Kitsch Magazine - Spring 2010 by Kitsch Magazine

k i t s c h magazine

letter from the editor

spring 2010

kitsch magazine an independent student publication

editorial board editor-in-chief Rachel Louise Ensign

managing editor Allison Fischler

zooming in

art editor

Helen Havlak

Andrew Schwartz

zooming out Michelle Spektor

asst. art editor

watch and listen Laura Van Winkle

head copy editor

Meaghan McSorley Adi Potashnick

bite size

hen most people lived in tribal societies or small frontier towns, the things that they really needed to know were the best spots to forage for berries or how to remove an animal’s hide—matters of immediate sustenance. But, in a world in which the explosion of an Icelandic volcano with an unpronounceable 16-letter name can affect everyone’s lives, necessary information for today’s citizens is global and esoteric—and we rely on the media to find it out. This issue of kitsch has a wealth of articles that answer those burning questions that readers have about the world today. As always, our writers explore matters of local importance: What is that wonderful smell coming from Willard Straight Hall? pg. 17; What does an expert on Cornell’s campus have to say about suicide? pg. 33; What do those anti-frack signs all over Ithaca mean? pg. 24; Were MVR and Flora Rose more than just friends? pg. 6. They also investigate those extra-Ithacan goings on: Why do we refer to all tissues as “Kleenex”? pg. 8; What happens to someone’s Facebook account when they die? pg. 60; What’s going on with crystal meth in America? pg. 49; What do Satanists believe? pg. 54. Our writers also have taken it upon themselves to raise questions of their own—Kathleen Jercich audaciously asks if monogamy is really necessary any longer in “The More the Merrier” pg. 57 and Sam Wechsler finds out what happens when her friends set each other up on blind dates pg. 44. My four years working on kitsch have only strengthened my belief that feature stories provide a colorful and thorough examination of the world that is an essential complement to the daily stream of hard news. Our articles are the product of a semester’s worth of cultivation; they are meant to provide a distilled and thought-provoking view of what exists between and beyond Ithaca’s rolling green hills.

Rachel Louise Ensign

layout editor

Michelle Rada

Cat Schrage

fiction & poetry Adi Potashnick Adam Miller

Jen Yang

advertising manager

IC liason Norah Sweeney

webmaster

contributors

Shane Dunau

non-fiction writers

David Berezin, Maurice Chammah, James Fairbrother, Mari Garces, Subashiny Gengatharan, Jenna Greenbaum, Kathleen Jercich, Sandra Lee, Rebecca Lucash, Kristin Maki, Stephanie Meissner, Karina Parikh, Norah Sweeney, Annie Tsao, Sam Wechsler, Andrew Wolf, Lucy Zheng

fiction & poetry writers

Joshua Dickinson, Rong Ma, Michelle Rada, Hannah Reynolds, Meredith Shepard, Sam Sveen, Joshua Turk

artists

Rebecca Ashby-Colon, Courtney Beglin, Mari Garces, LaiYee Ho, Jen Keefe, Zac Kinkade, Laura Miller, Owen Smith, Josh Stansfield, Charles Wang

layout artists

Steven Chen, Spencer Chen, Claire Cipriani, Subashiny Gengatharan, Jee Lee, Sandra Lee, Rebecca Lucash, Claire Paduano, Annie Tsao, Jenny Zhao, Lucy Zheng

associate copy editors

Heather Karschner, Alex Newman, Jennie Ochshorn, Irina Patapova, Nate Schorr, Jenny Zhao

advisors

Michael Koch Department of English

Catherine Taylor Department of Writing

Cornell University

Ithaca College

Kitsch Magazine, an independent student organization located at Cornell University, produced and is responsible for the content of this publication. This publication was not reviewed or approved by, nor does it necessarily express or reflect the policies or opinions of, Cornell University or its designated representatives. This publication is partially funded by Ithaca College’s Student Government Association.

cover art by ANDREW SCHWARTZ

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editors

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kitsch ALLISON

the sex death & meth issue

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art by HELEN HAVLAK

Table of Contents

out

47 49 52 54 57

at Mann

14 17 21 24 27 30 32 33 36 42 44

We also have: Wheat-Free and Vegan Options!

also check us out on facebook and twitter!

From Machismo to Femininity That’s METH-ed Up Lefties In Satan We Trust The More the Merrier?

Library!

Wraps Burritos Gimme! Coffee Expresso Drinks Salads Sandwichs Bagels Brownies Smoothies

Zooming in

How to Experience the Moon Do you know the Muffin (Wo)man? Black Sheep - Cornell Goths What the Frack? Nabokov and Playboy Ithaca is Fences A Freshman Reflection A Talk About Tragedy Spaces to Create A Short History of Liberal Guilt at Cornell I’m in it for the Free Meal

Zooming

Across the Ag Quad

On the Plaza Desk Etchings Sexy History Death of a Brand Jumbo the Elephant Evo-louis-tion Office Space

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5 5 6 8 9 10 11

and we cater!

. L A C O L EAT

Open Mon thru Thurs: 7:30 AM-10 PM, Fri: 7:30AM-6 PM, Sat: 12-6 PM, Sun: 11AM-10 PM

manndiblecafe.com 607.254.6206

and poetry

Fiction

Finding shoes Sex and Living Slurs Noise The Time of Night When Stoplights Flash Rice Paddies Interview with Potien interested in joining kitsch? The View email exec@kitschmag.com VIH for more information!

art by HELEN HAVLAK

Watch and

70 72 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

60 62 64 65 68

Listen

Life After Death on Facebook College Shows and Movies: a Retrospective Italian-dubbed TV Wiz Kids - Wizard Wrock Gym, Tan and Laundry

ON THE PLAZA:

What do you think will bring about the decline of society? Japanese love dolls.

Hipsterdom.

-Alex Grey ’10

-Dan Marino ’11

Tabasco sauce or the Tea Party. -Tommy Clark ’10

A giant meteorite! -Amanda Stefanik ’13

Can I give someone’s name? [No] Hatred!

-Brendan Porto ’11

Video games. -Joon Hwang ’12

art by HELEN HAVLAK

Desktop confessions.

Uris Library:

-Jeff Tissue ’12

Nuclear winter or global warming.

art by LAIYEE HO

BITE SIZE photos and art by HELEN HAVLAK

When

Flora

Met

Martha

Things get spicy in the home economics department.

KATHLEEN JERCICH

h, the early 1900s. In the context of the war-torn years from 1914 on, the decades immediately preceding World War I seem hilariously utopian. Even at Cornell, students and faculty in the Home Economics department still found time for taffy pulling, intimate letter-writing, and the odd old-fashioned pajama party (such as the one hosted by one Mrs. Erway, teacher of Cornell clothing design). Lest it be written off as all innocent pillow-fighting and piemaking, it should be noted that Home Economics was actually quite the hotbed of activism. Leaders of the movement sought to rationalize housework and change its social status to that of an actual career option. So while the proper way to darn a stocking may not be quite as impressive as bra-burning, it still represents a struggle for female agency. In the field of Home Economics, which should have been far enough in the non-threatening female sphere to keep patriarchal panties unbunched, a female professor was seen as a spatula-wielding invasion of the strictly

male domain of advanced academia. Cornell, true to Ezra’s oftquoted wishes, was one of the first universities to allow a woman at the head of a department—even if that department seems to be, in today’s modern feminist context, a bit of a letdown. At the forefront of this were our heroines: Flora Rose and Martha Van Rensselaer, co-directors of the Home Economics department at Cornell from 1908 into the 1930s. From the way the helpful plaques on the Flora Rose building tell it, Flora and Martha were the best of friends, united by their love of teaching and dedication to the craft. “It was a successful academic partnership…The pair lived together until Van Rensselaer’s death in 1932,” Cornell’s “What Was Home Economics?” website murmurs, as if the two had felt the need to move in together in order to more effectively manage an academic department. It is likely that Flora Rose and Martha Van Rensselaer were a lot more “bosom” and a lot less “buddy.” Van Rensselaer called Rose “the partner she came to love” and “the ideal of woman-

“

It is likely that

Flora and Martha were a lot more

‘bosom’ and a lot less ‘buddy.’

”

hood,” while Rose refused a salary increase in the interest of maintaining true domestic equality. Before the psychological boom of the 1920s, homosexuality was much less pathologized: it was altogether common for college-age girls to develop “crushes” on each other, engaging in elaborate courtship rituals and showering each other with the sort of hair-sniffing affection that most every adolescent male dreams of. Naturally, most of these crushes were abandoned after university years for the hairy, stabilizing influence of a good husband. Some, however, naturally grew into what were then cheekily called “Boston marriages.” Flora and Martha had one of these: Martha even argued with the dean of students at the time to teach about the existence of marriage without (ye gods!) the possibility of procreation. Between that and their close friendship with Eleanor Roosevelt, they may well have just put on their k.d. lang concert t-shirts and called it a day. I can see it now: the lonely crags of Ithaca, its long winters

unmitigated by the comforts of Collegetown Bagels and Johnny O’s. A bright-eyed young professor, staying late into the night to ensure the success of the department she loves, might easily find her passions transferred onto the only other person who knows her burden. It’s practically a Charlotte Brontë novel waiting to happen. Perhaps I’ve been reading too many entries on literotica, but the fact remains: Martha Van Rensselaer and Flora Rose were model revolutionaries, enacting change and standing up for the rights of women while maintaining what seems, quite frankly, like a far more satisfying relationship than most ladies were blessed with at the time. So next time you grab a muffin at Martha’s, take a moment to give the woman a wink—you never know when your friendly rivalry with that raven-haired English major may take a turn for the sexy.

”

BITE SIZE art by MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

DEATH

of a brand:

the genericide crisis KARINA PARIKH

o you grab your “Nalgene” instead of your water bottle at the gym? Were you begging for a “Kleenex” that one time when you thought you had the swine flu? Did you find yourself reaching for the “Vaseline” when you—um—wanted to fulfill your petroleum jelly needs? If you answered “yes” to any of the above, you are indulging in genericide (among other things, if you answered “yes” to the third question). Genericide is a term used to describe what happens when a brand name comes to represent all forms of a product, regardless of brand. In literary terms, a genericized phrase serves as a type of metonymy. But what exactly gave rise to genericide? And, more importantly, what can be done about it? We live in a world full of choices: Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts? Abercrombie and Fitch or Old Navy? A Freshtake sandwich or an Oven Fresh muffin? Yet, once in a blue moon a product scores an uncontested victory over its competitors. Thanks to our need for certain products, the genius advertising that implores us to buy them, and our satisfaction with the product, we tend to idolize one brand over the rest. All tissues are “Kleenex.” All hook-and-loop products are “Velcro.” All bandalores are “Yo-Yos.” You get the drill. We create a world where all distinctions are blurred. We meld together every different type of product out there to simplify the oh-somany choices we have, posing a threat to all of the other companies out there who are struggling to sell a product that is known by another brand name. Remember, “a nose in need deserves Puffs indeed,” not Kleenex! A question we must analyze regarding genericide is: “Why are certain brands genericized while others are not?” The an-

“

swers are quite varied. First, brands such as Tupperware or BandAid gained significant popularity through promotions and successful advertising campaigns, surpassing their predecessors, wooing the masses with their products and presumably keeping their promises to consumers as they dominated sales. Such awareness and popularity of a product is known as mind share and is often not related to any actual superiority of the dominant product. For instance, why do many reach for the Clorox bleach on the shelves when its less pricey generic counterpart with the same ingredients sits right next to it? Because Clorox’s successful advertising campaigns have convinced people that a clean and safe household environment is tied to one name only. Another, more likely reason why some brands become generic names is that they pioneered their products. For instance, Kleenex was invented in the 1920s (at a time where advertising was expanding as a method of selling products) whereas Puffs was introduced nearly 40 years later. Though having your brand name used as a generic name may seem like great free publicity, some companies whose product names have become synonymous with those of any product of that kind are actually trying to find a way to defend the uniqueness of their brand. Companies such as Scotch, Post-it and Ziploc subtly combat genericide by reinforcing the word “brand” after their names on packaging and in advertisements. Xerox launched a counter-attack on genericide through an advertising campaign reminding viewers that they make photocopies and not “Xeroxes.” Though, sadly enough for Xerox, its brand name was entered in the Merriam-Webster dictionary as a verb meaning “to make a copy on a xerographic copier.”

We create a world where all distinctions are blurred. We meld together every different type of product out there to simplify the oh-so-many choices we have...

