Visiting Twin Oaks

"Are you new in town?”

“I’m visiting Twin Oaks, out by Louisa.”

“Twin Oaks? What’s that?”

[I don’t say: “Ah, it’s an egalitarian income-sharing intentional community based in principles of non-violence, sustainability, cooperation, and equality.”]

I generally say: “It’s a community where people live and work together.”

“Huh. Are you moving here?”

“Nope,” I say. “I’m just here to learn.”

And I’m learning a huge amount, every day.

Describing Twin Oaks is difficult, much like trying to describe an entire country.

Try to do it. Say, with Belgium.

Personally, I would be flummoxed, and start screaming, “Waffles! European Union! Diamonds! Problematic imperialistic past! Dutch, Flemish, French, Walloons! Lovely buildings! Ardennes! The Congo! Tintin, Magritte, and Rubens! Brave little Belgium! Chocolate!”

It's hard to sum up a whole county.

The rules at Twin Oaks (called “norms”) are different from real-world conventions. There is a consciousness here, a mindfulness, that subtly spices every conversation: like a thin hint of cilantro, or a splash of lime. Twin Oaks has more flavor than the bread of the real world.

In many ways, Twin Oaks reminds me of communities in science fiction novels – the Fremen in Dune, their eye-whites turned blue under the influence of the spice, or the polyglot families in Ursula K. Le Guin novels. The effect is unsurprising: Twin Oaks was inspired from Walden 2.0, a novel by BF Skinner that mimics a recipe for the ideal Utopian community.

“Is it Utopia yet?”

“Nah, but you can see it from here.”

There are 92 people at Twin Oaks right now, with 12 children and 2 on the way. They are all different, but very kind. Very, very kind. Many are passionate about a specific cause – peak oil, gay rights, egalitarian consciousness, literature, print-making. Some are more devoted to just living simply without the annoyances of the “normal” world, free from taxes to traffic. Some are delighted to raise their children in a safe community, to make friends with all around them. Some enjoy living in community, without loneliness or isolation. Some want to practice what they preach – to be as truly sustainable as they can, to live an austere life, and to raise the food that they eat.

It smells so good here, with just that splash of lime.

For the past few days, I’ve been working very hard. As a visitor, I don’t really have the time here to learn the more complex skills -- cheese making, automotive repair, or animal husbandry -- but I’ve got the strong back to get any shoveling job done. I can rake and dig and clean. I can raise flowerbeds, plant garlic and daffodils, and saw wood apart. The members give us orientations on everything from Membership to Child-care. I can learn how the community works.

But the biggest type of learning is meeting all these people, hearing their passions, and learning how they all live together.

In DC, the city of networking, I felt as if my random conversations were always closed, as if I was trying to tease open the drawers of a very tightly-clenched bureau. Inside were fascinating clothes, but all shut up. Here, each conversation is a huge hallway of doors, all leading to different communities, different lifestyles, different countries. To Utah, to Germany, to England. Each day, there are more welcome mats in front of the doors.

I’m going to start opening doors soon. And soon, I’ll start making my own.


PS: (I love it here.)

Dancing in NYC

From Christmas until New Years, I went out nearly every night dancing. These are my notes.



Brazen Fox
A classy sports bar in White Plains. Good for fans of football, Jersey Shore or Armani Exchange. Also, having long talks about friendship and relationships with one's best friend (and an awesome friend of hers).


Calico Jack's Cantina
Club-bar. Patrons take myspace-pictures of themselves, sipping enormous neon-colored cocktails through giant staws. Pop music. Girls in tight jeans, boys coated in hair gel. I was glad I brought earplugs. Not too classy, but not too sketchy. Not really my place, but I liked the company.



The Players Club for New Years Eve's Eve
The Player’s Club was ridiculous: a historic building on Gramercy Park. Old world classy, portraits on the walls. One large dance hall with sticky floors, always filled with dancers. Intimidating. Matching their surroundings, the crowd was very glamorous. The men wore suspenders, and sharp hats.

