin, it sounded like a painter talking about his favorite work. While it wasn't the most precise photo, the spirit was there exactly.

He even pronounced my last name correctly.

"Was that everything you wanted it to be?" he said, mostly seriously.

"Yeah," I said. "I didn't realize I had a say."

When I got back to the waiting room, I high-fived my mom, who was talking to Chemistry Girl's father. When we left, it felt a lot warmer out.

---

Notes:

* As mushy as this is, my parents were huge forces in my college search. If my Mom loathed a school, I probably didn't want to go. If my Dad was hopeful, then I was hopeful. As Mom's an immigrant, the whole process was literally foreign to her. Dad never finished college, so picking a good school seemed even more important. We all learned about the crazy process together.

Also, I'm an only child. If I didn't succeed, who would?


* Illustrious College is a liberal arts college located in Genosha. Its graduates win Watson, Fullbright and Rhodes Scholarships, they have an excellent Politics department and a history of winning armed conflicts. Sadly, I was waitlisted at Genosha.

The Big Tour

Life? Life is good.

I gave a tour to the direct descendant of John F. Oberlin, for whom the college was named. I was nervous, of course. The only details about the Perrus: French, from Paris and middle-age. Possibly, they had never been to the US before.

In high school, my French teacher was a Parisian. Though an excellent teacher, she terrified me. A strict person, both in diction and behavior, she did not approve of my chronic lateness, imperfect accent or adoration of comic books (I wrote an essay on the Sandman).

In my head, I pictured giving a tour to a pair of irritated blonds, infuriated by my foolish blathering and my inability to discuss Oberlin achievements in conversational French. They would probably bolt from the tour, forcing Ben to fire me for insubordination to historic guests. From there, I would move to the Canada, shamed beyond measure, and wandering across the tundra until I was eaten by rabid bears.

I met the couple in archives, where I confessed I knew nothing about the Oberlin memorial, where we were doing a short photo op. In two seconds, one of the archivists grabbed a book on designs and explained it. The Oberlin Archives are really cool: they have letters from the civil war, including two officers in the USCT. Oberlin is an incredibly historic place, so the archives has plenty of fascinating local information on abolition, racial justice, gender equality, as well as a ton of books completely unrelated to Oberlin. For History and Structure of the English Language, one of our assignments took us to archives, just to see what Old and Middle English scripts looked like. In my Hebrew Bible class, an archivist brought in objects over a thousand years old.

As a history nerd, I explode with glee every time a librarian puts on gloves to look over a text.

The Perrus sat at a table, looking over super-historic documents. I stared at them for a minute. They didn’t look terrifying. Then they shook my hand, smiling. I sighed with relief.


The Perrus with Marvin Krislov.

Oberlin students don’t know much about John Frederic Oberlin. Even his name is perplexing: we call him John Frederic, but he’s also Jean-Frédéric or Johann Friedrich. I’m going to call him JFO for simplicity’s sake.

Our confusion is understandable: JFO never saw Oberlin College: he died before it was founded. On tours, I don’t discuss the ethics of JFO, and how he impacted John and Philo, Oberlin College’s founders. That said, I think I should. JFO was a cool guy. He was very "Oberlin," linking social justice into his role as pastor. In his parish, he built bridges, taught agriculture,founded schools and libraries. Given how Obies work in terms of ecological design and environmental and educational progress… JFO would probably like Oberlin.

On some tours, I do tell an Oberlin founding story, involving bears and Heavenly Signs.
In my mind’s eye, this story takes place in the dead center of Tappan Square, where I told it to the Perrus.

Small tours are different from big tours – I cater towards different interests. In this case, we spent more time outdoors, as the Perrus loved the trees in Tappan, venturing guesses as to what each kind was. We snuck into Hall Auditorium where they mentioned their son was a sound engineer, seeing the paint dry on a new set. They both loved music: jazz for him, classical for her. We spent a while in the Conservatory.