”

T AR

C BY

AT SCHRAGE

d e v l o s the un

mystery

umbo the elephant E

very pre-frosh who passes through campus hears about the infamous pumpkin on the clock tower. While various “whodunit” theories are still floating around over ten years later, the oft-repeated mystery has lost some of its luster. Not so for the case of Jumbo the elephant’s vanishing heart, the subject of many a hushed whisper in the early 50s. And, just like your Buddy Holly glasses, Jumbo’s heart is due for a comeback. Born in 1861, in present day Mali, Jumbo the elephant spent his formative years in zoos, first in Paris and later in London. There, he was named Jumbo by some of the zookeepers, a derivative of the Swahili “jambo,” (hello) or “jumbe,” (chief ). The word “jumbo” has since trickled into the lexicon of modern English to refer to something extraordinarily large. Jumbo’s size attracted lots of attention at the zoo. Children delighted in riding on his back and adults gathered just to marvel at him. Jumbo’s popularity did not go unnoticed. P.T. Barnum, the famous circus owner, purchased Jumbo in 1882 for $10,000, intending to bring him back to America and take him on tour. The British public, however, was outraged over the sale of their little darling. The elephant had become something of a national treasure, and even former Queen Victoria chimed in to express her disappointment over his sale. Eventually, Barnum managed to get Jumbo out of London, but he had to pay an additional $20,000. Once safe and sound in the U.S.A., Jumbo traveled with Barnum’s circus, then called “P.T. Barnum’s Grand Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan, & Hippodrome.” Jumbo was known as “The Lord of Beasts.” The American public took to him just as the British had, and he soon became a customer favorite, quickly earning back the $30,000 it had cost to bring him to America. For four years Jumbo travelled with the circus, but one night, after a performance in St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada, Jumbo met his

STEPHANIE MEISSNER unfortunate demise after colliding head on with an incoming train. Various versions of the story have Jumbo acting to save a smaller elephant or describe him as rushing the train in a drunken stupor, but the end is always the same: the train derailed and Jumbo’s head was crushed. But Jumbo’s story does not end there. After his death, Jumbo enjoyed an encore; his skeleton and stuffed hide toured for a few years with the circus before being sent to new homes at the Smithsonian and Tufts University, respectively, where they reside today. In 1886, Jumbo’s heart was purchased for $40 by Cornell Professor of Zoology, Burt Green Wilder, the originator of Cornell’s brain collection. For 50 years the 47-lb heart sat in its jar of fluid, quietly minding its own business. There are reports of it sitting in the basement of Stimson Hall as late as the 1940s, but a few years later it had vanished. In the early 1950s, the College of Veterinary Medicine received an empty jar labeled “Jumbo’s Heart,” and no one has seen it since. One explanation is that the fluid evaporated and the heart dried up. Others implicate the Vet students, the secret society the Order of Koios, or fraternity brothers. The most outlandish theory involves an embittered British circus aficionado trying to reclaim Jumbo for his country. While The Cornell Daily Sun has proven that the pumpkin scheme was probably the brainchild of local Ithacans, no one has ever come to any concrete conclusions about Jumbo. Perhaps some precocious history major or Twilight Zone enthusiast would like to take up the case. Fame and fortune are sure to find he who solves the mystery, or, at the very least, a mention on the Jumbo the Elephant Wikipedia page. And so, for all you fledgling forensic scientists out there, next time you find yourself with a spare hour or two, give some love to Jumbo and his vanishing 47-lb heart. It’s about time Cornell receives some closure from this decades’ old mystery.

BITE SIZE

KARINA PARIKH art by REBECCA ASHBY-COLON

ashion history has recently surfaced as a legitimate study in schools all over the world. No longer are dresses and handbags just a necessity—they’ve become subjects of study. PaulGerard Pasols’ 2005 book, “Louis Vuitton: The Birth of Modern Luxury,” examines one such history—he looks at the influence that Vuitton has had on the industry and the changes that his brand has undergone over the years. Let’s start from the beginning. Louis Vuitton became a layetier (trunk-maker) because he was strapped for cash. By networking with France’s elite and winning a gold medal at the Paris World’s Fair, he eventually garnered the coveted title of layetier to Napoleon III’s wife, Eugénie de Montijo. From that point on, those coveted signature trunks were perfected: Vuitton created the revolutionary stackable, rectangular trunk that facilitated his clients’ travels. As modern modes of travel became more popular in the late nineteenth century, Vuitton’s products were more widely used. Soon after his death, Vuitton’s son, Georges, grabbed the reins of the burgeoning company and packed his bags for the United States. Debuting in the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, the luggage pieces became an instant hit both within the States and overseas, leading to the opening of Louis Vuitton stores worldwide. It was just around this time that the signature monogram pattern was perfected (ironically, to prevent counterfeiting), along with trunks for cars, the famous Keepall duffle bag in 1924, and a toiletry case that was the first of its kind. After Georges’ passing in 1936, his son Gaston-Louis Vuitton further revolutionized the company. The monogram canvas was revamped in 1959 into the sturdy yet durable material that is still used today, making it possible to manufacture purses and bags aside from the well-established luggage line. In the 1963 film Charade, Audrey Hepburn famously toted a Louis Vuitton purse,

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which further catapulted the brand into fashion icon status that still exists today. Fast-forward about 20 years. In 1987, Louis Vuitton, already a frontrunner in the fashion world, merged with Moët-Hennessey to create the ultimate triumvirate of luxury goods. The company also boasts its own sailing cup, classic car race, and releases dozens of travel guides that keep the travel theme on which the company was founded alive. But it was when Marc Jacobs was appointed Artistic Director in 1997 that the story gets really interesting. Jacobs created the company’s ready-to-wear line, designing revolutionary pieces that mirror the luxurious elegance of the trunks and bags. Jacobs also spurred collaborations with various artists including Takashi Murakami and Stephen Sprouse, annually creating an exclusive line of bags that provided a modern and fresh twist on the classic. This theme of mixing old and new keeps Louis Vuitton in demand. With advertising campaigns featuring Madonna, Francis Ford Coppola and Sophia Coppola, Sean Connery, and Keith Richards, as well as a hotly anticipated sneaker line from the “Louis Vuitton Don” himself, Kanye West, Louis Vuitton has expanded from a luxurious travel goods company to a stronghold in fashion and popular culture. No longer is Louis Vuitton available only to France’s traveling elite. It has expanded to a global and accessible fashion powerhouse that offers pieces that can be seen everywhere from the working woman’s wardrobe to trendy iPod cases. From fashioning luggage for French royalty to emblazoning jacket collars of rap stars, Louis Vuitton always advocates a tradition of modernity and classicism that will never go out of style—and who knows, maybe Louis Vuitton monogrammed spacesuits and supercomputers will be its next step on the road to fashion world domination.

photos by HELEN HAVLAK

OFFICE SPACE:

Professor Frank Moon Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering HELEN HAVLAK

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BITE SIZE

Some of these—the old models—were bought by Andrew Dickson White, the first president of Cornell, to be used to show students how machines work.

I also have taught a course on kinetic sculpture, so some of the kinetic sculptures pieces were created by me, some of them by students who didn’t take them home.

It’s a mixture of all these things: research, art, machines, kinetic sculpture, anything to distract me from what I should be doing most of the time.

12 12 12

I have about 30 large pieces of sculpture at home, and we just finished a It was the first big show I’ve ever d at Ithaca Library in February and Mar

place article title During my research in chaotic dynamics in the 80s and 90s we collected a lot of chaotic art or fractal art from my laboratory and ... Japan.

It’s at least 40 years of collecting kitsch, technical kitsch, engineering kitsch.

a show. done, rch.

Engineering has to do with creativity and creating things… this is why art and engineering should be close.

Some of them are toys— I like to collect mechanical toys, especially toys that move. When students come in, I challenge them to figure out how the toy works, so the toy becomes a vehicle for teaching principles of dynamics.

A lot of these are technical models that either I’ve created or done, and had in my laboratory. 13 13 13

zooming in

How to

Experience the

A haiku lesson with John Stevenson. Haikus are easy but sometimes they don’t make sense refrigerator

rong. Haiku (omit the “s”—Japanese singular and plural nouns are the same) can take a lifetime to master. The most enlightened, gorgeous haiku make perfect sense and are fleeting and moment-specific, like an Impressionist painting. And while one or two of them might involve a refrigerator, it’s not necessary to be totally random for the sake of preserving the traditionally proper haiku format of 5-7-5 syllables, or go-shichi-go. In fact, many modern haiku poets have cast 5-7-5 aside altogether. Haiku became all the rage in Japan during the 17th and 18th centuries. This was long before Commodore Matthew C. Perry forcibly opened Japan to the West for trade, indirectly gave American pre-teen girls the supreme gift of Hello Kitty, and in a roundabout way, introduced the restless San Franciscan beatniks of the 50s to haiku. Jack Kerouac and his fellow finger-snapping, beret-donning cats created a legacy of English-language haiku that continues to flourish. John Stevenson, born poet, current managing editor of the haiku journal, The Heron’s Nest, and native Ithacan, is at the helm. A conversation with Stevenson provided six lessons about the snippets of nirvana we call haiku, straight from the classroom of haiku, which spans the entire planet.

1. Pay attention in school September morning none of the students has failed . . .

- published in The Heron’s Nest

ohn Stevenson was a bona fide poet by age eight. At the urging of his third grade teacher, who was also a local historian, he composed a poem about the American Civil War. Stevenson

Moon NORAH SWEENEY

called the piece, which was published in the Trumansburg Free Press, “an anti-war poem about a hundred years too late.” Before attending elementary school in Trumansburg, Stevenson received his earliest education at a two-room schoolhouse called the Willow Creek School. He recalled, “It was a great start, because if you were alert, you learned a lot of things that went beyond the grade you were in.”

3. Know where you come from (especially if it’s “gorges” like Ithaca) A deep gorge… some of the silence is me

2. Start your own Dead Poet’s Society applauding the mime in our mittens

- published in Frogpond

round the age of 12, Stevenson found a group of friends who sought higher forms of entertainment than most boys their age: namely, writing parodies of famous poems, drawing cartoons of one another and raising general satirical hell, but “in a nice way.” Stevenson said that the high-browed humor of his middleschool chums undoubtedly kept his interest in poetry strong, but the time came to step up the poetic game when he was 14. By this time, he was writing poetry on a daily basis, and it had become a solitary, more serious activity.

- published in “Some of the Si-

lence” (1999, Red Moon Press)

tevenson’s e-mail address still begins with the word “Ithacan,” even though he now lives in the Albany area. He attributes his strong identification with Ithaca to his extensive local ancestry. Both sides of his family have left significant footprints in Ithaca’s history. There is a Stevenson Road on Cornell’s campus and a neighborhood in the southeastern part of the city, Ellis Hollow, which was named for another important Ithacan on his mother’s side of the family. Stevenson was born in Ithaca in 1948, when Tompkins County Hospital was still in the center of the city. His childhood home was on Floral Avenue, a street that no longer exists because of the Cayuga Inlet Canal extension. This now-underwater street was a part of the Willow Creek area, near Taughannock Falls State Park. His home had a haiku hidden in every rock formation and water molecule. “I remember being on the swing set and swinging up high enough to really see well across the lake. I was pretty sure that what I was seeing over there was France… I’d heard of France, I knew that it was across the ocean, and I figured that was what I was seeing.”

4. Speak on behalf of the broken suitcase jampackedelevatoreverybuttonpushed - published in Frogpond

tevenson said of haiku, “I don’t know where I first heard the word… It didn’t interest me at first. I was involved with other kinds of poetry for many years.” He first came to haiku through his work as a professional actor, which began after he received a degree in drama from Buffalo State College. He was involved for a number of years with Playback Theater, in which the audience sets the scene, characters and plot, and the actors improvise to play the roles. At an international Playback workshop in the summer of 1992, he was paired with a Japanese actress for a few exercises. Their mutual love of poetry was often the topic of conversation. One day, she recited her favorite poem to him, a haiku by the 17th-century Japanese master Matsuo Bashō:

A crow has settled on a bare branch— autumn evening art by COURTNEY BEGLIN

“

zooming in

All that haiku requires

is that the poet open his or her eyes.

tevenson recalled, “To have it presented to me as someone’s favorite poem in the world, such a brief poem, and to be shown how much there was in it, was impressive.” “Things kind of come at me from all angles,” said Stevenson. “For one reason or another, I started hearing about haiku, so I decided to try it.” Stevenson began publishing haiku early in 1993. He quipped, “Hopefully I’ve gotten better since then.” Stevenson has written about how Playback Theater has “shared aesthetics” with haiku. “Both of them have the premise that what is most profound is also what is most ordinary,” i.e. crows landing on a branch on any given autumn evening. Stevenson added, “It’s a matter of rightly seeing things. In Playback, you’re not asking someone to tell a great story, you’re asking them to tell a true story. Haiku is the same way—you don’t want a great poem, you want a true poem.” Playback and haiku also share the idea that “everything is potentially articulate.” According to Stevenson, the beauty of Playback is that you can play anyone or anything, regardless of sex, culture, gender or species. Stevenson said, “If you’re playing a broken suitcase, you have to say something on behalf of the broken suitcase. Haiku does that, too, in a way.”

