Finally finished with Finals.

The hard part of Finals is ... finishing them.

I completed my Ancient Sexuality paper just in time. In my haste to take a nap, I sent a "Yay, here you go!" email to Professor-Captain Kirk Ormand, but forgot to include the attachment with the actual paper. It had been a long night.

I've spent the past few days on the paper, focused on seductive lyric poetry in Greece and Rome. I argued that the poems weren't seductive at all. Generally, the poems demeaned the person they were hoping to woo. The pieces, in my view, were intended for something else entirely: asserting the masculinity of the narrator/author. The paper was called "Boyfriend Training."

I muddled through the Astronomy final, nailing the math problems, but totally forgetting how to find supernovas and any useful data about quasars. I'm still working on finished David's paper. The day after the Sexuality paper, I worked on the drama paper, but for some reason, I didn't save it at the end of the night. I lost about 4 hours of work. Pleasantly, I also found that when I opened the document, my paper was awful. Really, quite awful. So I spent the past 5 hours trying to make the paper more coherent.

And then, I worked on novella. And worked. And worked.

And now, I'm done! I've been to the library, bought my parents Christmas presents, worked out at the gym for a really long time, gotten dinner with my grandmother, and slept.

Overall, I fought really well in the War Against Procrastination, battling the axis of academic apathy:
1. Friends
2. Webcomics
3. Events

Friends
These are the Clytemnestra of my life, the sweet dangers who may lead to academic disabling. Pretty, kind, intelligent, bearing tasty things and good ideas. We all cluster in the academic commons of the library, cozy ourselves and chat. I must be wary of them.


Webcomics
A laundry list of foes:
XKCD, Questionable Content, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, Married to the Sea....


Events
Around the end of the year, most folks have their recitals, final projects, and all sorts of ridiculous study breaks. Some days, the "Study Breaks" start at 10:00AM and end at midnight. If you attended all, you'd be in trouble. I focused on a few: a three-band show, the Dead Hear Footsteps (WOBC radio noir drama), the Storytelling EXCO's final show, and Artwalk.

Artwalk is one of my favorite events at Oberlin. The art students of all levels and mediums take over studios, the classrooms, and the hallways of the building. Any empty space is snatched up and covered with photos, sculpture, or paintings. Hallways, furniture, doorways... last year, there was a sculpted boat made of passports sitting between two of the art wings. It's free, open to the public, and packed.

Some of my favorites:
Seth's photos. Seth is one of my coworkers for Academic Ambassadors and his project was perfect. Obies are not very... formal people, in action or in decor. We wear comfy clothes. We're pretty chill. So when there's someone who behaves in a more formal manner, it's pretty interesting. Seth's pieces explored his own formalism, with two black and white photos selected from his set. In both, he was dressed like a young power-broker, tied to a chair or wearing a dunce cap.

Natalia's Quinceañera photos were brilliant.

I asked my friend Izzie if she had any pieces for Artwalk (she's an art major), and she ducked her head and said, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. Don't go for me." Izzie is modest. And highly ridiculous as her piece was beautiful--a dual-layered piece using transparency sheet with the physical form and an underlayer with the skeletal structure, shaded to show a sense of emptiness. Still, Izzie was better than Liz, who forgot to tell me that she had a mixed-narrative piece up--a giant mural with a woman waiting on a road, Wyeth-esque, with a story she told playing on an old walkman.

Many of the pieces were interactive games. A crowd favorite was the Cat Chess Board:






(Anna and Sandhya)

Speaking of Anna, she also had a piece up that gorgeously blended about 10 different cartooning styles, from Ramona Quimby to Eloise. I got lost in it for a while.



Besides this, there were a wall of faces, an installation piece on the divide between Palestine and Israel, colored vials, comics (one by Nick Wirtz, a design/artist/video genius). Antonio built a tank.

The work was so imaginative--being able to see it really helped me through the tedium of Finals.

Afterwards, I went to the Cat and danced to OSTEEL, Oberlin's awesome steel drum band.








Happy holidays!