But the ladies were a class above. Tiny flowers woven into their hair, their dresses showed just enough flesh to entice. Their make-up was flawless: eyelashes extravagant, brows shaped, lips lined and glossed. In their fancy shoes, they all hung within the acceptable rage of 5’4” to 5’9.” And worst of all, they exuded class, grace, and femininity.

While I have good points, refinement is not one of them.

I wore my black tennis dress from the previous night. My bangs were poking upwards. In my yellow converse sneakers, I stood over six feet. I only applied a bit of make-up. Even before dancing a step, I felt a bit warm, the sweat collecting.

I saw Shawn. As gorgeous as ever, if not more so. Suddenly, I realized how much I missed her. We hugged and spoke. She introduced me to her friends, whom I enjoyed and danced with. One of them was a total tease, the kinda guy I become bros with.

After dancing with me, he said, “God, I’m sweatier than a Ukrainian!”
“So true!” I said, “I’m Ukrainian!”
“Ah, I’m so sorry,” he panicked. “I’ve never actually met one before.”
“It’s cool— we really are that sweaty.”


The dance floor was packed, bodies flying everywhere to George Gee's tunes. Though there were more of the younger set, the older folks were the large majority. I danced with some good folks and saw some terrible burlesque.

Well, not terrible. But I’m spoiled. A tap dancing girl in a skimpy outfit is charming, but Catherine had more skill and fantastic showmanship. This girl just didn’t sell it. I miss you, Catherine. And not just when you’re Shirley Temple and I’m the zombie after your heart.

The other one sold it, but I didn’t want what she had to buy. She was on the older side, doing feather fans, with a rather unfortunate outfit.

I was very, very happy when George Gee started playing again.


Connolly's
Stupidly, I didn’t write down the cross-streets, just the address, leaving me wandering around midtown on one of the coldest days of the year. Fortunately, with the assistance of two boys working at a bodega and three of their customers, I found my way. When I finally saw the venue, it was obvious. Connolly's was huge, with a bar on the main floor and the dance floor on the third floor. It was strategically placed near a number of Broadway theaters, so if one needed some liquid encouragement before, after or during a show, it was close.

The dance floor at Connolly’s was big, but packed. While it wasn’t as stuffed with bodies as Banjo Jim’s, dancers absorbed every space. I’ve never really danced in crowded quarters before, so I started to be more aware of where my body was in space. The band was fantastic, dressed in colorful vintage wears. There were three leads around my age; everyone else was much older. One of them was pretty good: when I closed my eyes during a swing out, I could pretend it was John. Almost.


Amanda and I share a deep love for older gents, mostly due to contra. Though younger dudes treat me with polite disinterest, but older gents think I’m the queen of France. Complimentary as this is, I do miss the speed of younger dudes. Older folks jacked style from other types of dance: tango spins, salsa holds, ballroom attitude. Only the younger ones felt like swing dancers, really feeling the music for what it was.



Swing 46
Not really what I expected, both in showing and style. Boilermaker Jazz Band is one of the few swing bands I’ve hear of, so I was expected a big showing of younger folks. Not so much. Like Sophia’s, there were lots of tables, making it hard to see who was really there to dance, and who was to listen. Over the past few months, I’ve gotten over any fears of rejection. While I struck out a few times, I managed to keep dancing for most of it.

Only one sketchball. Vastly outweighed by dancing with the Boilermaker’s drummer during set breaks.

And again, I saw Shawn, which made everything lovely. Seeing her was the highlight of the night.



Club 412
Club 412 convinced me to go dancing from now until forever. There were three dance studios, two live bands, lots of great dancers. Many were older and liked dancing with younger ladies. Slidey floors.

An equal number of follows and leads, and as most ladies were not aggressive, and dudes were shy, I could dance with whomever I wanted. Everyone there was very friendly.

An ancient, tiny Venezuelan guy, Andres, looked at me, and said, “Do you salsa?” I gave my head a wiggle. Kinda. He replied, “Well, then I’ll teach you.” We went to one of the other studios, and he lead me around.