5. You can’t cheat death, poetically speaking

old slippers the comfort falling apart

- published in Modern Haiku

t’s debatable whether Bashō, the aforementioned ascetic master poet, had succeeded in writing the elusive and terribly important death poem, or jisei no ku. The death poem is the haiku with which the poet leaves the world; so, naturally, it’s required to be epic. Stevenson, for the most part, prefers to remain in the present. “I think about it fairly often, but I won’t know until I’m really dying whether I have one.” Stevenson, who subscribes to the theory that Bashō had written and revised his supposed death poem several times before he expired, disapproves of the “cheating” done by many of his colleagues who try to write their jisei no ku in advance. He remarked that fellow haiku poet Carol Montgomery best sums up the attitude that the living must have toward the flighty death poem:

my death poem returned with a note not quite 16

”

6. “Everyone experiences the moon.”

childhood home twilight as I arrive

- published in Modern Haiku

aiku is, by its nature, transcendental. Other modern art forms like protest songs, performance art and longer pieces of poetry often have a sense of social responsibility linked to them. Haiku show us one event that happens in one second in the ever-expanding universe, and subtly puts it in a universally relatable context. Stevenson said, “The whole spectrum of political thought is involved in haiku. Haiku are hard to manipulate for those purposes, and those that might say something about a political issue usually aren’t very good.” Haiku also transcends the notion that one has to be a master wordsmith in order to be a poet. “Anyone can write haiku. It accommodates every skill level,” said Stevenson. All that haiku requires is that the poet open his or her eyes and be ready to see the potential for poetry in everything from the smell of basil to dirty snow. Stevenson mused, “I think you can write from the experiences you’re having. There is no place that you can live on Earth where you’re not experiencing nature. Everyone experiences the moon.”

moon breaks over the hill a dreaming driver dims his lights - published in Modern Haiku

photos by JEN KEEFE & HELEN HAVLAKZ

t h k e n o you w o D

Muffin(Wo)man? ANNIE TSAO

What’s up with all of the delicious smells coming from Willard Straight?

henever Ho Plaza smells really good, it induces a 60 percent improvement in my mood. There’s definitely a warm cinnamon element to the scent, but it’s too nuanced to pinpoint as a specific baked good. Although snickerdoodle cookies might be the closest comparison, the word “Christmas” is more fitting. In the past, I’ve absentmindedly pondered the aroma’s blessed origin—surely not Okenshield’s or the Ivy Room!—and settled on a fantasy of scurrying Keebler-esque elves producing delicious things somewhere nearby. Three years’ worth of curiosity climaxed when I e-mailed dining@cornell.edu: “Is there a bakery in Willard Straight?” I halfexpected a computer-generated response or none at all, but instead a real human being responded to me in fewer than 24

hours. He told me that there was indeed a bakery inside of Willard Straight Hall, the enormous and labyrinthine building that serves as Cornell’s Student Union, and that I could visit it. I was directed to a nondescript door by Willard Straight’s loading dock and entered a surprisingly small kitchen that pumps out over 3,000 muffins per week, along with other sugary confections that end up everywhere from Trillium to Bethe House. It has a utilitarian feel, with a big baker’s table, three standing mixers the size of small children, and an oven that resembles a walk-in closet. Before my visit, I was forewarned that February was a particularly hectic time for lead baker Michelle VanDeMark, due to celebrations for the Chinese New Year and Black History Month.

zooming in For an African-themed dinner at Flora Rose, she baked Ethiopian Honey Yeast Bread for the first time. “The people said it was like from back home. Ryan, the chef there, sent me a recipe, and I just hoped it would come out,” she said. “It’s nice to hear compliments from people that know it’s authentic. When I make Tres Leches, a Latin cake, they say it’s like their mother’s.” A Cornell Dining employee for the past 30 years, she progressed from a

pantry worker at Robert Purcell Community Center dining on North Campus to a position as a short-order cook at Hughes Dining in the Law School, and finally, 14 years ago, to the bakery at Willard Straight. “I liked it all,” she said. “I liked the grill. I met a lot of people—that’s the only thing I miss. With baking, I don’t get as much contact with the kids as I used to.” Each morning, at 5 a.m., VanDeMark is the first to get in.

“

When you burn an oven full of cookies, it’s 60 dozen burned, not just two or three dozen.

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Within the next hour, the delivery truck comes and goes, leaving with 30 separate carts of edibles to be dropped off at different dining locations on campus. By the time she leaves at 2 p.m., she’s drained. “There are some days you work the whole eighthour shift without sitting down or stopping, and you’re lifting 50-pound bags all the time. Sometimes I’ll go home and my husband’s like, ‘What’s wrong?’ I’m like, ‘My legs hurt!’ But you kind of forget when you’re working.” Still, she beamed when discussing her work, showing me photos on her cell phone of a cake she baked for a Chinese New Year celebration, decorated with an elaborately detailed dragon on top. VanDeMark had sketched and outlined a design on parchment paper, then used icing to fill in the stencil. When

asked to describe the least enjoyable part of her job, she was hard-pressed to find an answer. After a 15-second silence, she said, “Not sending things out on time.” Once, she “freaked” when the fan belt fell off the ventilation motor, causing the oven to shut off—with 600 half-baked cookies inside. She recalled, “You just think of all the hard work everyone did. When you burn an oven full of cookies, it’s 60 dozen burned, not just two or three dozen,” said VanDeMark. They didn’t send out cookies that day. VanDeMark’s fellow bakers trickle into what they affectionately call “The Dungeon” in shifts. Though they defrost the cookies, Danishes, scones, and several other breakfast pastries that the bakery receives premade, they make a considerable number of things from scratch, including pumpkin muffins, ginger cake, red velvet cake, and brownies. VanDeMark takes special pride in the latter but doesn’t have much control over whether the bakery retains these made-from-scratch recipes. “For some reason or another, they’re replaced because they want us to have more variety, so frozen is easier,” she said. The bakery may appear drearily isolated in the windowless depths of Willard Straight, but the team cheerfully views it as their own little world, secure and intimate. “If the phone rings, sometimes we’ll say, ‘Don’t answer it! They can come down if they want to talk to us,’” said VanDeMark. “The four or five of us that work really closely, we all get along. If someone’s not in a real good mood, we try to do something to bring them out of it. You gotta worry when we don’t talk.” They hash out trivia questions on a morning radio show and chat over the deafening whirr of the machines. “Me and Audrey always joke—I’m 50, she’ll be 50

do you know the muffin (wo)man? this year—that the first thing to go will be the hearing,” she said. When school is out of session, they continue working at twothirds of full production, since the smaller Cornell Dining locations remain open.

has everything except the kitchen sink in it.” The fluffy inside was still hot, and the top, sprinkled with shredded coconut, had a perfectly crispy exterior. To quote Seinfeld’s Elaine Benes: “It’s crunchy, it’s explosive: it’s where the muffin breaks free of the

Of the creations that emerge from the kitchen, perhaps the most visually striking are the muffins, which are a “big item,” said VanDeMark. Gloriously plump in the cooling racks, they were almost unrecognizable from the limp, plastic-covered pastries on Libe’s shelves. The bakery used to produce muffins half the weight of the current face-sized behemoths, but upgraded the size about seven years ago. Said VanDeMark, “Then they said they wanted a smaller muffin, so now we offer both, the 6.5

pan and sort of does its own thing.” I asked her about the fact that the first ingredient listed on many of the muffin wrappers is, disconcertingly, “cream cake mix.” VanDeMark immediately looked dispirited. Last semester, a columnist for the Sun rallied for a relabeling movement, as these

ounce and 2 ounce, which are called co-op muffins.” A previous director at Cornell Dining wanted to introduce square muffins, resembling mini fruit breads, but he left before the idea could be implemented. Every day, the bakery produces 100 muffins of each basic flavor—blueberry, bran, chocolate chip, pumpkin, and Morning Glory—then 50 each of that month’s special flavors. VanDeMark speculated that the least popular February muffin was Chocolate Cherry Cheese: a chocolate-based muffin with chocolate chips and a cherry cheesecake filling. I opted for her personal favorite, Morning Glory, which contains pineapple, orange, coconut, walnuts, and carrots—or as VanDeMark described it, “it

zooming in were “CUPCAKES and most assuredly not muffins.” He contended that “making giant cupcakes the most effective way of controlling the BRB burn is eerily reminiscent of the lack of inexpensive, healthful foods in the supermarkets of poor neighborhoods.” VanDeMark said, “I was so upset by the article because he didn’t come in and talk to us. We do a lot of work, and a lot of people were hurt just because he was in a bad mood. We pick the best product, we’re not cutting costs.” It distresses her to even imagine that a kid could receive a “dry brownie.” She explained that Rich’s, the food corporation that sells the mix, named the base thusly because they believed it conveyed superior quality, via the luxurious word “cream.” In actuality, this so-called cake mix is simply muffin mix, to which they add eggs and oil. “We can’t even make cake with it because it’s too dense; it’s more like pound cake,” she added. To further appease the health-conscious on campus, a good proportion of the products that are made in the Willard Straight Bakery are trans-fat free. Still, like a true baker, VanDeMark is a proponent of the real thing. “Me and Audrey say you need the fat if you’re in the mood. Yes, you should probably think about your weight, but sometimes you have so much stress that you just want something comforting, as opposed to worrying if it’s going to make you fat,” she said. “You want to get reminded of home. With all the walking, it’s okay.” She notices that around February, Cornell students consume less, which she chalks up to ubiquitous Spring Break diets, where girls ditch carbs “to fit into their bikini.” The bakers themselves tend to stay away from the food. “It’s not that it’s not good—you just get so used to it,” she said. If VanDeMark does indulge, her preference is a Danish or half-moon cookie. Do the bakers feel underappreciated knowing that their exhaustive labor in Willard Straight lies beyond the realm of most students’ knowledge? Not really. “I can imagine that students don’t know there’s a bakery here because they’re busy with studies,” she said. “They’re more than welcome to come and see. We’ll

give you a cookie or muffin.” I strongly recommend the Morning Glory.

BLACK SHEEP: Goths at cornell, or the lack thereof.

SANDRA LEE

“Influence” by LAURA MILLER

n the sea of plaid shirts and Uggs, alternative styles are highly lacking at Cornell. The hipsters come closest to “alternativity,” but they aren’t nearly as rebellious as other groups found in the world outside of Cornell. Goths, for instance, are much more legitimately alternative—many people find their fashion, music and outlooks on life weird and salacious. According to Webster’s Dictionary, a goth is simply “a person who wears mostly black clothing, uses dark dramatic makeup, and often has dyed black hair.” On the other hand, according to UrbanDictionary.com, a goth is “someone who likes the darker side of things. They usually listen to death metal and goth music, such as Dismember and Bauhaus.” But, according to Andrew “Azzy” Mora (more on this self-proclaimed goth later), “real goths are not depressing and suicidal like the posers you see at Hot Topic,” and “they don’t worship Satan and aren’t evil despite what some ignorant people might say.” Instead, “they are what they are because it makes them happy. Goths would rather stay who they are and be among the so-called ‘freaks’ than be like everyone else and be popular.” The term “goth” comes from the Goths, the East Germanic tribe that contributed to the fall of the Roman Empire. In the 1700s, people in the United Kingdom revived some of the medieval forms that were associated with the Goths, such as architecture and gothic novels. “Gothic” was thus used to describe novels with horror and darkness that featured villains such as vampires. Thus, the post-punk music of the 1970s was termed “gothic” because of its darkness,

zooming in though gothic rock really crystallized in the 1980s when it became its own genre. The goth subculture that is now phasing out evolved along with this music. There aren’t many goths left nowadays, but the population is especially scanty at Cornell. For some reason, an elitist Ivy League school isn’t exactly a hotbed for this particular brand of nonconformists. I asked my friends at other Ivy League schools about the goth populations, and they did not know any goths, either. Although you will be hard-pressed to find a goth at Cornell, Azzy is one of the few. Azzy is in the class of 2011, and is majoring in music. He spent last year working as a guitar salesman in Jabberwock, the head shop in the Ithaca Commons, after he failed out of The College of Engineering during his freshman year. I was thrilled when someone emailed me with his information, because I was failing epically in my search for even a single Cornell goth. I wasn’t even really sure what I was looking for— mostly black clothes and piercings? This led to an embarrassing debacle when I asked a group of strangers that was wearing all black and exuded a gloomy aura for an interview and was met with sullen glares and snickers. But from what I later learned about goths from Azzy, these people weren’t actually goths anyway. Azzy turned goth the summer before his junior year in high school. Before this, he was a quiet loner who wore Hawaiian shirts. He went to a lot of local shows in his home state of Florida that featured screamo (an aggressive offshoot of emo that Wikipedia says is characterized by its “short, chaotically executed songs which grafted ‘spastic intensity to willfully experimental dissonance and dynamics’”), heavy metal and post-punk music. He fell in with the others who attended such concerts. For Azzy,

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Like a true goth, he digs vampires.