** Photo Credits to Ma'ayan "Gorgeousface" Plautand the OSTEEL website!

Work it for Women was sponsored by 4 different organizations: SURF (Students United for Reproductive Freedom), ACTS (Advocating Choice Though Spirituality), ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), OC Democrats, and HIV Peer Testers. Outside of the Sco, each group set up tables with information, selling brownies and snacks to raise money for local abortion funds. And inside of the Sco, after a donation, was really excellent music.

As Medicaid covers the procedure only in cases of rape, incest or life endangerment, abortion is functionally inaccessible for low-income women in this area. The money raised by Work it for Women was to help women with the costs of an abortion: travel, overnight stays and child care. At one count at the end of the night, the event raised over 2,000 dollars and also educated hundreds of students regarding the difficulties of obtaining an abortion, showing ways in which students can help.

After talking to a few SURF workers, I went inside to the concert. I caught the tail end of Like Bells, Will's really amazing band, and stuck around for The Sauce and The David Bowie Cover Band.

The Sauce is the high-quality funk jazz that play really solid sets. If there's an official school function in which dancing would be good... the Sauce is there. They're mostly jazz studies majors who have their licks down, so when they play, it's obvious that they're having fun. The guitarist, Jamey Arent, was particularly on, wearing this incredible look of rapture during his solos. The lead singer, Alex Birnie, did an amazing job working up the crowd. I had slid to the front and stood near Mike King on keyboards, who looked zen for the whole show, even when the tempo picked up.

And then, the Bowie Cover Band. Confession: I love David Bowie.

When I was still a bump in my mother's womb, my dad made my mom an excellent Bowie mixtape for her hour-long drive to college. Twice a day, she played the mixtapes, for my entire fetus-hood. I gestated through Space Oddity, Ashes to Ashes, Modern Love, John, I'm Only Dancing and Young Americans. My brain formed with saxophone solos. Now, as an adult, I know the lyrics to Bowie songs that I've never heard before. I've watched Labyrinth, the Prestige and The Man Who Fell to Earth. I know all the different stages of Bowie, from Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke.



The David Bowie Cover Band shook my world.

First, it was a big band: two sax players, two guitarists, a violinist, a drummer, a pianist, two back-up singers and a front man. They were all very attractive. Very, deeply, poignantly attractive. I needed to fan myself as they did sound check. The whole band were all in some form of Bowie regalia -- Andrew, one of the sax players, had the Aladdin Sane face-paint; Derek, the guitarist, wore a man-dress; the drummer wore faux-snakeskin pants. And the lead singer embodied Bowie, his blond hair slicked back and his eyes rimmed with eyeliner. Throughout the set, the Lead Bowie adopted the trade-mark mannerisms perfectly. He only left the persona for a few minutes during a break in the set to read a PSA about abortion statistics.



The crowd responded very, very positively: fans howling lyrics back at the band. Some of us jumped onto the step in front of the stage, just to get a little closer. Most of the folks in the audience were dancing in a crazed exuberant way: arms flying, hips shaking, legs kicking. You don't grind to Bowie; you dance. At the end of the show, the line for the water fountain was impressive.

After the concert, I walked one of the organizers home, to Johnson House, then back to North, which is the longest walk one can take on campus: 15 minutes.

The next day, after a tour and two circus meetings, I went to Ed Underhill's senior recital. As mentioned here, the composition students at school are top-notch. Ed's focus was on evocative, narrative pieces -- after college, he's going to grad school for film musics. From his concert, it's pretty clear that he's already on his way. Also, he plays the accordion. What can be better?


(Ed playing with Erika Oba in the Circus)

His first few pieces were solos and duets, but his final two pieces incorporated a small orchestra -- there were up to 19 people on the Warner stage. The final two pieces were incredible; the word "soaring" was described for those pieces. Best of all (for me), the pieces told a story. More than many pieces of writing, Ed's music had a strong narrative arc, which really grabbed me. The entire audience sat rapt, completely enraptured. I read an article in Slate that pinned down the feeling: "elation."

It was a good weekend.

+ Photo Credits: Kate Ettinger and Ma'ayan Plaut

Contra Dancing: What, Where and Why You Should Do It

As mentioned, I'll do anything for a contra dance. But what is a contra dance?