Later on, Carlos, a younger guy, taught me how to cha-cha. Though the basic was different than the cha-cha Nora taught me, it wasn’t too difficult, until he started adding turns. “Thanks for being so nice!” I said, catching my breath when the dance was over. “Well, I like dancing with you,” he said, “and I wanted to cha-cha. Figured this was the easiest way.”

I left coated with sweat, my hair spiked and slick, as if I’d just gotten out of the shower.


Cache at Sofia's
I heard that Vince Giordano, who made the soundtrack for Ghost World, was playing here. The venue was huge, but the term “club” seemed false. The space was covered in tables. The crowd was old, mostly seated. The music, while good, was very… period. Not very funky. I didn't want to pay the cover and left.



Banjo Jim's

Check it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD9nD8ltRNs&feature=related

This was the band I saw last night, Cangelosi Cards, at Banjo Jim's. The video does not do it justice -- their singer is sick, they all play three instruments. They did everything from old-school jazz, to gospel, and blues. Lucy's recommendation was very successful. Tara and Lucy met me there. There's something wonderful about friends who you can clown with.

It was crazy crowded in there. Though it was only 20º outside, it felt a 120º in there. I felt a wee tad claustrophobic and started talking to the dude next to me (Richard), who was really charming.

Aries: Is it generally this packed?
Richard: It varies. Last week? Empty. Week before that? Full.
Aries: Aw, man, there's no space to dance.
Richard: Wait, you dance?
Aries: Yeah! Do you?
Richard: Yeah! Lindy hop.
Aries: Sweet! That's so great!
Richard: How long have you been dancing for?
Aries: About three months. And you?
Richard: Um. Nine years. ...Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.
Aries: But how do we dance in here?
Richard: Here's the codeword: floorcraft. Unless you know bal.


And then, we danced.

Road Trip 5: The Last Night

Dearest Readers,

The backlogged road trip is now over! Still to come: Dallas, NY, Obietown!

Onwards!...


We stopped at Hope, Alabama, birthplace of President Clinton and strolled around. While walking, Yoshi and I had a heated talk on small town living. At first, I lauded them, a bit too strongly. And as we move towards the cold, steel talons of the real world… the closeness of a village is a lovely thing.

Yoshi questioned me: citing the slowness, the insularity and the backwardness. It would be hard for us to find “our people” in nearly any small town. They sold a unicycle in the Hope Bike Shop… but a single unicycle does not make a circus.


As we were talking, a man in a car stopped us, calling out, “Hey, I don’t know you – you new?”
“We’re from out of town,” we explained, “Just taking a walk.”
“We don’t get young people too often,” he said. I bet you don’t, I thought.


Balancing out my conflation of small towns was a general disdain for southern culture. After a while, my insensitivity, crudeness and tactlessness became overwhelming; Yoshi politely asked me to shut my face.

I did shut my face, keeping quiet even when we passed Arkedelphia and Okalona. I tried to be respectful of Texarkana, where we planned on staying the night. Yoshi held hopes for the place, he’d heard of it often enough in Texas. However, I kept mispronouncing the city, which made me sound even more like a Yankee snob. We came up with a few mnemonics for me:
“I am Texarkana’s cold sweat.”
“Yes we texarKAN-a.”
“I’d like to recycle my Texarkana.”

(I was saying Texarkana. Like Madonna. Or Americana. Or Llama.)


I tried very hard to be polite. But Texarkana was a sad, empty town. When I told my dad we passed through, he said, “Guess it hasn’t changed in 80 years.” Apparently it got hit during the dust bowl, sending penniless farmers to California.

From there: Shreveport, the South’s answer to Las Vegas. I was excited – I’d never been inside of the real gambling floor of a casino. When my parents went to Atlantic City for a family get-together, I’d spent my time in the arcade playing Rampage World Tour.