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music was the biggest draw of the goth scene; his favorites include Lamb of God and Arch Enemy. He also enjoyed the shock value of extravagant fashion. During his freshman year at Cornell, everyone recognized him by his bright red mohawk—he was 2007’s Segway Kid. Azzy believes that the goth subculture holds a unique transformative power. “Being goth is all about the music and personality. It’s not about the different backgrounds [social class, race, religion, etc.],” he said. Such self-confidence is what distinguishes goths from other alternative groups, such as hipsters and the emos. “Hipsters are… I don’t want to say lame. But goths are strong, confident and sure of who they are. They don’t have identity crises. Hipsters, on the other hand, do, and they emulate things from outside cultures like French and jazz,” Azzy said. To Azzy, the tousled hair and artsy glasses of hipsters pale in comparison to the spikes and chains of goths. Emos are often associated with goths

because of their overwhelmingly black attire and shared music. But according to Azzy, “the Emos blame negative things on the world, wallow in self-pity and don’t want meaningful relationships.” One notable goth-emo mix-up is found in the television show South Park. On this show, the “goth” clique is self-destructive and wallows in pain and suffering; but according to Azzy, “emo” is a much more accurate label for them. Azzy told me that the kids that I had unsuccessfully solicited were probably emos. Another major component of Azzy’s Gothicism was his belief in Satanism. I must have looked at him quizzically when he told me he used to be a Satanist because he quickly explained that the name of his old belief system is a misnomer and that they don’t actually worship Satan. In fact, Azzy told me that Satanists use Satan as a symbol of rebellion against the Christian church. “It’s all about secular humanism. We envision the world as a better place, and we believe in indulgence instead of abstinence—and indulgence without addiction.” He didn’t participate in any of the violent or sacrificial behavior with which Satanism is often associated. Instead, Facebook was his main Satanist realm. He joined Facebook groups in which he and other members discussed how they should lead their lives, which led to arguments with antagonistic Christians who sought out such pages to condemn Satanists. Ironically, Azzy’s mom is a teacher at a Lutheran school. “I’m Agnostic,” he said, “but I just got tired of all the questions in Christianity.” The height of his Satanism came last year after he got kicked out of Cornell. He moved into an apartment on North Campus and met with other Satanists around Ithaca. However, he disagreed with certain aspects of Satanism, such as the tenet that violence is justified if someone does something to hurt you. He either vents his anger by writing heavy metal music or by using other outlets such as meditation and Tae Kwon Do. He eventually cut ties with his Satanist buddies when he decided he didn’t want to focus on his anger anymore. “Goths are not about violence or odd

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goths at cornell

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sexual behavior,” he said. “I consider myself a very spiritual person.” Despite his recent rejection of Satanism, Azzy’s style is still pure goth: during our interview, he wore a black Slipknot T-shirt, black bondage pants, fishnet gloves and a spiky bracelet. He also had black nail polish and eyeliner on. When I asked him where he liked to shop, he said that Hot Topic used to be a good place until it became too mainstream. “They follow big things of pop culture now, like Twilight,” he said. Like a true goth, he digs vampires, but real ones, he emphasizes, like the ones in Anne Rice novels, not those in Twilight. He says that the popular book-series-turned-movie gives vampires a bad name. Maybe he’s referring to their glittering skin, or Edward’s pansy nonhuman diet. Though goths are a rare find on Cornell’s campus, students are generally accepting of those who participate in the subculture. While he wishes there were more goths around, he is happy with the friends that he has here, such as those in his fraternity, Kappa Delta Rho. Most importantly, he has found people at Cornell who share his passion for music, the most important aspect of his life. According to Azzy, goth culture is “mellowing out.” This is in large part due to the new wave of American metal, which has become more like classically influenced Scandinavian heavy metal. “Heavy metal has become more sophisticated and virtuous, and the appearance is not needed anymore,” he said. At the same time, some goth styles are gaining mainstream popularity, such as black nail polish. In Azzy’s opinion, posers like the infamous “mall goths” indicate that goth style is becoming more mainstream; they shop at Hot Topic because they are superficial and don’t understand what it means to be a true goth. True goths are hard to find anywhere, especially at an institution in which the people follow unspoken social codes to form a very homogenous community. Contrary to popular opinion, Azzy asserts that goths are about enjoying life. “Goths enjoy being outsiders,” Azzy said. Azzy has no qualms about breaking social rules, which distinguishes him at Cornell, and will probably distinguish him after Cornell as well. After all, once you go black, you never go back.

Hipsters

are...I don’t wanna say lame. -Azzy

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“The Last Goth” by ADAM MILLER

WHATFRACK? zooming in

the

An inside look at hydrofracking in Upstate N.Y. and an interview with Ithaca folk musician, Will Fudeman.

MICHELLE RADA

ydrofracking. You’ve probably heard the term used loosely around campus by Cornell’s environmental enthusiasts and in the news during brief coverage of protests or prospective amendments. But what exactly does this oddly unofficial-sounding word mean? And more importantly, why does it seem to be on the tip of everyone’s (at least hyper-liberal Ithacans’) tongue? After my fair share of “no fracking way” t-shirt encounters, I decided to investigate the seemingly pseudo-political fad. As it turns out, hydrofracking has expanded way beyond the typical tree-hugging, anti-something liberal movement. It’s actually better suited for rock-huggers. Hydrofracking—or hydraulic fracturing—refers to the man-made fracturing of rocks. Not applied to just any rocks, its aim is to extract resources at a rapid and productive pace from rock formations sitting atop liquid reserves. By applying fluid pressure, the fragmentation spreads through the particular rock formations and allows liquids to flow more easily into a well. Basically, fluid pressure is being applied to extract fluid resources. Since its commercialization in 1949, hydrofracking has been successfully used to increase the amount of liquid treasures (like drinking water, oil, and, primarily, natural gas) extracted from a given source. So, if hydrofracking optimizes how much use we can get

art by ADAM MILLER

from a given source, why is there such intense animosity directed toward the companies that carry it out? Not surprisingly, the process takes a toll on the natural beauty of the site on which it is conducted. But, more importantly, hydrofracking seems to pose some potentially serious environmental risks to its surroundings, as well as health threats to the communities that rely on drinking water in its vicinity. Although anti-hydrofracking activists have also been worried about the possibility of it catalyzing seismic activity, their principal concern is with the toxicity of the fluid used to fracture the rock beds. These chemicals, it appears, can seep into the water and its surroundings and permanently damage the environment. Corporations involved in hydrofracking have refused to publicize exactly what it is they are pumping into the earth as well as into wells of drinking water. This secrecy is what’s been raising national suspicion. After being badgered for years by environmental groups

surrounding communities. Environmentalists’ protests have been recently upstaged by the economic crisis, which has left many jobless and eager to embrace the employment offered by drilling companies. The promise of jobs, as well as the opportunity to optimize national resources, has made hydrofracking a critical component in the country’s energy future. Although opponents consider the potential environmental and health hazards as the more significant effects of drilling, companies have disputed that the risks are minimal. Arguing that the specific formulas for the fluids are concealed merely as trade secrets, drilling companies maintain

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and public councils, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) concluded in 2004 that hydrofracking was safe, wasn’t substantially hazardous, and didn’t travel far enough underground to cause seismic repercussions. But no attention was paid to potential contamination or the other lingering effects; the investigation was merely concerned with the process itself, and the companies still have yet to disclose which chemicals they use. But by June 2009, it seemed as though some sort of disclosure was imminent. Those dissatisfied with the EPA’s ruling proposed the FRAC Act (Fracturing Responsibility and Awareness of Chemicals Act) in Congress, which would allow the EPA to regulate all the fracking that goes on in the U.S. Essentially, this act would legally require companies to disclose the chemicals pumped into the fractures, but it still hasn’t passed. The lack of tangible proof of contamination keeps the industry’s nose above water, and the economic implications that would result from a severe drop in natural gas production are obvious. Thus, a conflict arises between the tradeoff of interests. The value of the resources being extracted and the jobs that come with hydrofracking are weighed against the potentially permanent damage to the environment as well as the health hazards to the

...companies have disputed that the risks are minimal.

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that it is highly improbable that these fluids will seep into the water supply. Yet, the mere threat of this contamination and the ambiguity in the process’ precise ingredients have been enough to continue to spread opposition from potentially affected areas. Ithacans have recently been more vocal about the issue as the prospect of drilling in the Marcellus Shale, just an hour and a half north, has become a very real possibility. This spot is particularly controversial not only because it’s entirely untouched but also because it happens to provide New York City with some of its high-quality water supply. As companies persist in keeping the chemicals hidden, New Yorkers both in the city and upstate are getting anxious about allowing them to pump potentially toxic fluids into their water supply—even if it is to extract a more “green” fuel. There have already been reports by people living near certain hydrofracking sites that their tap water has caught on fire at the slightest touch of a flame, and concerned New York residents are increasingly reluctant to allow the fracking companies to come near their water supply. While doing research for this article, I came across a video on YouTube of Will Fudeman, an Ithaca-based acupuncturist and folksinger, performing a song fervently against hydrofracking. Fudeman, a Cornell alumnus, met with me to talk about his approach to this pressing concern. Fudeman explained that “the biggest impediment to social change is that people feel hopeless and overwhelmed.” A songwriter since his teenage years, he views songwriting and performing as “a way to make people laugh about an issue.” The brief but feisty interview follows: kitsch: How do you think art and songwriting translate into concrete results? WF: There’s several ways, like putting the word out about an issue. Awareness has definitely spread in the past year. Along with helping to publicize and bring greater awareness to [an] issue, musicians can raise money for organizations. I’ve performed at a lot of benefit concerts over the years and I’ll keep doing that, and a lot of musicians in this town are going to do that…[It]

zooming in makes a huge difference. Not only are you helping to raise money for an organization that you believe in, but you’re bringing people together and you’re helping people feel excited and like they’re part of a movement. I think music can be hugely significant in being part of creating the changes that we need. kitsch: Now onto the fracking: how do you think the issue will unfurl in the coming years within the Ithaca community? WF: When I think about the issue of fracking altogether, it seems that this is an issue that this community is so concerned about, and regardless of the money behind the gas companies and the sense that it’s inevitable to try and develop gas, if any community can stop it I think it’s going to be this community in Tompkins County—in part because I think people are willing to go to great lengths to make it really difficult for these gas companies to do what they’re trying to do. People live here by choice, not to make a buck; they live here because it’s a nice place to live, it’s got some very unique natural aspects. And we don’t want it to turn into an industrial wasteland, which is what’s been happening in areas of Pennsylvania, in Colorado, in Wyoming—in places where they’re doing this fracking. I mean it’s poisoning people; people are sick and it’s an outrage. kitsch: On that note, what advice can you offer students and local residents who want to prevent hydrofracking and want to make their opinions both voiced and effective? WF: It does seem that grassroots action is the strongest way that we can have clear-cut efforts against corporate greed and its threats. I would say to stay in touch with the people organizing it, the Shaleshock administration, and follow through with suggestions that they make. But the other thing I would do is have a campaign to contact the companies and say, “We’re not gonna let you into upstate New York. We’re gonna bury you bastards.” We have to be really cocky and really strong. We have to make clear that we care about our community and are going to protect our community and our land–and nobody is gonna mess with us. It’s not gonna happen, we’re gonna stop them–whatever it takes. If they come in with their big machines, we’re gonna wreck ‘em. I mean it. So he does. Though doing away with fracking companies altogether seems unlikely, one way to temporarily minimize threats would be to ban drilling near water sources, in order to protect the health of our environment and communities. Of course, many still think that the only way to ensure complete environmental protection would be to ban the process altogether. Seeing how long Congress has poned the FRAC Act, direct action seems to be the most effective way to make incremental change. A promoter of grassroots

action, Shaleshock is an Upstate New York-based organization that works to counter the fracking “threat.” By supporting various “project groups,” Shaleshock focuses on particular activities or concerns, such as the “no frack” signs group and the “sign-thepetition” group, to raise awareness. Shaleshock describes itself as “a movement that works toward protecting our communities and environment from exploitative gas drilling in the Marcellus Shale region.” Various movements similar to Shaleshock have sprung up throughout the country and have been increasing dramatically in popularity. They make it a point to let you know: anybody can join, anytime. If you side with the Shaleshock coalition, instead of silently antagonizing these corporations as fracking continues to flood newspapers and broadcasts, get in touch with environmental agencies, contact officials, and practice your singing voice.

post-

art by ADAM MILLER

Nabokov art by MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

& Playboy ANDREW WOLF

“

There is a queer, tender charm about that mythical nymphet.

”

-Valdimir Nabokov to Playboy in 1964

ornell University is hardly a sexy place. How can it be, when temperatures in the single digits leave us wearing layers upon layers and prevent us from showing any flesh? Yet, one of Cornell’s most famous professors had a storied knack for gracing the pages of Playboy. His name was Vladimir Nabokov, and his most famous works were all conceived in Ithaca. Even his Cornell lectures have been printed in volumes because they are considered the definitive interpretations of the Russian greats. Despite being dead, Vladimir Nabokov even found himself in the pages of Playboy again this past December. His final work, “The Original of Laura,” (sporting the lovely subtitle, “Dying is Fun”) was released following a lengthy controversy surrounding Nabokov’s dying wish for his manuscripts of the work to be destroyed and his son Dmitri’s pending bankruptcy. Before the book hit the shelves, 5,000 words were previewed in the December issue of Playboy.

Geeky Professor to Sex Icon Nabokov’s path to Playboy was a far cry from that of Hugh Hefner’s bunnies. Nabokov was a Russian émigré, writer, scholar, chessproblem creator and butterfly collector. He came to the United States in 1940 to teach Russian literature. Having already established a name for himself with his Russian language books, he traveled around the country teaching at Stanford, Wellesley and Harvard. In 1948 Nabokov was lured from the banks of the Charles River to the hills of Ithaca to head the Russian Department at Cornell University, though the department never materialized during his tenure. The first course he taught was Russian Literature, which

zooming in covered Tolstoy, Gogol, Turgenev and eventually Pushkin. Later on, he taught European Literature, in which he delivered his now-famous lectures on James Joyce’s masterpiece, “Ulysses.” Despite his scholarly background, Nabokov ranks number 22 in Playboy’s, “The 55 Most Important People In Sex,” not far behind Howard Stern, and a little above Farrah Fawcett. Not bad for a dorky Cornell professor who spent most of his days in Goldwin Smith buried under a pile of books. Nabokov’s relationship with Playboy began with his racy 1959 book, “Lolita.” Conceived in Goldwin Smith Hall, the book was set in a town modeled after Ithaca, and tells the story of a man who pursues, and has excessive sexual relations with, a prepubescent girl. The premise may certainly be regarded as sick and twisted, but it is impossible to deny the brilliance of the beauty and the psychological nuances that Nabokov employs in this work. When reading “Lolita,” it is easy to root for the villain while blaming the innocent. The reader then remembers to be outraged, while, in this author’s opinion, still enjoying some of the most beautiful English prose of all time. While Nabokov’s work can be mentally exhausting, he manages to incorporate immense playfulness into it. “Lolita,” much like his 1962 work, “Pale Fire,” is rich with jabs at the work of Sigmund Freud. Perhaps no man has ever hated Freud with the passion of Nabokov. In “The Schreber Case,” Freud argues that the only explicitly impossible mental composition is one in which a person is both actively homosexual and paranoid. Of course, in response to this, Nabokov’s protagonist in “Pale Fire” is an actively paranoid homosexual. Using words as his medium, Nabokov takes the reader on a journey through a realm of the mind that Freud deemed impossible. Through the sexual nature of his work and his condemnation of Freud, Nabokov asserted himself as one of the greatest sex thinkers of all time. Naturally, he landed himself on Playboy’s radar.

