One of the houses on campus consists of five round buildings with eight apartments in each of them. Most call them "donuts," some call them "spaceships" for no reason. The communal centers have different things in them; three have downstairs/upstairs while the other two have laundry rooms in the basements and giant, empty chambers on the main floor.
Two years ago I lived in the donut with the Spiritual Life Center upstairs, which I thought would prompt me to go to Jewish services more often, but then they started holding them in a different building near the dorms. We couldn't even go up there to hang out because the door was usually locked. It was kind of a shame. The next year, some friends of mine lived in the donut below the Queer Community Alliance. This was set up much like the SLC, but it was better: it actually had a bathroom, a fridge and plenty of free condoms. (Also, pamphlets with titles like "I Think I'm Gay. What Now?" I don't know, probably blow somebody?) It also never seemed to be locked. When I got drunk over there on the weekends we would invariably wander up there to score mixers from the fridge, play drinking games on the folding table, climb the rafters and any other shenanigans we could think of. On somebody's birthday we even had a pinata (I can't quite remember, but it may have been filled with condoms). The other bi-level donut has an overstuffed, informal library on the bottom (from which we stole a chair for our living room) and an empty space on top called the Centrum Gallery that's used for concerts and readings and stuff. Getting drunk up there during final project showcases is kind of dangerous; the lack of ventilation and abundance of natural light make it sweltering in the late Spring.
I always thought the giant chambers above the laundry rooms were wasted; people leave bikes and boxes and junk around the edges, and we house visiting ultimate teams there during our tournaments, but they're so big and accomodating, it feels wrong not to have events there. When I lived there I had vague designs on talking to the other apartments about a building-wide party. I don't know how much of an issue it would have been to convince them; we were cool with the next-door neighbors, and I knew the kosher house kids across the way, but there was also a group of Asian women who didn't seem to speak much English. In any event, I brushed off the thought as a pipe dream and we contented ourselves with our wild, vodka-soaked living room brawls.
Last weekend, some kids pulled it off. Somehow they managed to convince their entire donut that a dance party in the middle of the building was a good idea and had a double birthday themed as a Hollywood gala event (they actually had a red carpet leading into the center). I was already pretty drunk when I got there but it seemed like a lot of work had gone into it. The lighting was perfect, dark and ambient, and the DJ booth loomed authoritatively along one wall. The space really was perfect for this sort of thing--there were a ton of people there but it was so big that you had plenty of space to navigate anywhere and dance without hindrance. At one point my friend, echoing earlier exploits in the QCA, shimmied up the wooden pole in the middle and sat in the rafters a full story above us; I wish he'd had confetti to throw over the crowd.
I don't know if it was the drinks mixed with the medication I've started taking or the heightened atmosphere of the whole scene, but I kind of went crazy that night. I'm used to getting blitzed and jumping around like an idiot, but for some reason this time I felt I had to be more insistent. I think I kept grabbing one of my friends and directing her to some moral imperative, but I can't really remember the gist of it. Anyway, I ended the night having a smoke on the porch with a sophomore and grilling him way too intently on his love life. Sometimes I confuse not giving a fuck with just being a nuisance.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
So That Happened
Today there was a talk by an Israeli soldier in the school's main lecture hall. When I first heard about this it seemed obvious that the arena was going to get, in the words of Nicki Minaj, "hotter than a Middle Eastern climate." Around here motherfuckers get their knickers in all kinds of knots about Israel/Palestine, and it has really come to a head while I've been here. During my first or second year the school was the first to "divest" itself from companies in bed with the Israeli military (or something, I didn't do the research) and so the "Students for Justice in Palestine" group has really walked around with their dick swinging for a while now. They're the main political protest gang of the land, pretty much. In December an e-mail went out from the acting college President (who replaced the reviled former guy, and is pretty well-liked as far as I could tell) denouncing reports of inappropriate anti-Zionist aggression (which, for the record, I've not heard about before or since). The other day I found an open letter lying around in the library from SJP, following a general blanket denunciation of anti-Semitism with a clarification of the distinction between prejudice and social protest, and concluding with a sharp criticism of the school for hosting such an event as this talk; the idea, I guess, is that they saw it as an allowance of pro-oppression propaganda, rather than an attempt to balance the scale on the discourse around here (which, as far as I could tell was the only rationale for the school to get this guy to come).