In my childhood, the casino floor seemed so dangerous and glorious. Skill! Chance! Loss! Gain! Bright lights and fast-talking! Cards runs deep in my family – my grandfather was an incredible poker and bridge player. As a kid, I anticipated the day when I could make dough playing cards all day. This was my destiny, to be Aries “Lucky” Indenbaum. Better pay-off than a bank robbery and safe as a CD.


But the Shreveport casinos were not glamorous. Not one bit.







After dinner at IHOP (strawberry pancakes drenched in diabetes-sweet syrup), we went to the casinos: Sam’s Town, Horseshoe and Boomtown. There were a few surface differences between them, mostly in the uniform of the waitresses. Questions were: How pretty were they? How tall were they? What was the color of the waitress costume? Did the skirt end with the thigh, or did the fabric slide away as the ass was finishing its final rotation into the pelvis? How much junk was packed into that trunk?

As we spent more time in the casinos, I felt my disgust grow and grow. Not at the players, but at the structure, which enabled addiction. Pure addiction. The casinos allowed cigarette smoking, had little lights on each machine to allow patrons to order drinks while they played the slots, chatted up high-rollers…. it’s all good business, but to a foul end. The slot machine customers resembled cows at a feedlot.

Given my own associations with addictive behavior, I felt queasy and overwhelmed. The “Requiem for a Dream” theme rang through my ears. Although these were apparently bottom-of-the-barrel places, it was nice to see what remained when the glitz washed away. Gambling in the raw.

We watched one guy play a “sexy” slot machine game for a while. Most of the symbols seemed arbitrary, hearts and diamonds, with one figure of a foxy cartoon chick. He kept playing and playing. I couldn’t even see when he won – most of the lines seemed irregular, and it was unclear which figures were wilds. The machine behind Yoshi and I made a huge noise whenever anyone did anything to it, and all loud, heart-popping jingles. The sound, coupled with the flashing lights and the smell of smoke and booze, made my head hurt.

Yoshi, who had been to Vegas, wasn’t as revolted as I. He played one slot machine based on “House of the Dead” and made $30. While I’m glad he won, and I don’t begrudge him for playing… I was fine avoiding it.

It was a smart system, Yoshi noticed. All of the slot machines were more of less the same, and as computer systems, it would only take a few adjustments in code to make a completely new game. Slap a new plastic cover on it, and it would be done. The Scream game becomes the Blair Witch game becomes the Hostel game, all on the same piece of hardware.

I was happy when we left.

Cleveland-town, everyone.

Until this summer, the majority of time I’d spent in Cleveland was in goth clubs. I’d gone to Cleveland a few other times: West Side Market! Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Izzie getting a tattoo! Party with gorgeous alumni! But aside from these events, and my hours of dancing to remixes of The Cure… I’d never spent a full day in Cleveland.

But in summer, Oberlin slows down. There’s still a few amazing festivals, like Juneteenth and the Chalk Walk, but the fast-paced vibe of campus eases. It’s a sleepy little town. The most exciting thing happening right now is a bagpipe conference.

After a long, stressful semester, I love that.

For a day or two.

But with a full week with nothing to do? Yoshi and I looked towards Cleveland.


Great Lakes Science Center + Cleveland.




When I was in elementary school, one of the best field trips ever was to Liberty Science Center. The next year, my middle school went to DC, setting me loose in the Smithsonian for a full day. Being at the Great Lakes Science Center brought me back to that feeling of childhood joy. Though we didn’t get a chance to explore the whole museum, what we saw was awesome.

The main floor was bioengineering. There was a section on virtual reality, file compression, synthesizer music, and alternative interfaces. The exhibits on material science was excellent, with smart windows with LED sensors responding to changes in light and sound.

There were some things that confused me. When you have interactive displays about communicable diseases… why don’t you have hand sanitizer nearby? Especially as the exhibit is child-friendly and children are the cutest little disease vectors… I’d love some sanitizer. Though generally, I love hand sanitizer. My immune system is a little like the shields on Star Trek. They can take a lot of small damage but if something massive hits the Aries Enterprise, the ship goes down. When h1n1 broke, Health Services put up enormous bottles of hand sanitizer at every public hub on campus. Bliss became me.