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He remembered the average Cornell students as ‘the great fraternity of C-minus, backbone of the nation.’

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The Famous Interview

Nabokov first encountered Playboy in a 1964 interview with Alvin Toffler, shortly after Stanley Kubrick adapted “Lolita” to film. Kubrick said the movie was somewhat of a disappointment due to heavy government censorship, and that it was a rather watered-down version of the book. Nevertheless, its scandal-tinged release was shocking enough to garner the interest of Playboy, as well as the general public. The interview was as bizarre and lucid as Nabokov’s work. Always in control, he sucked everyone around him into the orbit of his rapidly moving brain. In the interview, Nabokov meandered through a wide range of topics, from butterflies to death and the nature of art, and of course, to Cornell. In it, he recalled Cornell lovingly, claiming that his most vivid memories of Cornell were of giving exams in Goldwin Smith. Following the success of “Lolita,” Nabokov gave up teaching and spent the rest of his life writing. He remembered the average Cornell students as “the great fraternity of C-minus, backbone of the nation.” He said he was fascinated by the students at work on an exam,“The shaking of a cramped wrist, the failing ink, the deodorant that breaks down. When I catch eyes directed at me, they are forthwith art by CAT SCHRAGE raised to the ceiling in pious meditation.” At other points in the interview, the insane brilliance of the man is illuminated in its full glory. Recalling the naming of his characters, he explained the importance of verbal cadence to the flow of a novel. He explained, “For my nymphet I needed a diminutive with a lyrical lilt to it. One of the most limpid and luminous letters is ‘L’. The suffix ‘-ita’ has a lot of Latin tenderness, and this I required, too.” Nabokov also shared insights on the writing process with Playboy. He developed his works through the use of note cards, which he would arrange and rearrange, slowly forming the backbone of his work. He compared his writing style to that of building a bird’s nest, and claimed that his notes made up a “kaleidoscopic arrangement of broken impressions.” He further added that he prefers writing standing upright at a lectern but old age often forced him into a chair. In by far the most bizarre moment of the Playboy interview, Toffler asked Nabokov if he believed in God. Nabo

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nabokov and playboy

They were a natural pair; both benefited from shocking the public, and the only thing more shocking than the two of them individually was the two of them together.

herself, had clients stolen by Wylie. Wylie, known by many in the business as “The Jackal,” personally brags that he once signed Benazir Bhutto just to impress Salman Rushdie. Wylie had a reputation for going to any length to sign a great writer, which often involved stealing them from other agents. According to The New York Times, to get the rights, Hefner relied on his literary editor Amy Grace Loyd, who won Dmitri over with a clever reference to a famous scene in “Ada” when she sent orchids to him and his agent. Playboy also got the rights to publish “The Original of Laura” because The New Yorker did not pursue them and also because Playboy gave Dmitri a large undisclosed amount of money. While the pre-release gathered much attention, the book itself has been given mixed reviews by most literary reviewers, which is not surprising considering the book is largely unfinished. For many, featuring “The Original of Laura” in Playboy was a perfect ending to Nabokov’s career. Playboy often bills itself as America’s most intelligent smut magazine and Nabokov was certainly one of America’s most intelligent smut authors.

”

kov cryptically responded, “To be quite candid—and what I am going to say now is something I never said before, and I hope it provokes a salutary little chill—I know more than I can express in words, and the little I can express would not have been expressed, had I not known more.”

A Playboy Legacy

The 1964 interview began a relationship between Nabokov and Playboy that continues to this day. They were a natural pair; both benefited from shocking the public, and the only thing more shocking than the two of them individually was the two of them together. Nabokov was so pleased with the experience of expressing his ideas in Playboy that he pre-released his 1969 book, “Ada,” in the magazine. When word got out that Dmitri, Nabokov’s son, had decided to sell the rights to his father’s final but incomplete work last year, Hugh Hefner immediately offered to pre-release the book in Playboy, believing it to be a fitting end to Nabokov’s shocking career. Plus, in an age where accessing free porn takes little effort, Playboy has seen years of declining sales. Featuring Nabokov’s final work would no doubt bring public attention back to Hefner’s magazine and boost sales. And indeed it did; the pre-release was the literary event of the year. Right before his death in 1977, Nabokov wrote a draft of “The Original of Laura” which spanned 138 index-cards. It tells the tale of an overweight academic in a horrific marriage to a philandering woman. Nabokov’s dying wish was to have the unfinished work destroyed. His wife, Véra, could not bring herself to destroy it, and upon her death, the note cards came into Dmitri’s possession. For years he was pressured to release the uncompleted work. Many have claimed Dmitri’s need for money ultimately resulted in the draft’s publication. He hired the famed literary poacher Andrew Wylie to sell his father‘s work. The Guardian quoted the late Patricia Kavanagh, who called Wylie, “a card-carrying shit.” Kavanagh, a literary agent

art by MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

zooming in photos by HELEN HAVLAK

Ithaca is fences? Controversy rages over the effectiveness of Cornell’s new suicide barriers. HELEN HAVLAK

hile most students were away on Spring Break, the University installed 10-foot high chain-link fences on each of the campus bridges as a “temporary” measure. This was in reaction to the recent string of suicides. Since then, the Cornell community has been in an uproar, with many students and professors objecting to the fences as “prison-style” reminders of the recent tragedies. On the side advocating the necessity for fences is the University administration, which stresses that they will remain only until they can develop a long-term “solution” to Cornell’s recent suicide problem—there have been six student suicides this year, in case you haven’t been following the papers. Cornell cites research showing that bridge fences have successfully proven to decrease suicide rates in surrounding areas. Opponents object vehemently to the ambiance that the fences create—a controversial image of the fences hit Facebook with a photoshopped sign reading “Arbeit Macht Frei,” the sign infamously displayed over the gates of Auschwitz. In a message to Cornell’s student

30 30

community, Dean of Students Kent Hubbell wrote, “As an architect, I look forward to the day when we have much more pleasing, permanent approaches for enhancing safety while preserving the natural and man-made beauty of our campus.” In that spirit, there have been efforts to improve the current fences. One Facebook group, “Cornellians Who Don’t Want Bridge Fences,” urged students to “Decorate them, put up messages, do what you want. They’re our fences after all.” Most of the fences now feature a few fake flowers strung through the mesh, and some increasingly bedraggled ribbons. The Red Carpet Society, which pairs prospective students with hosts, asked its hosts to help decorate the fences for Cornell Days, and for a few days the Thurston Avenue Bridge fences read “Welcome Class of 2014.” Another student effort, coordinated by junior architecture student Dan Marino, invited students to submit designs to a contest called “Re-Think the Fences.” The call for submissions reads, “We invite members of the Cornell Community to re-think the temporary fences installed on our campus bridges. How would

you change them if you had the chance? Can you imagine a better solution?” Everyone hates the fences, but everyone also wants to prevent suicides. The crux of the University’s argument for the fences is the research that they claim proves that safety barriers on bridges decrease suicide rates. Cornell’s new online forum “Caring Community” directs viewers to the website of the Harvard School of Public Health, which features an assessment called “Means Matter: Bridges and Suicide.” Harvard’s assessment is that “research has indicated that erecting a bridge barrier does not result in more jumps from nearby sites. Is there a commensurate increase in deaths by other methods? Evidence is weaker on this point.” That is, a bridge barrier doesn’t just redirect suicides to a new, more convenient location. Harvard bases its assessment on a number of scholarly articles, which range from case studies of particular bridges to surveys and demographic analyses. One case study by Yale University’s Annette Beautrais follows the Grafton Bridge in Auckland, New Zealand, which was a known hot-spot for suicides. To combat the problem, the city installed safety barriers on the bridge, which remained in place for 60 years until their removal in 1996. According to Beautrais’ research, the “removal of safety barriers led to an immediate and substantial increase in both the numbers and rate of suicide by jumping from the bridge in question.” In 2003, the city reinstalled the barriers. From the reinstallation to 2009, there were no further suicides from the bridge. Another case study, this time of the Memorial Bridge in Augusta, Maine resulted in similar findings. After erecting safety barriers in 1983, suicides from the bridge decreased dramatically. In addition, the researchers found no evidence that suicides from other nearby sites increased. In Bern, Switzerland, where 29 percent of all suicides are jumping-related, there used to be a mean number of 25 suicides annually from the tower of the Münster Terrace Cathedral. A safety net was installed in 1998. Since then, there have been no suicides by jumping from the Terrace—and no immediate increase in suicides from other elevated spots in the city. The trend of each case study seems to indicate that the implementation of bridge barriers successfully decreases the rate of suicide by jumping for the surrounding area. In 1978, Richard Seiden of the University of California at Berkeley performed a follow-up study of people who had been prevented from committing suicide at the Golden Gate Bridge, the number one suicide spot in the world. After 26 years, of the 515 people who had attempted to jump but had been restrained, 94 percent were

“

still alive or had died of natural causes. So when Cornell experienced a string of suicides by bridge jumping this spring, the University cited each of these studies as a success story and decided to fence off our bridges. They argued that the evidence was clear. Not only do bridge barriers prevent suicides from the bridge in question, there is also no evidence that they redirect suicidal people to other sites. Citing the Golden Gate Bridge study, they also argue that suicide by jumping is an impulsive decision that most people do not repeat if they survive. Not everyone thinks the research is so conclusive, however. The 1,500-member Facebook group, “Cornellians Who Don’t

Everyone hates the fences, but everyone also wants to prevent suicides.

”

Want Bridge Fences,” refers students to the Harvard “Means Matter” page but argues that “the effectiveness of bridge fences at reducing suicide rates, especially in a population size much smaller than that of the studies, can’t be fully conclusive.” Cornell Daily Sun columnist, Judah Bellin, also questioned the rationale behind the fences, arguing that it was just “sloppy logic”—and that suicidal students will merely turn to means other than the bridges. Cynically, Bellin suggested that the fences serve merely as a public relations band-aid for the University. Wrote Bellin, “In addition to [the University’s] concern over the safety of its students, it faces a severe publicity crisis. The fences send a clear message that the University is taking its job seriously.” Since the fences were put in place in late March, Dean of Students Kent Hubbell has received hundreds of letters of protest from students, parents, and alumni, some “too hot to handle.” He described one letter to the Campus Life Student Advisory Committee, from an angry senior who demanded that the fences be removed ahead of scheduled date, in time for her graduation. “How would she feel,” he wondered, “if we removed the fences and someone else died?” There will never be conclusive proof as to whether or not Cornell’s gorge fences deter a suicidal student from jumping. Our sample sizes are so small—usually we have fewer than two suicides a year—that statistics will never be conclusive. The question that we are asked, though, is: are we willing to take the chance?

zooming in

Freshman

Reflection

A first-year Cornell student’s perspective on the year’s tragic events.

3232

ast April, when I eagerly told my friends and family that I had been accepted, and planned to attend, Cornell University, I was always given congratulations that came with the quip, “Don’t throw yourself off a bridge.” This unfortunate stereotype about Cornell—the running joke, the unofficial image—became a horrifying reality this school year. Six students are suspected of committing suicide; three of these students are suspected of jumping into the Fall Creek Gorge that abuts North Campus within three weeks of one another, two of them within a 24-hour period. For every person who studies or works at Cornell, the campus changed instantly, but for us freshmen—the students still establishing their new identities as Cornellians—the deaths were immobilizing. We are the newcomers, the students who live in doubles, triples, and singles, who eat in dining halls, and the students who walk across the Fall Creek Gorge every day to and from classes. Fire trucks and body bags diverted the paths of freshman on three instances this semester, and in the three weeks surrounding the suicides the subject of death dominated almost every conversation. In a climate resembling a country under attack by terrorists, Cornell instantly became a campus of whispered conversations, frantic phone calls, and steeped suspense. I was sitting in my Freshman Writing Seminar, ready to contemplate the work of James Joyce when I heard that the first of the three bodies was found in the Fall Creek Gorge. I had crossed the Thurston Avenue Bridge before the recovery crew had arrived, so I was oblivious to what had transpired, and only caught on slowly when I noticed my professor’s head slowly shaking from side to side. Finding it difficult to articulate anything, she simply said, “I will never understand.” Only then did I hear the whispers and realize what had happened. A freshman that walked the same path to class as all of us had taken his life. I felt nauseous. In an attempt to return to normalcy, we began discussing the reading from the night before. My professor asked the boy sitting next to me what he thought of Joyce’s, “The Dead.” A heavy silence coated the room.