Though there was a language barrier, I think I discussed the uniqueness of the college while still being mildly entertaining. The Perrus reminded me of my own parents, smiling and laughing easily, occasionally mock-bickering in French. It was such a pleasure to meet them.

---

Oberlin Founding Story:

“Utopia, Philo,” John said, “We are going to build it.”

Philo nodded, chewing on his tuna sandwich, brushing the crumbs onto the forest floor.

John continued, “So often they turn out peculiar, but I have faith in us.”

“I hear in Oneida, each man has seven brides, all children.” Philo said. He adjusted his glasses; speaking of child-brides warped his frames.

“Free love and communism,” John muttered, shaking his head.

Philo fished an ant off of their blanket, letting it walk across his palm for a minute. While John wrestled with big ideas, Philo tended towards more earthly issues: accounting, carpentry and gardening.

“There’s an excellent spot further south that the locals say rings with holiness.” John said.

“That might be too expensive,” Philo added. “Why not here? No one has claimed this township.”

“This area is cheap, but far too swamp-like to support enlightened children. Without a godly spot, the college will fail. We must find a place like Alsace in its beauty, able to attract students great and far.” John’s sonorous voice always comforted Philo, even when he disagreed. They had been exploring the back-country of Ohio for weeks, searching out the spot to base their college. Their boots reeked, muddy and sweaty, and though they had just found a lake the day before, Philo already smelt the stink that had nestled into his body.

“Do you think people will confuse Oberlin with Oneida?” wondered Philo. “The names are familiar.”

“I hope not,” John said as he munched on an apple. “That would be sorrowful.”

A strange noise perked their ears, a low growl spreading from the trees. In the trees, the birds flew away, the squirrels bolting for distance branches. John inched closer to Philo. Philo found his breath strained. The ants were gone now. The brush before the woods parted slowly.

A bear. It stood thirty feet high, with gigantic ivory claws. A stream of drool ran from the bear’s mouth, its maw opened, teeth jutting from each angle. Steam puffed out from the bear’s nose, lined with putrefied snot. The bear’s coat was rust-colored, matted with bits of fur and bone from smaller creatures.

John squeaked and gripped Philo’s hand.

The bear lumbered towards them, its body shaking the ground. A few feet from the picnic blanket, the bear screamed. The incredible roar echoed for miles around, terrifying children and other small animals.

Philo gripped John’s shoulder. He stood, legs wavering.

“Leave this place,” Philo commanded, waving a loaf of bread as a scepter.

The bear paused and jostled its weight around. Eyes glowing red, it eyed Philo. Steam from the bear’s nostrils singed Philo’s eyebrows. His glasses fogged, rendering the bear a darkened smudge.

“Begone!” Philo screamed, realizing how close the bear’s claws were.

With a final huff, the bear turns from the humble picnic and lumbers back into the woods. Philo stands for another moment before his knees collapsed.

John clears his throat. “I think we should build Oberlin here.”

Philo nodded.

Graduation: Suits, Sundresses and Speeches!

Say "commencement" and I think of the iconic hats in the air, formal attire, caps and gowns, long speeches, hugs, final goodbyes, traditions, pomp and circumstance, Latin diplomas.

But Oberlin students don't really do traditional. So I had no idea what to expect.

We got up at 6:30, leaving the house close to 8, so we could get our placement card in time (the placement office closes at 8:30). Then, we did nothing for a while. I got some coffee. Walked around. People-watched. Only about a third of the school wore caps and gowns. More folks wore caps, some decorated the tops. Some folks were really fancy, dressed in prom-best. Most folks I knew wore simple dresses, suits, button-down shirts. Yoshi wore a suit and a top hat.

And me?