Well, depending on who you ask, it's a line, social, square dance, or barn dance, built out of English folk dance traditions. A caller reads out instructions for the dance, walks everyone through it once, and calls out moves throughout the dance. Everyone partners up, but also dances with every other couple on the line. I think it's all a metaphor for infidelity within small towns: you'll stay with your partner, but you'd really like to take on your neighbor.




The contra theme was "Formal," so I wore my little black dress and went out to dance with fine-frocked ladies and buttoned-up gents. I've been getting into leading, as well as following, which is helping me with my overall frame. The contra scene here is very cool with non-standard gender pairings: women leading women, men as follows... it's all good. It also leads to better dancing all around, when you understand why your partner makes the movements that he/she does.





It's a very easy dance to learn. The essential move is the "swing," where each partner faces the other, rests their arms on the other's back and spins around. It's awkward for the first few times -- you feel as if you're skipping while attached to another person -- but with practice, it comes easily enough. The other moves are deliciously simple: the allemande, the do-si-do, circles, stars... all of which the caller's say in time with the music, so the entire room of dancers moves in unison with their separate partners.

And of course, there's live music. The contra band has a rebellious streak, changing its name for each gig. Tonight, they were "Stretchy Rhino." Or "Chewy Rhino." Or "Tasty Rhino." Besides a fiddler, there's sometimes dulcimer, banjo and percussion.







It's also a great way to make friends. Rather than club dancing, contra has space to speak with your partner, rather than just whirling around. I've gotten to meet some amazing people: not only other Obies, but folks from around Ohio. As I've been doing it since I was a wee first-year, I've gotten to see people change. One girl who started going when she was 12 has now hit puberty and talks to me about middle school -- another partner has just fathered a child. It's a different slice of life.

One of my favorite partners is Glen, who I've been dancing with for about 3 years. Besides being a supremely kind and generous landlord to college students, Glen works as an electrical engineer. His workdays start at 5:00 AM and end at 6:00 PM. Strangely, he's a relaxed, easy-going guy. Over the summer, we got coffee and chatted about progressive radical baptists, permaculture, music and peace movements. As much as I love college students, it's nice to be able to connect with someone who's in their 50's.

The dances typically end with a waltz, but this one had a special ending show, from the rapper sword Exco, dancing with huge bendable swords in gorgeous patterns!




*Images courtesy of Dale Preston, Ma'ayan Plaut and the Oberlin College Contra Dance Club!

Don't Let Go of the Coat

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

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

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

We ooh'd. We ahh'd.

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

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

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

Perfect. Twenty Dollars.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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



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

To Do List

To Do:
(I think you can tell a lot about someone by their To Do list.)


Memorize and Block Scene from Arcadia for David Walker's Contemporary British and Irish Drama class.
There are many reasons that David Walker's class is amazing. It's the quintessential discussion class at its most effective. David makes sure the conversation avoids becoming cyclical, but doesn't lead discussion too forcefully, save to have us focus on individual scenes at some points. Discussion moves swiftly, as everyone in the room cares. The class has an interesting mix of Theater and English majors, two very different groups with very different concerns. When we do check-ins--a quick go-round-the-room of each person's gut response to the play--I hear an incredible flurry of comments addressing everything from structure, to gender, a character's particular motivation, intellectual ideals, trouble with staging, one's emotional response, use of language, social implications and a million other things.

We're reading Tom Stoppard's Arcadia this week, so a familiar phrase in check-in was "My mind is blown." Chris Sherwood has spent years telling me about how amazing this play was, and how he needed to do it as his honors project. Then, he would start babbling about gardening, budding sexuality, hermits, historical revisionism and how staging it in Hall Auditorium would be the best thing in the history of the world excepting the invention of Legos. And for years, I would nod and say, "Of course, Chris. Absolutely."

Except Chris was correct. Arcadia is amazing.

The other repeated check-in question was: "I wonder how this looks staged."

That's my homework. Each week, two folks in the class present a scene--blocked, memorized and polished. It's really incredible to watch the classroom get transformed into a stage and to see my demonstrative, passionate classmates become a rapt audience. I'm up for this week, playing 13-year-old prodigy Thomasina as she plots fractals, plays the chaos game and gets googly-eyed over her tutor. I'm excited, but I'm awful at memorizing. I love doing "research"... which is to say, reading about chaos theory.