SHANE DUNAU

In a quiet voice he said, “I don’t feel much like talking about ‘The Dead,’ or any death at all anymore today. His name was Brad Ginsburg. He lived on the fourth floor of Donlon Hall, right next to me.” As freshmen at such a unique and challenging institution as Cornell, we all share an inherent bond. There is a psychology among us that can only be described as an irrepressible drive. Whether we are attempting to conquer a challenging problem set, a perfect resumé, a 10-page paper or a bouncer at Johnny O’s, the unspoken mentality among Cornell students is to try and try again. A suicide completely trumps this mentality because it makes our drive for perfection worthless. When faced with the death of a classmate, perfection just seems so pointless. After the wave of suicides, my perception of Cornell was transformed. I struggled with the idea that people could be so miserable at a place where I was so happy. The University’s construction of prison-like fences and constant barraging of forcedly thoughtful e-mails and video messages added to my feeling that if I was not unhappy at Cornell, then perhaps I should be. In almost every classroom the teacher would begin lecture with an awkward mention of the “tragic events,” and then meagerly offer an extended due date on an upcoming paper. A cloud of despondency seemed to settle over the entire campus. Finally, almost a month after the last death, the sun broke. The first weekend of April the temperature bounced into the upper 70s; the sun amiably beat down on the vitamin D-starved student body. For the first time in weeks it felt as if the campus was breathing again. Students lay scantily clad on every strip of grass on campus and the word on everyone’s lips was sunshine. As the last semester of freshman year draws to a close, and the sun makes its return to Ithaca, it feels as if we Cornell freshmen are unified— in part because we will never forget those moments that changed our freshman experience forever. We are accepting the incomprehensibility of the events that have transpired, and enjoying the fresh taste of precious air.

talk

about

tragedy

An interview with Dr. Greg Eells, the director of Gannett’s Counseling and Psychological Services Program. RACHEL LOUISE ENSIGN

his semester was one that was filled with too many sirens and “We regret to inform you” e-mails from President Skorton. Behind the headlines were students abuzz with curiosity and shock about the school year’s six suicides. In this interview, kitsch’s Rachel Louise Ensign asks Dr. Greg Eells, the director of Gannett’s Counseling and Psychological Services Program (CAPS), questions that have largely gone unanswered about suicide, treatment and the future of the bridge fences on Cornell’s campus. kitsch: On campus, there's a lot of discussion about suicide, and there's sort of a sense that people don't really understand it. As a mental health professional, how would you describe suicide? Dr. Eells: Like any human phenomenon, there's no single explanation. Even if you could know what someone's thoughts are in the moments before they complete a suicide, they probably wouldn't even know. We do know that a key component is impulsivity. In the moment, people think, ‘I'm feeling this pain and I just want to escape it.’ When researchers interviewed someone who had survived jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge, he said

that the second that he began to fall all of his problems seemed solvable. And 95 percent of people who survived jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge never had another suicide attempt. kitsch: Is there a profile of a person who commits suicide? Dr. Eells: Suicide is not predictable, which makes our job very difficult. Someone that you see one or two times who seems pretty okay may just have an impulsive moment and complete a suicide. kitsch: Could you explain the theory of "suicide contagion?" Dr. Eells: As human beings, we are highly receptive to our environment. Many of the choices that we make, for example, what you and I have chosen to wear right now, are based on signals that come from our cultural environment. Contagion is really about this social reality. If you have public suicides it creates this sort of cultural milieu that really increases risk for the population. For the certain part of the population that's really hurting,

33 33

zooming in

suicides can send a message that this is how you respond to your pain. kitsch: What things did you and those who you worked with do differently this year in light of the suicides on campus? Dr. Eells: Eighty percent of completed suicides at Cornell are by people who have never been to our counseling services. We are working on lowering barriers to care and have added some parttime counselors. We have been in discussion with the university [to] develop long-term means of improving mental health. If people got connected to care, it would lower the risk considerably. Access to care increases the protection by a factor of six.

Dr. Eells: We mainly see depression, anxiety, and relationship issues. There are a lot of things that go along with that, like the Asperger's spectrum- people who have a real disconnect between their intellectual and social skills. We see people coming to Cor-

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

I would never say that is beyond help. But I say that there are limwhat any support system

kitsch: What sort of long-term measures are you thinking of taking?

nell with long-standing eating disorders. The question is what level of care we are going to provide students with.

Dr. Eells: It's a question of how many resources are available. From a clinical perspective, as I said, we have to lower barriers to care. An example of this is our â&#x20AC;&#x153;Let's Talkâ&#x20AC;? program. We also do a lot of outreach in the community.

kitsch: So say that someone is on the road to suicide. What measures would ideally be taken by the mental health providers on campus to change the direction that they're going in?

kitsch: What prevents people from seeking care? Dr. Eells: There's some pretty good research on this topic. One thing is stigma. You can break it down to "I'm worried about what people will think of me" and "I'm worried about what I'm going to think about myself." Usually it's the second one. People have a hard time thinking about what they'd think about themselves if they come and talk to us. It can feel like such a scary process. You come in and open up to people who you don't know about things that are personal. But people get comfortable after a little while and, often, the distance that they have from the therapist lets them tell them things that they wouldn't tell a partner, family member, or friend.

Dr. Eells: We do a telephone screening first, so if someone urgently needs care they can get into our office as soon as possible. We make some sort of safety plan. We have to decide if the outpatient care that we provide is appropriate or if someone needs some time in a hospital to be safe. We talk to the patient and try and make this a collaborative process, but, according to New York State law, we can transport people against their will if we think that they're a risk to themselves. Medication may help; though it's not a panacea, it can be helpful. kitsch: Do you think that your office has enough staff to deal with the mental health needs on campus?

kitsch: Did you see an increase in students seeking counseling after the most recent suicides?

Dr. Eells: It's really about what you consider to be adequate and the level of care that you're trying to provide. We have three psychiatrists, a nurse practitioner, and 22 therapists. It's a pretty big staff.

Dr. Eells: Yes. We saw a lot of people saying, "I'm concerned about this student."

kitsch: Do you think that there's anything specific to Cornell that makes its students more prone to suicide?

kitsch: In an op-ed in The Sun, President Skorton wrote, "The suicides are but the tip of the iceberg, indicative of a much larger spectrum of mental health challenges faced by many on our campus and on campuses everywhere, not only among students but among faculty and staff." What mental health challenges are particular to the campus setting?

Dr. Eells: There is no doubt that students perceive Cornell to be a very stressful place. But I think that suicide is much more complicated than that. Though there are a lot of models of schools making changes to their academics after suicides. After one suicide at M.I.T, they made all freshman classes pass-fail. We definitely are looking at the examples set by other schools.

kitsch: I think that there's a sense among the students that there isn't full disclosure about suicides at Cornell. Because of the three very public suicides the university came out and said that there had been a total of six undergraduate suicides this year. But students had only heard about four of them. And then they come out and say that there have been no undergraduate suicides since 2006, that ignores graduate students, alumni, and recent graduates who are still at Cornell—all of whom have committed suicide or been suspected of committing suicide on campus during that period.

anyone would its to can do.

”

Dr. Eells: After the three most recent suicides, the university has completely disclosed the information about the suicides that happened this year. Everything is posted on the Caring Community website. Some of this probably comes from the fact that the university only considers enrolled students when counting suicides. It's also hard because sometimes students who complete suicide are on leave from the university at the time of their death. kitsch: Why, according to 2005 suicide statistics, are young men more than four times more likely to commit suicide than young women? Dr. Eells: Males are much more likely to complete suicide than females. Again, there is no single explanation. A lot of times for men in our Western culture, you get a lot of messages of "it's not okay to have emotions." Men have more completed suicides because they use more violent and lethal means to commit suicide than women. They will use firearms—the number one cause of suicides is by firearm then hanging—or jumping. Whereas women tend to use means like overdosing on pills. Women are also socialized a little more to connect in our culture. kitsch: Do men also have a higher rate of attempted suicide than women? Dr. Eells: No, women actually have a higher rate of attempted suicide than men. kitsch: The New York Times article about the suicides at Cornell ended with a quote from Matt Zika's ex-girlfriend who said, “Many people listened and cared a lot about him. . . [but] no matter how great his support system was, his mind was set, and he was going to do whatever he wanted to do.” Do you think that some people are just beyond help?

Dr. Eells: I would never say that anyone is beyond help. But I would say that there are limits to what any support system can do. Everyone has the ability to make their own decisions. The first thing that any family member asks after suicide is, "what could I have done?" But there are limits to what we as humans can do. kitsch: What kind of outreach services do you have? Dr. Eells: Our “Let's Talk" program is a big part of our outreach. We also do a lot of consultation with faculty. We do community support around things like the recent Kot trial. We let them know what kind of resources are available. kitsch: What do you think about the fences? Dr. Eells: Means restriction has been shown to be very effective. They weren't put up with an intent to be aesthetically pleasing. But there's a lot of things that you can do in the long-term for means restriction that aren't ugly. For example, shrubbery can be planted, bridges can be redesigned. You can do things that create enough of a barrier where someone who is impulsive is prevented from acting. The university is doing the right thing. kitsch: How "short term" do you think the fences are? Dr. Eells: I don't know. We are in conversation with the university about long-term solutions. kitsch: What comes after the fences? Dr. Eells: Cornell as a culture needs to evaluate itself. We face unique physical challenges. Something long term is necessary in terms of means restriction on bridges, whether it’s hedges or something else. There needs to be consultation among the different parts of the university. The students' feelings about the fences are being taken very seriously. I think it's a reminder that depression is something that needs to be recognized and treated. We need to be looking at mental health. kitsch: Is there anything else? Dr. Eells: I think that we need to remember that we're all in this together. It's not "the University", we are the university—it is something that is just made up of different people.

zooming in zooming in

Spaces to

Create Photos by JOSH STANSFIELD

This issueâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s photo essay examines the studios of six seniors in the Department of Art. We asked each student to describe his or her respective creative practice and its relationship to the work that is ultimately produced.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

My process involves collecting and surrounding myself with objects that I believe have the potential to go beyond their practical use. I relate these materials to my interests in domesticity, sexuality and violence.

36 36

Aubrey Hetznecker

“

Water-based media – ink, gouache and watercolors – are a big part of my practice. I work on paper because of the speed and ease with which I can test out images and scales, sometimes resolving works as drawings and at other times using them as sketches for intaglio prints. I think works on paper are as present as paintings on canvas, but I find it much easier to work experimentally on paper because it’s less precious.

”

Sarah Carpenter

37 37

ominingginin zoom zo

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

My process is intuitive, and many ideas come to me as I am working on a project. I am very interested in old paintings by Francisco de Goya, and woodblock prints by Albrecht DĂźrer. Many compositional and stylistic elements from these works influence my imagery. The work is allegorical and symbolic, and focuses on themes of social hierarchy and classism. However, the work is not intended to tell one particular story, or give one specific meaning.

38 38

Lauren Zwicker

Andy Polefrone

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

I work with found objects because of their integrity as real things that can become symbolic, and with photographic and video processes because of their potential to distort fact. By altering an object, or painting on top of a photograph, I am trying to reveal all of the things that the original object can be, and therefore is.

â&#x20AC;?

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g in inin om ing om zozo

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

Process is integral to the work. I cut pieces of paper from magazines, and then recontextualize them into intricate collages. Essentially, I am disassembling the familiar pages of print media and reassembling them into abstracted landscapes.

40 40

â&#x20AC;?

Kayla Hamberg

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

“

My creative process revolves heavily around planning and research. I always make several studies before realizing a specific work so as to narrow down decisions regarding scale, materials, and color relationships. I’m also a firm believer in ‘studying-up’ during the planning stages, whereby I look at and read about relevant art-historical precedents.

Andrew Schwartz 41 41

zooming in

A Short History of

Liberal Guilt at

Cornell

hile the old stereotypes of universities as “bastions of elitist liberalism” and of fanatical leftism may have applied to Cornell in the 1960s (by today’s nostalgic standards nearly every university of the time would fit that category), Cornell now maintains an ambiguous political position. Hillary Clinton outshined Barack Obama in campus public opinion during the primary season, and Nancy Pelosi’s selection as a convocation speaker was greeted with a great deal of controversy. Obamastyle idealism sits next to cynical pragmatism among undergraduates. In untangling the political climate of Cornell, however, the idea of “liberal guilt” always seems to pop up. “Liberal guilt” is a difficult term to define. Associated with privilege, liberal guilt is an idea defined most commonly and acutely by self-styled conservatives, who accuse liberals of an

MAURICE CHAMMAH

inability to admit that being white and having money does not automatically implicate them in the problems of the world. In the words of UrbanDictionary.com, liberal guilt consists of “feeling bad cuz you have more than other people.” A lengthier online definition cites the cause of liberal guilt as “not being black, Hispanic, Asian, gay, Native American, ‘differently abled,’ bisexual, suffering from any disease, or poor, or any combination of the above, or simply ‘just being a white man.’” How can you tell someone has liberal guilt? You can apparently see it in the practices of “owning a hybrid”, “buying organic” and “spending one’s time and energy trying to change/heal/Oprahfy the world.” Liberal guilt is deeply interwoven with conservative disgust and an almost irrational hatred for anything that can be identified with “liberals” themselves—who, for the writer above,

art by COURTNEY BEGLIN

can be collapsed into the concise image of a Whole Foods shopper: wealthy, self-righteous and possibly vegetarian. Although the definition of liberal guilt has never been particularly focused, the term has played a structuring role in the political history of Cornell during the last fifty years. Liberal guilt became relevant primarily toward the end of the 1960s, when it acted as something of which conservatives accused liberals. As upheavals in the university became political (particularly in the humanities and social sciences) the term, with a definition something like the one from UrbanDictionary.com, became a useful tool of attack. The Willard Straight Takeover of 1969, still remembered proudly by many Cornell students, was seen by disgusted conservatives as the ultimate moment of this kind of liberal guilt at Cornell. In this narrative, guilty white administrators gave in to the demands of manipulative black students. As academic Allan Bloom later decried in his famous social criticism, “The Closing of the American Mind”, relativism and “radical openness” then planted their dangerous seeds in the American university. Bloom didn’t explicitly frame his philosophically long-winded critique of the contemporary American university in terms of liberal guilt, but many critics have taken his tone when discussing Cornell’s expression of multiculturalism. Bloom resigned from his position in Cornell’s government department in 1970, angry over the way President James Perkins gave in to the demands of the Black Pantherinfluenced student protestors. The protestors enlisted a rhetoric empowered by the history of slavery and Jim Crow, and to critics, giving in was not only cowardly, it was also an admission of guilt. From the 1970s to the present, Cornell’s ways of dealing with the 1960s liberalism criticized by Bloom and his followers have grown and expanded to the point where talk of liberalism, ironically, finds less of a place in public debates. There are, however, still plenty who angrily make accusations of liberal guilt. “By the time I reached Cornell in 1993,” writes blogger and former student Ying Ma, “the rule of law and academic freedom had been so consistently ignored that militant minorities routinely used the language of violence.” She goes on to explain how “Hispanic students...took over the central administrative building in November 1993 and injured a few police officers while demanding a Latino curriculum and separate living center.” In this former student’s outpouring, one can see that she doesn’t really direct her critique at the minorities themselves, who she later calls “thugs,” but at the guilt of the administrators. Actual guilt is not the point: Ma accuses the administrators of guilt in hopes of shaming them into a different course of action. Ma is, however, an outlier. For the past several generations of Cornell students, the Africana Studies and Research Center, Ujamaa and the Latino Living Center have become features of Cornell life. Debates over their existence seldom take the tone of visceral disgust evident in Bloom’s writing. One notes a conspicuous absence of the term “guilt” in most campus debates about the program houses. We have entered a new phase. Debates over whether the