Wednesday of Senior Week, Conversation with Beloved Parents:
Mom: What are you going to wear?
Aries: Uh. I don't really know. I don't have time to buy a dress.
Mom: You don't have time to get a dress? I thought you were done with finals now.
Aries: Guys, circus. Circus every day. No time to take a scenic trip to score a dress. I'll look nice. I got a few dresses from the swap.
Mom: ... all right.
Dad: No cap or gown? There's going to be a lot of photos.
Aries: No.
Mom: Wear what you want--
Dad: Just don't do it naked, okay?


The next day, I looked at Weather.com. Sunny, they predict. Warm, they say.
Perhaps... a sun dress?


Sundress. Not a shower curtain.



At 9:00, I lined up, though the illustrious "I" section was pretty small. Then, we waited and waited some more. I skipped to the bathroom, running into professors in their official regalia, as well as Ben Jones, Captain-in-Chief. On their parts, the professors were wearing formal academic regalia, fascinating costumes indicating what kind of degree they held. Their robes were huge, adorned with collars of all different colors. They looked like ... well... Harry Potter characters.

The marshals, who led the graduation procession, held batons that looked suspiciously like magic wands. As if they were charming the whole event to go according to plan.


Wands out.



As I left the bathroom, I heard the blast of trumpets. Before I knew it, we had marched to our seats. The ceremony begun: a prayer, introductions, greetings, then Honorary Doctorate Degrees. Though the winners were really cool people: pioneers, activists, scientists and administrators ... some of the introductions were on the long side. The presenters told us the accomplishments of the award recipients, talking about the awards they had won, the councils they chaired, and the foundations they founded...

Meanwhile, Weather.com didn't lie -- the sun was pouring down. As the speakers went on and on, I could feel my arms and legs heating up.


Ary and San. Notice the sunlight?


My favorite presenters were Lynn Powell and Dan Stinebring awarding degrees to Mary and Steve Hammond. It was a perfect match. Mary and Steve are the pastors at Peace Community Church and serve as amazing community leaders. Their work supports so many different groups at Oberlin, from long-term residents to homesick first-years. Dan and Lynn, a physics professor and a poet, are deeply involved in political and arts work. They opened up their house to the Obama campaign, to which they and their children contributed thousands of hours. In Dan's astronomy class (which I loved), he stopped class the week before the election and gave us a lot of voting-related information.


Dan, looking super-serious.


Lee Fisher, Lieutenant Governor of Ohio, gave the introduction for our commencement speaker, Richard Haass. It was an amazing introduction as the two were friends, graduating from Oberlin in the same year. While Haas won immediate success, Fisher had 7 rejection letter from top law schools. The speech was funny, unlike all of the introductions before. Fisher also shockingly humble, never mentioning that he's running for US Senate.

And then, the Commencement Speaker, Richard Haass, speaking on dissent. ... It was interesting. Take a peak here, if you like. Haass gave an apology, not a speech. He didn't make a strong case for showing dissent by working within the system, or how to gracefully duck away from a diseased organization (as he allegedly aimed). The trouble? He used himself as an example. Haass was a foreign policy adviser to both Iraq wars, and stands within the line of bureaucrats that enabled the current situation.

Moreover, the question of dissent in the workplace is not uncommon, but the extremity of Iraq is a bit... enormous. And, at this time, very clear. Most office issues are gray; they're tragic choices for employers and employees to make. They're personal, confusing and unclear. This was not a speech about shades of gray, the kind of thing a recent Oberlin grad is likely to experience.

That said, it was interesting. A speech from a top-notch alumnus speaking on really, really high-security decisions is pretty fascinating, regardless of whether it clarifies my office-place moral quandaries.


Conveniently, President Marvin "Much Adored" Krislov gave an excellent talk that was everything I could have wanted from a commencement speech. From Krislov, we expect brilliance. He's a Rhodes Scholar who took a case (Grutter/Gratz v. Bollinger) to the Supreme Court. His speech was about his unability to get a job after college until he took a part-time job at the YMCA ... it was encouraging. Sometimes, opportunity takes a while, he said.