I'm also doing the scene with Alex Huntsberger, one of the best actors at Oberlin. Normally, Alex is a pretty relaxed guy. But when he goes into character, it's incredible. The Alex-ness of him goes away, and someone completely different peeks out from behind his eyes. I've seen him in shows before--but to watch the transformation from 2 feet away is ... mind-blowing.

PS: When I botched one of the monologues, I kept my face down for a large part of the following discussion. Damn you, overdeveloped sense of shame.


Write More for my Novella Class
Right now, I've churned out 47 pages of a dystopian love story criticizing big box culture called "Wasteland." It involves sewage, child labor, the 1939 World Fair, engineering and romance. I need about 20 more pages, and need to polish it up before my Novella class eats it alive. Novellas are "baby novels," so we're aiming for stories between 50 to 75 pages, which is pretty demanding.

After years of workshop classes, I've got a pretty thick skin, so I'm none too worried about my class of 12 brutalizing my little baby story. But they're all really smart, so I want to make the best use of their time. So the more story I have written, the more effective their commentary. The class has a fascinating mix of writers, all with very different tastes and styles. Some of the novellas are solidly realistic; others more stylized, experimental and surreal. Many of my classmates are taking really big risks--writing through unreliable narrators, or doing fascinating things with form. It's fascinating to watch them through the process.


Paper for Ancient Greek and Roman Sexuality Class!
- Decide whether writing on Catullus or Tibullus.
- Choose poems: read the naughty parts of Catullus out loud to friends.
- Think up brilliant thesis. Smile contentedly.
- Write outline, then discuss with Professor-Captain Kirk Ormand.
- Write first draft, go to Writing Center, weep, rewrite.
- Get an A on paper.
- Rejoice!


The Rest of the List:
- Borrow Nikki's astronomy notes from day missed due to illness. Read about black holes.
- Write lesson plan on Busking for Circus Arts Exco.
- Go Rock Climbing.
- Go to Tumbling Club.
- Go see Jesse's Senior Recital, The Illusion, Cinderella (Cendrillon, an opera), David Bowie movie The Hunger.
- Lead a few circus meetings.
- Run the Turkey Trot?
- Get some sleep?

Is this safe? Safe enough.

Most events at Oberlin start a little late. Timeliness is a virtue, of course, but most shows are friendly to stragglers. Especially at the Cat in the Cream - the line for cookies gets pretty insane. Given that, we expected to close the doors at 8:10, anticipating that by 8:00, the show's start time, we wouldn't have much of a crowd.

Except by 8:00, every seat was taken. And by 8:05, the room was packed.

When Ed started playing accordion with Erika on piano - meant as background "settle it down now" music - the audience took it as an overture. They sat still, went quiet and rapt. I choked down a blissful squeal as Chris and Greg ran up from the audience, yelling, "Welcome, to the Johnson Family Circus!"

Because I'm in an act, I don't watch the whole show. But the parts I saw were brilliant. Jim's act was phenomenal - he worked the crowd into a screaming ball of delight as his LED poi cut new colors into my eyes. The jugglers nailed most of their throws. Amanda's facial expressions were priceless. Greg and Chris added new lines to their scenes, so the dialogue was even punchier.

There were no disasters, no missed cues, the step didn't break this time... It was polished. And good. I felt so proud of every single person involved.

The show's tone was well-balanced. There were cute acts, like the hula-hooper with self-esteem issues, the stepdancer who triumphs over other bullying steppers, the bellydancer who gets the stagehand-clown, an independent mermaid and a ballet act. Then, there were more mature acts, like mine... a bed of nails act.

Over the summer, I saw a circus cabaret in NYC called Vicious Vaudeville that incorporated a bed of nails into a strongman sideshow act very successfully. We like success; we wanted to emulate. So, over Fall Break, Yoshi, Amanda, Nikki, Erin and Atty built this terrifying looking object with the nails spaced an inch apart. It was meant for Yoshi.

But when Yoshi lay down on it, it hurt him. A lot.