I hurried over there after work and walked into the packed lobby, unsure of how to divide the mob into factions. Someone handed me an SJP pamphlet with some stats on the subjugative measures of the occupation, and folded out to become a sign reading "STOP THE SHOW!" Other pamphlets had different messages on them; we were meant, I guess, to hold them up as forcefully as possible during the talk. Shortly before we were allowed to filter into the lecture hall (guarded by cops at the front and rear) a group of cute chicks with Israeli flag stickers on their cheeks unfurled a large blue Star of David on the balcony to the left, perpendicular to the signs with "Stop Oppression Now," "Palestine Is Rad," "People Shouldn't Die," or whatever, held by some fierce, frumpy middle-aged women. On the right, this Neil Young acid-casualty looking guy flew the Green and Red Arrow (whatever they call that flag). According cheers were shouted by the whole enmeshed throng, but it was too early to tell if shit would get really heated.
Once we got in there, the various groups settled pretty solidly into little seating blocks, although I seemed to be in the middle of a mixture of different types. I didn't recognize most of the pro-Israel people, nor did I know who the two professors who introduced the talk were (they were both science guys). A super-cute young Jew wearing a Tzahal (Israeli Defence Force) shirt who introduced herself as an extremely recent grad finally brought the guy out.
Whatever your feelings on the nature of the event, or the socio-political culture that contextualizes it, you are a born liar if you say this guy can't fucking talk like nobody's business. He's not an Israeli native; he grew up in Britain, and the mingling of the two accents produced one of the most commanding timbres I've ever heard, soft but full and never wavering, which is amazing considering all the shit that went down in the next couple hours. One of the first things he did, after fiddling with the microphone for a second, was to simply lay it on the ground by the podium (it stayed there for the duration except for when one of the science profs needed to do crowd control) and proceed to talk without amplification, as clearly as a radio announcer. I wouldn't be surprised if he never blinked once while he stood there. He had a shaved head and an angular, TV-ready face that only got more appealing when he let off a slight smile once or twice. He looked like Billy Zane, but more watchable.
I can't quite remember the distinct details but essentially, people yelled a lot and nobody learned anything. The best way to summarize what happened is to note two things: one, that it went longer than they intended (expected); two, that he never really gave the talk he meant to (not so expected). It shortly became clear that his spiel--the story he wanted to tell and has, according to him, related without a hitch at several prestigious colleges during his recent career--about his experiences as a young soldier fighting for Israel wasn't going to fly with this crowd. After not one but two interruptions wherein different young men stood up, blowing a whistle, and initiated some kind of shrill chant about the duplicitousness of the whole operation, and the room erupted into loud dispute yet again, those in charge decided it would be best for him to quickly wrap up and then get into the Q&A. (During which, by the way, he spoke with not an iota less clarity or eloquence than during the scripted portion.) Even so, the young SJP contingent, antsy to yell their clipped slogans and voice their disapproval with a chorus of hissing (not joking) held him up as much as they could, although he handled their disruption of his excellent pacing and building of dramatic tension pretty masterfully. The most honest part of his talk was his musing that, after facing bullets and rockets on a daily basis for several years, a bunch of agitated hipsters with signs about dead children didn't faze him too much.
During one of the flare-ups between the two factions in the hall (the most annoying and inarticulate of which was unfortunately to my immediate right), apparently some backward-hatted Five College bro let the F-bomb fly. He was immediately beset upon by a sad-eyed hipster (he's in my class but I can't recall his name) who screamed, "DID YOU SAY 'FAGGOT'? I'M A FAGGOT! I'M A FAGGOT!" It was soothing to be momentarily removed from the partisan madness of the evening by a nice, clear-cut bit of hate; the guy was summarily shouted out of the hall, and after one of the Palestine Pups shrieked "ARE YOU PROUD THAT SOMEBODY LIKE THAT SUPPORTS YOU?" we were on our way.