Besides that, there was a section on addiction. Most of Yoshi’s research experience involves addiction, especially as it intersects with memory. From time to time, he would yell at the machine that supports a “hedonistic model.”


The second floor was play-land. Physics is the best. There was all sorts of lovely games that showed how sound and light can be manipulated. Each exhibit had a purpose, explaining the physics behind funhouse mirrors and giant bubbles. While I tried to be a good adult and read about the thing I was playing with, the museum closing soon. So, I played. There were lasers and musical PVC pipes, smoke holes, plasma balls, an Oscilliscope... Lots of stuff.


At a display on Salmonella, there was a space for visitors to write questions they had after viewing information. While waiting for Yoshi, I added these questions:
“Will Salmonella help me lose weight?”
“Is Salmonella sexually transmitted?”
“When was Salmonella invented?”
“Can I buy Salmonella at Target?”

The second we left the building, we were on Lake Erie, next to a maritime museum. We held hands and watched the seagulls destroy some fish.

From there, we headed to University Circle… And promptly got lost. The map indicated a park bordering the road to University Circle, but it didn’t say what that street was called, nor did it have any nearby streets labeled. So, when we left the road to find a place to park, we got really lost, driving up and down residential roads. Mercifully, the park hugging the road was lovely. It hosted a row of “culture gardens” - statues and alters with fountains.

Meanwhile, the collective blood sugar in the car was sinking, making navigating and communicating more complex. Yoshi’s voice gets flatter when he’s tired, while I start to make less and less sense. We go to our poles. I become Delerium, Yoshi becomes Squall .



vs.



Aries: Germany, Estonia, India, Ireland. The world is so big in Cleeeeeveland. The grass is just so super-green. I could wrap a tree in it and call it good.
Yoshi. Yes.
Aries: Can we stop now and walk through the cultures? I want to see Latvia. Anna’s from Latvia. I hope they have bears.
Yoshi: Parking.
Aries: What time is it? I can’t find my cell. I hope I didn’t drop it in the lake. Let’s go swimming with the duckies…
Yoshi: Food.

Given our hunger, we decided to pass on the culture gardens for a bit and try to find some food in University Circle. Despite staring at a map for a few minutes, we walked the wrong way for a bit too long. Then, we trailed up Euclid and got to Case Western Reserve. Despite having been to Case twice, I had no idea what I was looking for. There seemed to be no food despite the collection of awesome buildings, museums and hospitals. It was an odd campus – I loved the buildings, but it seemed to weird that huge streets ran through the whole thing.


Awesomely geeky garbage cans! Yeah, CASE!


We finally found a strip of restaurants. A cop was going into the pizza shop. We quibbled about whether he was busting someone or whether he was hungry. There was a Chinese restaurant, a deli, a Starbucks… out pickings were slim. We looked across the street and in the same breath said “Felafel?”

Mediterranean food is a rarity in my life and as a long-time vegetarian, hummus is a joy I cannot eat enough of. That said, I didn’t have high expectations. The place itself was not so gorgeous, filled with plenty of plastic tables. The ketchup packets stuck to each other. There were only a few people in the restaurant. The place seemed… greasy.

Yoshi got a lamb kebab; I got the cabbage stew. Both dishes were frighteningly great. The soup was flavorful without being too rich, the vegetable delicious. Yoshi’s kebab was excellent; the pitas offered were light and tangy. Later, we discovered that we stumbled into one of the best restaurants in Cleveland; Falafel Café was rated in the top five restaurants in the city for the past few years. While I went to the bathroom, Yoshi spoke with owner-chef who was from Beirut. “Of course Lebanese food is great!” he announced, “Why else would you go to Lebanon?”

Hunger eased, we walked through Case, past the museums, and to the Culture Gardens, where we wandered around for over two hours.