We stood to receive the diplomas, crossed the stage to shake hands/hug the President-Much-Beloved Krislov and the Class President, Sir Derry. President Krislov gives good hugs, the sign of a great leader.

I walked back to my chair, dazed. When we'd all finally gotten our diplomas, the hats flew into the air. Folks started to hug all around me, wishing each other well.


Liz and I see each other...



And strike!



Everyone loves hugging Yoshi. Especially pretty girls.

The Job!

A week after the first interview, I got an email that I should come in to "answer a few questions." I flipped out a little. Put on a dress, my nicest/tallest heels, tried not to vomit. From the email, I wasn't sure who was getting a follow-up. 38 people applied for the two fellowship jobs, many of them very qualified.

When I arrived at the office, a bit shaky in my heels, Ben Jones was smiling. He asked me a few hard questions which I stumbled through.

Then, he shook my hand and offered me the position.




So... I got the job! I'll be in Oberlin for one more year!




Have a lovely summer.

PS:
From the Source:
Aries Indenbaum -- Web Fellow
Aries works in the Office of Communications assisting the director of new media explore third-party social networking opportunities for Oberlin, managing the Oberlin Stories Project and the admissions blog site, and generally maintaining a connection to the student body. She graduated from Oberlin two days ago with a BA in creative writing. Aries was born in Point Reyes, California, and went to school in New Rochelle, New York. "In my free time, I tell stories, contra dance, write, run, and do circus," she says. Before graduating, Aries worked in admissions and blogged about her experience as a student.

Senior Week (in Webcomics!)

There are two questions of commencement:
1. What are you doing next year?
2. How are you feeling?

I
The job search, in this economy, is very difficult. It causes a lot of stress for graduating seniors who aren't set up with something by commencement. Given the recent strains in journalism, publishing and academia, a lot of upcoming alums have difficulty getting jobs in the fields they want.

It's not a dead-end, but it takes longer than normal. More students are moving into entrepreneurship and starting up with new companies. There's a silk-screening collective start-up, a Chinese learning software company, a music clinic for kids, and a fair-trade Moroccan crafts business.

Environmental studies majors get more luck with the swell of green jobs. Given the billions in stimulus funds given to science research, biology, chemistry, neuroscience, physics and engineering majors (in total, about a third of Obies) are sitting pretty.

I just got a job for which I'm incredibly grateful and happy. And I'll talk about soon, I promise.

And it's not a job like this:


Yeah, I don't think it'll be like this.




II
As for the more difficult "how do you feel" issue...

Everyone takes Commencement differently. Seniors run though several different emotions:

1. Joy! No more papers! No more tests! No more cramming! It's beautiful and there are parties with cool people whom I need to say goodbye to!
2. Sorrow. Where are all my friends going? Should I live with my parents? I'm going to be so lonely...
3. Bliss! I'm ready for the real world! College was amazing, and I'll continue the things I learned here way out there!
4. Anxiety. The real world is scary. People are mean and cruel. What will I do after I get out of work?
5. Confused. I don't know what to feel. I'm going to miss Oberlin, but I'm okay with my plans.
6. Everything All At Once. Like below comic.







While other folks have had the time to feel/think about graduating, I really haven't. Between organizing another circus (we do a commencement show), finishing up a Creative Writing Anthology (Little Leaf), going to functions and freaking out about how cool my job is going to be... I haven't really been self-reflective. Surprised?




Savage Chickens understand me. Even if I don't really understand me.





But I'll try.



College has been better than any other time in my life. When I think about who I was when I arrived here, and who I am now... there's a huge difference. I am a fundamentally different person now. I met amazing people, learned great things, made many stories. I grew up in Oberlin. That's something that doesn't change when finals are over, or during Senior Week, or after I throw my cap into the air and hug all my friends. That change lasts for years.

Don't Let Go of the Coat

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

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

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

We ooh'd. We ahh'd.

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

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

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

Perfect. Twenty Dollars.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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



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

Fall Break in Oberlin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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