Another genuinely affecting moment occurred when an Arab hipster who had been anguishedly yelling from the front row ahead of me was granted the first question. He related his own tale of walking through the rubble in Lebanon or somewhere and wondered what the guy might think about the flattened skyscrapers and dead families (it wasn't clear if he was talking about his own family or his countrymen) caused by his army's defense efforts. The soldier kind of brushed off his question (though at extreme length and ever so eloquently, as he did all night) but he expressed respect for the student's authenticity.
I had to resist the strong urge all evening to join the outbursts with some bit of goofy nonsense: when some dudes around me jumped up shouting "end the occupation!" or whatever and flapping their flyers I held tightly on to my seat rest so as not to pop up going "I am DMX!" Another awesome thing I could have done would be to follow a series of chants and counter-shouting by going "It's just like the 60s!" Backwoods Neil Young would have liked that, I think, although he ducked out pretty early. If there had been less people waiting at the mikes for the Q&A I might've asked the sargeant whether he thought The Social Network had a chance against The King's Speech for Best Picture. Ah, missed opportunities.
When I walked into the lobby I was handed a flyer for a march for Egypt in town (presumably the corrective to tonight's proceedings) and, flanked by objectors holding banners alongside the exit, a large circle of hand-holders stood over a message taped on the floor (I forget what it said) and began singing some kind of reconfigured slave spiritual. Everyone was smoking outside; I went home and started drinking.
Update: I was waiting for the bus in town today; I wondered why it was late until I noticed a small procession marching down the road. This was the foretold Egypt rally. I walked up to the main street to watch next to the handful of photographers, but I needn't have, as they just turned and walked into the town college drive, past the bus stop. I walked back alongside and a pretty young woman turned and smiled, encouraging me to join in the chant of "[blah blah blah] the Middle East, [blah blah blah] justice, peace!" I just bobbed my head and kept walking along--if anybody had been listening I might have said that I'm not political, I just like parades.
I hurried over there after work and walked into the packed lobby, unsure of how to divide the mob into factions. Someone handed me an SJP pamphlet with some stats on the subjugative measures of the occupation, and folded out to become a sign reading "STOP THE SHOW!" Other pamphlets had different messages on them; we were meant, I guess, to hold them up as forcefully as possible during the talk. Shortly before we were allowed to filter into the lecture hall (guarded by cops at the front and rear) a group of cute chicks with Israeli flag stickers on their cheeks unfurled a large blue Star of David on the balcony to the left, perpendicular to the signs with "Stop Oppression Now," "Palestine Is Rad," "People Shouldn't Die," or whatever, held by some fierce, frumpy middle-aged women. On the right, this Neil Young acid-casualty looking guy flew the Green and Red Arrow (whatever they call that flag). According cheers were shouted by the whole enmeshed throng, but it was too early to tell if shit would get really heated.
Once we got in there, the various groups settled pretty solidly into little seating blocks, although I seemed to be in the middle of a mixture of different types. I didn't recognize most of the pro-Israel people, nor did I know who the two professors who introduced the talk were (they were both science guys). A super-cute young Jew wearing a Tzahal (Israeli Defence Force) shirt who introduced herself as an extremely recent grad finally brought the guy out.
Whatever your feelings on the nature of the event, or the socio-political culture that contextualizes it, you are a born liar if you say this guy can't fucking talk like nobody's business. He's not an Israeli native; he grew up in Britain, and the mingling of the two accents produced one of the most commanding timbres I've ever heard, soft but full and never wavering, which is amazing considering all the shit that went down in the next couple hours. One of the first things he did, after fiddling with the microphone for a second, was to simply lay it on the ground by the podium (it stayed there for the duration except for when one of the science profs needed to do crowd control) and proceed to talk without amplification, as clearly as a radio announcer. I wouldn't be surprised if he never blinked once while he stood there. He had a shaved head and an angular, TV-ready face that only got more appealing when he let off a slight smile once or twice. He looked like Billy Zane, but more watchable.