Highlights:

India! Gandhi looked awesome, with a quote about tolerance on the podium. There were little stones with information on Indian cultural advances.

Germany! The centerpiece was an enormous statue of Schiller and Goethe, looking like old-school fraternity brothers. I tried to read the inscription from Faust aloud, but failed. The statue was so huge that trying to see over the terrible two’s bellies was tricky. The other German who earned a statue was Bach, who did not look too happy.

Finland! Nothing could seem sad next to the Finnish. The poets and statesmen represented looked like sailors trapped within the doldrums, their wind gone, sitting in a ship of fools and eagerly anticipating starving to death. These were sad, sad men.


We didn’t realize the sun had set until the park was dark and the moon was high. Tired out, we strolled back to the car and drove back to Oberlin. A great day. High five, Cleveland.

Road Trip 3: Little Rock is Clinton-tastic!

We did not have high hopes for Arkansas. Little Rock proved us wrong.

We spent three hours at the Clinton Library & Museum. In high school, I watched “The War Room” for my AP Government class, as well as old election footage from 1992. I developed huge crushes on James Carville, George Stephanopoulos and candidate Bill Clinton. But in my fantasies, I didn’t want to kiss those guys. I wanted to BE those guys. Going to this museum was like going to Disneyland for me.

The museum was supposed to look like a bridge to the 21st Century… but actually resembled a giant trailer. Aesthetics aside, the building was eco-friendly, using local materials and energy-conscious architecture. Most of the information was conveyed through a timeline with pictures, text and video. To drive points home, there was plenty of repletion between written displays and film.

They had replicas of the Oval Office and the Cabinet, which were surprising unattractive. The Oval Office felt cluttered to me, chocked with americana. The saving grace was a moon rock. During a heated discussion, Clinton would occasionally gesture to the stone, saying, “Hold on here – that rock there on that table is 3.6 billion years old – we’re only here for an instant – let’s get some perspective on this thing.”

The museum presented a glowing review of Clinton. Back in the day, government fought for change and the betterment of all people: reducing crime, increasing prosperity, supporting technological advances…. Under Clinton’s leadership, America wasn’t just a superpower,
we were a superhero.

Given the trends of the Bush years – limitations on science and technology, inept handling of the explosive economy, two unfinished wars, few achievements made… I can’t imagine how I would conceive of my country if I were born five years later.


Sadly, the museum didn’t touch on any of Clinton’s failures. There was scant mention of the impeachment proceedings, the massive investigations, the flaws of NAFTA, DOMA, or “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” His innovations in finance laid the groundwork for our current economic flummox.


We didn't see any note on this lady either.


Though I understand the omission of critical information, I could have dealt with more policy and process.
- How did Hilary affect women’s rights besides uttering one of the best soundbites I have ever heard? “It is no longer acceptable to discuss women's rights as separate from human rights.”
- What did Clinton do to help usher in the internet age? Yes, he funded computers in schools, but was there more?
- How did Clinton broker a peace?
- Why not more personal information on “Candidate Clinton”?

As we got restless, we noticed the time and understood our hunger.

We spotted over to the volunteer desk and asked what they recommended for lunch. Small-world alert: One of the volunteers was from Cleveland and had lectured at Oberlin, speaking about time-management. WHAT. I flabbergasted at her. She told us about a catfish place. The other volunteer, a kid who looked like a Boy Scout, told us about “Whole Hog Café,” where Clinton apparently used to go. “Get the Pulled Pork Sandwich. Best pulled pork sandwich I’ve ever had.”

Off we went! Whole Hog, like Rendezvous, had an unsurprising lack of vegetarian options, but given my lack of running around, I wasn’t as hungry as normal. That said, my taste of Yoshi’s pulled pork platter was amazing. Flat-out amazing. The beans and potatoes were unstoppable.

From there, we went back to the Clinton Museum Store so Yoshi could get a present to Professor Dawson, inspiration/terror to thousands of Obies. Then we strolled to Arkansas River Market → a Martial arts garden → highway.