But when I lay on it, it didn't. It tickled.

The way a bed of nails act works is basic physics. The amount of surface area you have spread over the nails, the easier it is. Weight and pressure gets distributed evenly - the more nails you cover, the less painful it is. If you drop an apple on the bed, the nails will rip through the apple. If I walked on the bed, the nails would go through my feet. That would be bad.

But, if I lie down on them with my torso flat, my weight more or less evenly distributed... all is well. It's also a helpful thing that I'm really tall (nearly 6 feet) and have a bit of flub around my stomach. It hurt Yoshi most because he's both smaller and slimmer than me. When he lies down, the nails hit bone and muscle, with less surface area to compensate. On me, they hit flub and muscle. Flub is malleable - bones aren't.

Of course, enough people have seen the county fair boards where any volunteer can lie on a bed of nails without a whit of pain tolerance or training. This is why I complicate things, by using less surface area, doing low-level contortion and by ... uh... not wearing a lot of clothes.

Is this safe? Safe enough.

Do I have a spotter? I have two at the ready, a bit offstage!

Does it hurt? Yes, but no.

Should I worry about tetanus? Yes.

Am I going to worry about tetanus? No.

Is it fun? Yes. Oh, yes. In the audience's glare, my adrenaline peaked and my ability to feel pain decreased. For the full houses we brought in, I landed two moves I hadn't before - a split with my hands up, and a cool stretch on my belly. I felt like a million bucks.

I love the circus. I love this show. I love all of you weird, incestuous bastards. It is my great pleasure to work with you all.


--


(Regarding Stress)
Aries: It's super weird, my nose randomly started bleeding in class. It was like my face was menstruating.
Yoshi: It could be humidity change. Or a brain tumor. Hopefully not the latter.

Johnson Family Circus!

There's an expectation in circus that you have a life... outside of circus. While theater shows demand hours and hours of presence at rehearsals and such, circus is always a bit more low key.

What do I mean, low key?

Well, the show is a week away and we still haven't choreographed the finale. The set loads in today; the performers use the space on Monday. We go up Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

We're putting up the show in my favorite venue on campus - the Cat in the Cream. The Cat in the Cream is the best coffeehouse / jazz / folk / poetry venue that I could imagine. It's big, yet intimate, seating about 200 people tops. On the stage - which has taken a lot of abuse - there's a Steinway. The back wall is covered by a huge mural of musicians, in a style reminiscent of a more upbeat Orozco. The light and sound operating boards aren't too hard to use, the space gets pretty warm. All the shows are free.

And, they sell cookies. Big, homemade cookies.

The premise for this show is pretty sweet - we're the Johnson Family Circus, a slightly campy vaudeville traveling show. It's got a nice meta quality to it, describing Oberlin (and the circus) to a tee - we may not be blood relations, but we are a family. It's going to be fun - the Mother and Father emcee characters have great chemistry. The acts are solid.

It's a funny bunch - circus always attracts an interesting mix of dance-theater types and math-science types. The folks who bellydance and the folks who juggle share the stage. We've got a nice mix of ages for this show; there were some really talented first years who gravitated towards the circus: Joe is a professional clown, who's traveled from Sri Lanka to South America, doing clowning with Patch Adams; Greg is a relaxed Conservatory student who's a great improviser. We have live musicians - Erika on the piano; Ed on accordion and Jim on drums - all of whom composed music for the show. The leadership is pretty democratic: we determined the show's theme by popular vote, there are 3 directors (Liz, Rachel and Daniel) and a producer (me) who workshop all of the acts. Everyone does their own choreography- the directors and I just clean things up.

Everyone has the same attitude: this is fun.

You need to have a lot of good humor to get through circus, because performances are uncertain. The trick might fail. The jugglers may botch their tricks. The gymnasts might hurt themselves; the acrobalancers might drop each other; Ed might not land his backflip; I might spear myself on my bed of nails... there's a lot of built-in nervousness. That's why folks watch with baited breath for us to fail... and that's why we do it. If you're too serious, the act is dull; if you're too silly, you might hurt yourself.

It's all about balance - sometimes we fall, sometimes we don't. As long as we have fun (and don't fall too hard), everything is okay.