“

University is funding these programs adequately, whether the goals of affirmative action are being pursued vigorously enough, and whether minorities feel safe on campus still sometimes elicit accusations of liberal guilt. However, the victories of 1960s liberalism have become thoroughly engrained in the fabric of Cornell. Though radicalism and its excitement have mostly disappeared, guilt over privilege has not gone anywhere. In fact, liberal guilt, according to the definition I have been using, has been flipped around. It has gone from being a negative accusation by conservatives to being a point of pride for liberals themselves. Two years ago, The Cornell Daily Sun published an article on new student activism, which described how “there’s more of an attempt to save the world one person at a time” but that Darfur had become one of the first campus-wide efforts to rally around a single issue. The problem, explains student leader Julie Mao, was “how do we get… individuals… to care about a people, a country and events seemingly so far away from home?” She urged readers, “We need to engage students about current events and ask them to question what is right and wrong, and most importantly, what we can do about it.” Efforts to impact change in the world were not just a matter of action; they became a matter of getting students to “feel” for people in Darfur. Other students, in the Bloomian anti-guilt tradition, criticized declarations like Mao’s. As the center of international attention and campus activism shifted from Darfur to Haiti, some felt that questions of why we should give aid to needy countries and peoples were not being addressed, because it was already taken for granted that we should. For Sun columnist Judah Bellin, this created an environment wherein critics are essentially excluded from the public discussion. Bellin believes that “the question of ‘why’ has been extirpated from our discourse,” and when asked why, he cited the possibility of “liberal guilt.” Bellin represents a new kind of critic of liberal guilt. Unlike the Bloomian era of conservative criticism, “conservative” and “liberal” are not the operative terms for the camps debating aid. Darfur, and now Haiti, find ready student activists from all political persuasions. Boxes of dollar candy bars advertise profits for Haiti aid. Benefit concerts at fraternities and local clubs get incredible turnouts. Lectures about catastrophe and genocide regularly attract bigger audiences than they have in the past. Liberal guilt, one might infer, has lost its stigma. Thus, as Bellin seems to indicate, many of its former accusers have watched liberal guilt enter a new phase in which it is called “sympathy” or “empathy.” Public discussion on why to give aid is rare. For Bellin, the new critics don’t critique because doing so would lead to public accusations of callousness. Those who would make the accusation of giving in to the interests of the have-nots today would be too embarrassed to actually do so. In the age of Darfur, Haiti and other faraway catastrophes, to dissent from popular liberal guilt would make one feel, so the argument goes, guilty.

Wealthy, self-righteous and possibly vegetarian.

”

zooming in

I’M

art by JENNY ZHAO

in it for the

FREE MEAL A glimpse into Cornell’s blind dating scene. SAM WECHSLER

ith all of the gossip about sex and hook-ups that permeates our daily conversations, have we Cornellians lost the art of the Real Date? That is, the old-fashioned kind: dinner or coffee with someone whom you were heading toward the “more than friends” zone, but hadn’t yet sloppily made out with on the dance floor of Johnny O’s. If you’re a girl who has, I have about one hundred sorority sisters dying to know your secret, or, if you’re a guy who has, to know your phone number. The simple truth is, Cornell tricks you. Between the romantic snowfalls, cozy apple ciders from CTB and rumors about marriage rates of 50-60 percent for Cornell couples, it’s no wonder that everyone in the Cornell bubble thinks that we are going to fall into love. Next question: in your relationship-eligible years here on planet Earth, have you ever been on a blind date? I can proudly tell you about two of my girl friends who have had their very first OMG-this-is-so-freakin’-awkward blind date experiences this past

“

“Once we sat down and started eating, he joked around about how getting a plain bagel with cream cheese, what I always order, was such a boring choice, which I actually found sort of funny since my sister always says it to me, too,” Karen recounted. The date was going fine, albeit an experience different from her usual everyday activities, when after about 10 minutes, a friend of Ethan’s approached the couple. The two of them chatted in French, and Karen sat awkwardly waiting for an introduction that never came. “I felt like he was embarrassed that he was out with me or something, which made me self-conscious to keep going with the conversation,” she said. After the friend left, the conversation dwindled as the couple realized they had yet to find common ground besides class year. “His French accent was pretty thick so it took me a few minutes to understand that he was saying that House was his favorite TV show. I’ve never seen House and he apparently doesn’t follow basketball, which I watch religiously, so there was a definite lull at that point,” Karen recalled. She noted that the best (and worst) moment of the date was when Ethan insisted upon paying for her bagel and cream cheese, but then mortifyingly didn’t even have enough cash for himself. “Thank God I also had my credit card, otherwise I would have bolted. It was so embarrassing for both of us,” she explained. “Would I go out with him again? Probably not, but there weren’t any definite deal-breakers. We just obviously didn’t click and I don’t think he seemed that into it either since he didn’t say ‘See you again’ or anything like that.” Interestingly, though, her biggest complaint about the date was that they didn’t acknowledge how out-of-the-blue the date was. She said, “At least in the world I’m in at school, blind dates don’t happen that often so maybe if we’d started out being like, ‘Have you ever been on one of these?’ it may have broken the ice a little bit better. But we jumped in as if we were already supposed to be on the same page, which was tough since we weren’t even in the same book.” Before we get to blind date number two, there are a few things about our second girl that you should know. Hailing from Greenwich, Connecticut, “Chloe” is used to tennis whites and a Catholic all-girls school, so she didn’t meet her first Jewish friend (me) until she arrived here at Cornell. So we set her up with “James,” a pledge in a super-Jewish fraternity. “My first impression of him? I thought he was cute! I’m used to more of the athlete type, but to be honest I was really into the dark scruff thing he had going on. He was a little bit short but so am I, so it was fine.” But, apparently, love at first sight didn’t hold true on this one. On their lunch date in Appel dining hall he went to the Kosher section and politely asked if she was going to follow. Not thinking anything of it, Chloe went and picked out her usual: a cheeseburger and half a grapefruit. When James saw her meal choice, he commented that he kept kosher and would appreciate it if she didn’t go against his religious values during their date. At this point Chloe probably should have realized that James was being serious, but, as she sometimes errs on the side of oblivious, she thought he was kidding. When he again pointed out that her food wasn’t kosher, she threw it out and went for

The simple truth is,

Cornell tricks you.

Between the romantic snowfalls, cozy apple ciders from CTB and rumors about marriage rates of 50-60% for Cornell couples, it’s no wonder that everyone in the Cornell bubble thinks that we are going to fall into

love.

”

week. Many of you are probably shaking your heads and thinking, “Is this girl for serious? We are only in our twenties.” However, some girls that I live with decided to combat the sophomore slump, winter blues, the drunk-hook-up culture and any other clichéd reason to excuse their obstinate singledom and officially enter the alluring world of sober blind dating. After sorting through some wildly pornographic Craigslist responses—the best read, “I’m an older man seeking a younger gentler lover. We know where the date’s going to lead so let’s just skip to [the] good stuff. I have handcuffs in my trunk, but feel free to provide other props”—they decided that their best bet was to set each other up. Following the wise old precedent of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, they created the following rules: first, the date had to be with a boy they had never met and who would NOT know that they were secretly observing every detail for this article. Rule two was that they would not release the name of the boy until right before the date to prevent Internet stalking and subsequent bail-outs. The final criterion was that the boys could be as random as they pleased, barring sketchy ax-murderers. Now, I’m not sure how many of you have ever had coffee or dinner with a potential significant other, but when you walk into a room not knowing what your date looks like, what on earth you have in common or how he possibly got suckered into going on the date in the first place, tensions run high, my friends, tensions run high. Allow me to tell you a little bit about “Karen” (note that all names in this article have been changed). At 5’1”, she is thought of by many as the most adorable girl in the world. But don’t let the height deceive you: sweet though she may be, her close circle knows her as the most adamant “jersey chaser” (translation: a girl who only likes varsity athletes with necks wider than their heads) north of Albany. She received a text message a few hours before the date, which read, “Hi it’s Ethan. CTB at 7:30?” So far, so good. However, when Karen arrived at that magical bagel store, she found herself facing a boy in super skinny jeans and a beret instead of the frat star she was hoping for. After introductions, they went to buy bagels and secure seats while chatting about the standard get-to-know-you topics: where you’re from, your major, cat or dog person, etc.

zooming in

art by CHARLES WANG a grilled cheese instead. Having figured out the food issue, they sat down in the totally empty dining room at one of the tables for two by the stairs. They had no trouble coming up with topics to discuss, and, both being passionate people, got into a few good-natured arguments about whether it was better to come from a family of seven (Chloe) or be an only child (James). Not to mention, which was a better book, “The World According to Garp” (Chloe) or “Catch-22” (James), and a Cornell classic, Manndible Cafe (Chloe) vs. Libe Café (James). Though there was no discussion of politics or world hunger, Chloe intimated that as far as conversation on a first date goes, it was quite good and they played the “get to know each other game” well. However, when recounting the date later, Chloe’s true feelings about the cheeseburger issue arose: “When James had a problem with what I was eating I literally wanted to punch him in the face. If he thought he was going to convert me he had another thing coming. I was wearing a freakin’ cross and I go to church every Sunday. I would never judge him for eating kosher or expect him to follow my religion, so the fact that he’d judge me for not following his is a definite deal-breaker. It seems hypo-

“

critical to me and I don’t like boys who are hypocrites, even if we’ve had a great discussion.” Needless to say, these two didn’t make it to a round two either. The final straw came when they transitioned into a conversation about Chloe’s involvement on the squash team. When James offered to come to one of Chloe’s matches, she mistook his (very cute) sign of interest for a sign of a stalker. Though I personally love the idea of a committed guy, most of the girls I live with agreed with Chloe’s assessment; they reminded me that a lot of girls our age find it aggressive and creepy when a guy puts out a vibe that strong. But why even go on a blind date if the prospect of finding commitment freaks you out? Perhaps that’s why blind dates are so taboo these days: we college folk are scared to show we may actually sort of kind of like anybody but ourselves. Maybe the girls were hyper-judgmental and missed out on the individual charms of each of these boys—but if that’s true then it is because the blind date isn’t the best venue to discover each other’s quirks. So I leave you with this, darling readers: next time you’re bumming about your Blackout/ Makeout Friday, Purity Binge Saturday and Self-Loathing Sunday, take a minute to consider the alluring alternative of blind dating. Hey, at least it’s a free meal—sometimes.

biggest complaint Her

about the date was that they didn’t acknowledge how

out-of-theblue

”

the date was.