The Little Rock – Dallas leg was a longer one, about five hours. But after about 15 minutes on route, we got a call from Yoshi’s folks. Apparently, there was a giant storm in Dallas, knocking out power and flooding to a huge swath of the city. They recommended we not make the push on and go somewhere else for the night.

Looking at the map, we spotted Texarkana and Shreveport, and aimed for them.

Road Trip 3: Meaty Pyramids of Memphis

I can’t find my Memphis notes, which is a reflection on Memphis, I think.

Memphis is famous for meat. That said, I know nothing about the culture of barbeque, nor about regional differences in barbeque making. "Dry-rub" versus "Sauce" seems more like a discussion on wanking than cooking.

That said, the dry-rub style of Memphis is one of the state’s charms. So, me and the Texan went to Rendezvous. Rendezvous is allegedly the best barbeque place in the city. However, as we got there in between lunch and dinner, they were only serving ribs and sides. Nothing else.

As I’m not a red meat eater, I couldn’t give a proper appraisal of the meats. Yoshi wasn’t impressed. These were not tender ribs, but seemed undercooked. Bitter disappointment stuck us.

From there, we went down Beale Street. We had a cool conversation with a guy named Eliot who worked at one of the gift shops on the row, then moved along. There were some musicians, playing in the park. At this point, I got a bit foggy. I had forgotten my water bottle in the car. The sun was high and venomous. Things didn’t feel fun anymore.

Interruption of Overarching Theme: Sun, Water, Sugar.
They governed our lives.





From there, we went to the abandoned arena. It was a pyramid. Apparently, they built a new one and just left the old one behind, like a refrigerator on the side of the road. Soda cans and snack wrappers pooled by the entrances, mulched with old leaves and pigeon shit. Homeless people, the lichens of the city, had taken root there.

All of the doors were locked. The brick wall was fake; Yoshi dented it with a tap. Everything was covered in dust. Despite my sleepiness, I loved this weird relic. It reminded me of the pyramid from Stargate, though it bore closer resemblance to the many shuttered and darkened shorefronts scattered thoughout the country.

“Why isn’t anyone using it?” I wondered.

“What can you do with a pyramid? The land here must be expensive— it must be impossible to find a buyer.”
Yoshi, as ever, was right. We were down the block from a row of hotels. There was a river to our left and city hall to our right. Pricey turf.

Still, as we left, I hoped some newfangled Charles Foster Kane would make the place his Xanadu.

Given lunch’s disappointment, we didn’t get barbeque. We aimed for Wang’s, but we had to walk to the car to refill the meter. By then, we were far from the Wang. We found ourselves at the second best Indian restaurant in the city, which provided adequate foods. And from there, we drove.

We had bad hotel luck that night. But eventually, there was sleep.

Road Trip 2: Nash-Nash-Nash

Where we last left our heroes… Nashville! Turkeys! Abandoned Places! Urban Sprawl! Bourbon!


While Nashville was cool, it’s not the best thing when the first part of your day is the best. Free breakfast was hard to beat; but the Parthenon was even cooler.

Nashville, for some ridiculous reason, has a replica of the Parthenon. Both Yoshi and I knew a bit about its arrangement, structure and purpose. That said, the coolest thing was definitely the size. The damn thing was huge. Really, freakin’ huge. We walked around it, and around the surrounding park, filled with joggers slogging through the heat.



According to the City, Elliston is a “young, trendy neighborhood.” We headed there hopefully, anticipating folks who had tattoos and liked The Magnetic Fields. There would be bicycles! Vanderbilt students carrying copies of Proust! Older folks playing chess with younger kids!

Not so much. Nope.

Elliston wasn’t really a neighborhood, but a street. An okay street, but a street. The two rock clubs weren’t anything during the day and there were only a few open stores. The interwebz announced, “No trip to Elliston Place is complete without a stop at the Elliston Place Soda Shop.” So, we stopped. I believe the trip would have been complete without the Soda Shop. The food tasted like high school lunch.