I can't quite remember the distinct details but essentially, people yelled a lot and nobody learned anything. The best way to summarize what happened is to note two things: one, that it went longer than they intended (expected); two, that he never really gave the talk he meant to (not so expected). It shortly became clear that his spiel--the story he wanted to tell and has, according to him, related without a hitch at several prestigious colleges during his recent career--about his experiences as a young soldier fighting for Israel wasn't going to fly with this crowd. After not one but two interruptions wherein different young men stood up, blowing a whistle, and initiated some kind of shrill chant about the duplicitousness of the whole operation, and the room erupted into loud dispute yet again, those in charge decided it would be best for him to quickly wrap up and then get into the Q&A. (During which, by the way, he spoke with not an iota less clarity or eloquence than during the scripted portion.) Even so, the young SJP contingent, antsy to yell their clipped slogans and voice their disapproval with a chorus of hissing (not joking) held him up as much as they could, although he handled their disruption of his excellent pacing and building of dramatic tension pretty masterfully. The most honest part of his talk was his musing that, after facing bullets and rockets on a daily basis for several years, a bunch of agitated hipsters with signs about dead children didn't faze him too much.
During one of the flare-ups between the two factions in the hall (the most annoying and inarticulate of which was unfortunately to my immediate right), apparently some backward-hatted Five College bro let the F-bomb fly. He was immediately beset upon by a sad-eyed hipster (he's in my class but I can't recall his name) who screamed, "DID YOU SAY 'FAGGOT'? I'M A FAGGOT! I'M A FAGGOT!" It was soothing to be momentarily removed from the partisan madness of the evening by a nice, clear-cut bit of hate; the guy was summarily shouted out of the hall, and after one of the Palestine Pups shrieked "ARE YOU PROUD THAT SOMEBODY LIKE THAT SUPPORTS YOU?" we were on our way.
Another genuinely affecting moment occurred when an Arab hipster who had been anguishedly yelling from the front row ahead of me was granted the first question. He related his own tale of walking through the rubble in Lebanon or somewhere and wondered what the guy might think about the flattened skyscrapers and dead families (it wasn't clear if he was talking about his own family or his countrymen) caused by his army's defense efforts. The soldier kind of brushed off his question (though at extreme length and ever so eloquently, as he did all night) but he expressed respect for the student's authenticity.
I had to resist the strong urge all evening to join the outbursts with some bit of goofy nonsense: when some dudes around me jumped up shouting "end the occupation!" or whatever and flapping their flyers I held tightly on to my seat rest so as not to pop up going "I am DMX!" Another awesome thing I could have done would be to follow a series of chants and counter-shouting by going "It's just like the 60s!" Backwoods Neil Young would have liked that, I think, although he ducked out pretty early. If there had been less people waiting at the mikes for the Q&A I might've asked the sargeant whether he thought The Social Network had a chance against The King's Speech for Best Picture. Ah, missed opportunities.
When I walked into the lobby I was handed a flyer for a march for Egypt in town (presumably the corrective to tonight's proceedings) and, flanked by objectors holding banners alongside the exit, a large circle of hand-holders stood over a message taped on the floor (I forget what it said) and began singing some kind of reconfigured slave spiritual. Everyone was smoking outside; I went home and started drinking.
Update: I was waiting for the bus in town today; I wondered why it was late until I noticed a small procession marching down the road. This was the foretold Egypt rally. I walked up to the main street to watch next to the handful of photographers, but I needn't have, as they just turned and walked into the town college drive, past the bus stop. I walked back alongside and a pretty young woman turned and smiled, encouraging me to join in the chant of "[blah blah blah] the Middle East, [blah blah blah] justice, peace!" I just bobbed my head and kept walking along--if anybody had been listening I might have said that I'm not political, I just like parades.
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