We were also told about “Elder's Bookstore, which has been serving Nashville's literary set since 1930.” Elder’s Bookstore was, as Yoshi put it, “the worst kind of library.” Dark, dank and unwelcoming, the walls were plastered with signs to be quiet and threats against small children. Conservative agit-prop decorated bookshelves. The bookshop owners sat in overrun desks, quiet and solemn.

From there, we saw Donny Smutz, a contemporary surreal artist who uses politically-loaded images. My favorite piece was called Rapture, showing a man staring at a painting that depicts him, moving through a space. At his right was an unplugged TV, showing a similar image. Upon seeing the art, the man had unplugged the TV. Or vice-versa – there’s no clarity of time. While my description doesn’t do it justice, it evoked feelings of introspection, artistic relevance, consumer culture and passivity, conception of self… It did a lot for me.


Next to that gallery, the Tinney were a few others, once showing SCAD artists, the other one involving redone bicycles.

Then, the Frist. The Frist was fascinating. A former Post Office, remodeled into a museum had an amazing art deco style. “Like Brazil,” Yoshi said. It looked prepared for a high-class cocktail party or a dystopian show trial.


The Frist alternated between traditional shows and new displays-- we just missed one on Body and Flesh. The first show was found was an interactive display to teach children how to make all sorts of art, from abstract representations to figure drawing and printmaking. It was very cool and very simple – a set of stations, most unmanned, with precise instructions on how to start artistic processes. If I had a child, I would totally take zir there. Also, the museum was very inexpensive: 3$ per college students, and kids were free. I will be using my Oberlin ID for much savings.

The second show was on museum design, displaying new structures from across the world. My favorite was the “friendly alien” museum in Graz, Austria. The idea of a building as a presence with personality and charm is hardly new. However, the Pixar-like charms of the museum strike me as something new – magical realism intruding in.

Besides having large reproductions of the architectural drafts, and models of the completed structure, the Friendly Alien building also had a video of how each nostril of the beast was made. it was totally a Miyazaki monster.


I also enjoyed the futurism museum in France, the Stonehenge visitor center and a totally unfeasible planned art/tech building in NYC. Many of the new museums took into account details like LEED, multi-use spaces and architecture’s relationship with the overall feeling in the museum. Form complimenting function. The Frist itself was an excellent study. The retro sleekness and the trappings of a post office made the building a foil for its works. The space itself required creativity, and added a layer of dept to each display.

After Frist, we went to 12 South, one of the allegedly cool walking areas in Nashville. While it wasn’t as empty as Elliston, it was a yuppie daydream, lots of restaurants, a salon, clean-cut kids. Alas. After driving through disappointed, we parked on a hill, and looked at a monument. erected on Armistice Day to memorialize the end of the Civil War. It showed the Spirit of Unity, personified by a rather bishonen boy holding two horses, the emblems of the North and the South. Rather like Equus, really.

We strolled around the park. Some squirrels had sex in front of us. We felt uncomfortable with the level of consent displayed.

Realizing that our blood sugar was tanking, we went to the “Frothy Monkey,” a coffee shop, for ideas on where to eat. The barista was a sweetie, a musician who was now taking university classes. Also, after a bazillion hours of only Yoshi and I, it was fascinating to speak to someone who was under thirty who wasn’t… us.
His best recommendation was a café/grocery in the town where the elderly stars of the Grand Ol Opry lived out their sunset years. At this cafe, especially on Sundays, they’d flock together on the porch and scratch out some tunes.

Imagine Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson and Larry Bird playing some ball on the street. The best players in the business, not worrying about being the best. Just having fun. Now take out the basketball and make it country music.

Apparently, the café made pretty good fries too.

While that sounded amazing, we were hungry. After a few false starts, we ended up at Bosco’s: expensive and unsatisfying. Had a good talk, as a result. Not an easy talk, but something that need to happen.


Night driving. A false hotel, too pricey and full. A new hotel. Sleep.

Road Trip! Day 1: The Epic Kentucky.

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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.

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.