From MACHISMO to

Femininity The history of the high heel shoe. REBECCA LUCASH

woke up this morning with a blister. And I don’t mean a little, cute blister—I mean a giant welt across the bottom of my foot. Well, actually, both feet. Two round, throbbing, red wounds branded right behind my toes. This was a pain that no fuzzy slippers could cure and no Advil could alleviate. The culprits were my high heels. I had to ask: what are the merits of these punishing fashion staples? Hadn’t I brought this on myself? I was the one who put on my much-beloved high-heeled boots when I knew full well that I would be on my feet all evening. I had intentionally sacrificed my personal comfort to be sexy. My decision seemed ridiculous in the morning, but in reality, this particular form of podiatric torture is one that has been employed since ancient times. The history of heeled shoes begins in ancient Greece. Contrary to the popular notion that the Greeks only wore gladiatoresque sandals, they actually also invented the forerunner of the high heel. Aeschylus, the father of Greek tragedy, created shoes with a high wedge on the sole for his actors to wear on stage. These “korthonos” shoes were intended to add a sense of power and majesty to the heroes of his plays by raising the main actors above less important characters. Since only men could be actors in ancient Greece, high heels were originally intended to be worn by men, not women. Platform shoes of this kind also appeared in ancient Egypt; they were the elevated shoes worn by butchers in order to keep their feet clear of their grimy floors. Though nowadays I would be hard-pressed to find a man who would admit to wearing a heeled shoe, heels made another appearance in male fashion hundreds of years ago as the daily footwear of upper-class military men. Heeled boots are ideal for horseback riding, as they keep the rider’s feet secure in the stirrups. A man who wore heels was one with status and the money to keep horses. The cavalry of Genghis Khan wore heels, and Khan himself wore red boots with a wooden heel. These boots may have been the forerunner of the modern cowboy boot, well known today as a symbol of machismo. The cowboy boot, however, would never be considered a heel in the modern sense of the word. Cornell’s own Kate McCullough, an associate professor of English and Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, agrees:

“Fashion has been coded as feminine for at least the last two hundred years.” No wonder men cringe at the suggestion their dress shoes are heeled. How does this get us to the stilettos that women wear today? The jump from utility to fashion is an interesting one, and it’s related to the evolution of the heel as a sign of social status. In 14th-century Europe, women began to wear the “chopine,” a three-inch tall pedestal with a toe band that a woman could slip over her regular shoe. They were primarily worn by women at court and were most popular in Venice. When the heel of chopines began to increase in height, and finally reached a dangerous peak at 24 inches, women could not walk anywhere unaided. The walking cane became a fashion statement in itself. In Venice, where canals limited opportunities to walk, the chopines were slightly less impractical. Even so, a law was enacted that said pregnant women could not wear the wooden shoes due to the increased likelihood of tripping and falling. The woman who had the greatest influence upon the history of high heels was Catherine de Medici, a queen of France in the 16th century. She was very short and frequently wore heels to overcome her insecurities and maintain a more commanding presence. Based on her example, heels became such a popular symbol of status that, for a time, commoners were not permitted to wear them. This regulation was disregarded by prostitutes of the time period, who persisted in wearing heels for their sensual look. While high heels were established as women’s shoes in 16th-century Europe, they had not yet left the realm of elite men’s fashion. King Louis XIV of France was a wearer of the high heel in the late 17th century. He considered it fashionable to wear red heels that enabled him to look down on those around him. At the time, heels held the same social symbolism as they did in the past; they made men look taller and more powerful and gave women a frail manner of walking that was considered attractive. Heels also created a short, mincing step that was considered a mark of the gentleman. Through the 18th and 19th centuries, heels shifted in style from the tall platform shoes of Venice to spindle heels that were

zooming out usually over six inches tall. The heel of the shoe slanted forward, so the point was not under the heel itself but under the middle of the shoe. They were quite unstable and uncomfortable, yet the upper class persisted in wearing them to the numerous public balls of the era. As said in the British poem “A Receipt for Modern Dress”: “Mount on French heels when you go to a ball, ‘Tis the fashion to totter and show you can fall.” One hundred years later, with the rise of the middle class in the Victorian Era, the heel gained popularity beyond just the nobility. Since middle class women were generally not part of the workforce, they were able to wear heels, despite their impracticalities, to social events or around the home. By the end of World War II, high-heeled shoes were popular among all social classes. Beginning in 1952, shoe manufacturers began inserting steel rods in the heels of the shoes, creating a heel so thin it was named the stiletto, after the Italian word for dagger. The original stiletto was created by Italian designer Salvatore Ferragamo and was four inches tall with a pointed toe. Since its conception, the stiletto has been reviled as a symbol of sexism and hailed as a sign of feminine self-esteem. Nancy E. Rexford, an analyst and expert researcher of shoe history, has pointed out the stiletto’s role as a part of working women’s return to the domestic sphere after World War II. During the war, posters emblazoned with characters like Rosie the Riveter asked women to step up and work in men’s jobs while men themselves fought in Europe. When men returned from war to their families and their jobs, however, women were urged to return to their “proper sphere” in the home. Stilettos, which hinder a woman’s ability to walk and be active, were a symbol of the shift in expectations for women. The relationship between today’s women and their heels is complex. These shoes have been scientifically proven to injure women. Even a three and a quarter-inch heel has b e e n

“

shown to increase the pressure beneath the forefoot by 76 percent, which explains my bruised and sore feet. Heels also can help women in attracting mates: according to Euclid Smith and Whitney Helms, Darwinists and contributors to the journal Foot and Ankle International, high heels make women look more attractive by giving shape to the leg and ankle, making the foot look smaller and feminizing the stride. Smith further argues that the height of heels has increased steadily with time due to female-female competition for men.

Since only men could be actors

high

art by COURTNEY BEGLIN

in ancient Greece, heels were originally

”

intended to be worn by

men, not women.

Though McCullough admits that there is “always the possibility of trying to reclaim symbols that have been used against [us]”—as in, we can try to say stilettos are a sign of feminine power rather than of confinement to the domestic sphere—she turns the argument around, asking, “Can you ever fully divorce an object or word from its negative connotation?” Apparently we can try, and do. It has been estimated that over 11 billion dollars are spent on footwear each year, with shoes costing an average of 50 to 200 dollars, depending on the style. If parents want, they can even buy soft “high-heeled” slippers, made by the company Heelarious, for their kids to wear while still in the crib. For today’s women, fashion marketing and social norms have collided to make heels an everyday choice. Sure, there are occasions for which heels are not appropriate, such as a sports game or taking the dog for a walk. You just can’t wear heels and be active: it hurts too much. Still, I wouldn’t trade heels for running sneakers if I were going out dancing or on a date. McCullough suggests that “there is a way in which desires can come to feel natural even if they are socially produced.” In large part, heels make women feel prettier because of how high heels are advertised. An estimated average of 350 million dollars are spent on shoe advertisements each year. We see women whose appearances we envy, like models and actresses, wearing heels. Even though women may feel more comfortable in sneakers or flats, everything around us tells us that heels are hot, and we come to believe this was our own idea in the first place. Internalized oppression or not, though, it’s hard to find fault with feeling pretty for an evening. Sometimes the modern heel isn’t even designed to be attractive. A recent fashion show of the late designer Alexander McQueen’s spring collection featured heels designed to look otherworldly. Models teetered down the runway in 10-inch tall stilettos that varied from resembling alien hooves to looking like melted scraps of neon plastic. Sexy? Not exactly. But it brings me back to the main point of heels—when we put them on, they transform us. Whether the platforms of a Greek actor or Venetian noble, the heeled boots of an equestrian or the stiletto of a femme fatale, high heels enable people to say something different about themselves.

Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

METH-ed

An inside look at the growing meth epidemic. MICHELLE SPEKTOR

hese shadowy individuals with rotted teeth, scraggly hair, sunken faces and scabbed complexions suffer from a disease that afflicts 24 million people worldwide. There are no souls behind their eyes, their bodies are wasting away from the inside out and there is no cure. Few can rise above this disease, and those who do will forever deal with depression and damage to the kidneys, blood vessels and brain, as well as an 80 percent chance of relapse. This disease of addiction has become a national epidemic. On the street, the drug causing this scourge is known as crank, glass, quartz, ice, tina and speed. Scientists call it methamphetamine. The rest of us know it as crystal meth.

Meth: Happiness Overload

art by OWEN SMITH

Injecting, smoking or snorting crystal meth can make you feel happier than you ever have before. The first hit brings an immense rush of pleasure, followed by a euphoric high that can last as long as 12 hours. You feel more energized, focused and desirable, and apparently, sex on meth is out of this world. While meth can transport you to your highest high, coming down as the drug wears off brings you to your lowest low. Intense euphoria is quickly replaced with severe depression, and there is only one way to counteract it: more meth. One hit or injection of crystal meth causes the brain to release a disproportionately large quantity of dopamine, a neurotransmitter that binds to receptors in the nervous system and generates feelings of pleasure. While many other widelyabused substances like marijuana, nicotine and alcohol also increase the amount of dopamine in the brain, meth takes this chemical process to another dimension. Upon exposure, meth increases dopamine levels from zero to over 1,200 units in a matter of minutes, which is about four times the level of dopamine brought about by cocaine. Using meth even one time damages the brainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dopamine receptors, making it difficult for day-to-day activities that pro-

zooming out duce lower levels of dopamine, like eating and having sex, to generate the pleasurable response they usually elicit. As more pleasure centers in the brain are destroyed, it becomes impossible to feel pleasure from anything other than crystal meth.

drug in their cars. Ephedrine and pseudoephedrine, either of which can be used to produce methamphetamine, are the active ingredients of over-the-counter decongestant drugs. These chemicals can be extracted from pills through a complicated, yet feasible, purification process that can be carried out by anyone with a stove and pot. Pure ephedrine has also been made Smile, You Have Meth Mouth available to meth cookers by Mexican drug cartels, which have The effects of crystal meth abuse are not limited to the brain’s transported hundreds of tons of pure ephedrine into the United pleasure centers, as signs of addiction are as physically obvious States over the last 20 years. The resulting increase in the puas they are mentally. As a stimulant, meth prompts the brain to rity of crystal meth has made it more potent and addictive than release adrenaline, which is responsible for the “fight or flight” ever before. Administration of only one gram of crystal meth is response, causing addicts to be anxious and obsessive compul- considered an overdose and may result in heart attack, stroke sive. The stimulating aspects of the drug also cause a decrease or death. In the U.S., meth made its first significant appearance as a in appetite, which is what gives addicts their gaunt and skeletal drug of West Coast motorcycle gangs in the 1980s. It has since appearances. been on the move from the West Coast to the East Coast. Today Heavy abuse of meth results in cognitive impairments simithere are more than 1.4 million meth users in the United States, lar to those caused by Parkinson’s disease, such as loss of memmost of whom reside in Western and Midwestern states. With ory, judgment and motor skills. Vivid hallucinations and feelings an increasingly high unemployment rate over the last several of paranoia and aggression make it impossible for meth addicts years, the Midwest in particular has witnessed an upsurge in to perform day-to-day functions. The scabbed faces of users are the number of meth users, especially in rural and urban areas the result of attempts to combat formication, the sensation of where poverty is widespread. According to the U.S. Drug Enbugs crawling under the skin, through scratching and picking. forcement Administration, states in the West and Midwest, such Blood vessels are weakened and destroyed, and the skin loses as Oregon, Iowa, Wyoming and California, had over 185 meth its elasticity and glow, making meth addicts appear to be years users per 100,000 residents in 2003. The state of Kansas is often older than they actually are. referred to as the “Meth Mecca” due to its large number of meth The horrifying rot and decay of teeth in meth addicts is users and producers. Thousands of home meth labs are busted known as “meth mouth.” Meth causes tooth erosion because useach year, mostly in these Western and Midwestern states. Other ers tend toward tooth-grinding and neglect of proper hygiene. under-the-radar meth labs become known when they explode In addition, blood vessel shrinkage reduces the amount of saliva because of the toxic wastes and combustible fumes that methproduced in the mouth, making teeth extremely susceptible to amphetamine production yields. acidification and cavities. In the state of Michigan, crystal meth abuse and production After long periods of meth abuse, sex goes from being have become increasing problems, especially in poorer counamazing to subpar as the drug reduces the libido and decreases ties where joblessness is widespread. In 2004, a record number sexual performance. Serious meth addicts may lose interest in of 295 meth labs were seized by the DEA in sex altogether, as well as in many other aspects the state, compared to 21 that of life such as relationships, ambiwere seized in 2000. An tions and family. They become increase in the numdisorganized, sickly and deber of meth users pressed as they fall further in a given area also into the realms of irretends to correlate versible brain damage. with an increase in Eventually, they die. crime, and accord Addiction to crystal ing to The Oregometh is nearly impossible nian, meth users to overcome, and most of make up as much as those who free themselves 85 percent of inmates from addiction end up returnin jails and prisons in ing to it later in life. It is possibly the Midwestern states. Donna scariest, most addictive drug out there, Smith, a corrections officer in which begs the question: Why doesn’t anyone talk the Clare County Jail in Harrison, about it around here? art by Michigan, estimates that about 30 MICHELLE SPEKTOR percent of the inmates are meth users and notes that their numbers have increased over the years. Meth on the Move “When these people come in, you can tell nine times out of 10 if Possession of crystal meth is certainly illegal in the United States, they’re meth users because they have sores all over their faces but enforcement can be difficult because meth is not only ac- [and] their teeth are black,” Smith explains. Clare County is known in the state of Michigan for its high quired through the drug trade; it can also easily be synthesized number of meth lab busts, and Smith attributes this to a lack of in a standard home kitchen. According to The New York Times, jobs in the area and the availability of public state land. Crystal many meth cookers have even figured out ways to produce the

“

meth is most prevalent among the unemployed, and as Smith explains, state hunting grounds and natural areas have easily become home to meth cooks and their labs. While many Clare County jail inmates have been arrested because their meth labs were discovered or exploded, other meth addicts got there by committing a variety of other crimes. The psychotic effects of crystal meth contribute to a high incidence of domestic violence among meth users, and the impairment of judgment and feelings of confidence is likely responsible for the relationship between crystal meth abuse, property theft and breaking and entering. “[Meth users] do really off-the-wall stuff,” Smith says. A few years ago, two meth addicts were brought to the Clare County Jail for robbing multiple stores across the state of Michigan. “They were so strung out [at the time], they didn’t remember anything,” Smith recalls. “They were driving around Michigan for days robbing stores.” According to the DEA, almost 600 people in Michigan were admitted into rehabilitation programs for meth addition in 2004, and the numbers have only been rising since. Michigan has a comprehensive rehabilitation program in which arrested meth users may be sent to one of the state’s 600 drug and alcohol rehabilitation centers as part of their jail or prison time. However, Smith feels these rehabilitation programs are largely ineffective, as many individuals who go through rehab end up back in jail later on. Development of treatment programs for methamphetamine addiction has been an ongoing challenge, due to high rates of relapse. Most of these centers only provide outpatient treatment services, which are not nearly as effective as long-term residential treatment programs. There is no medication that can relieve meth dependence, so treatment mainly focuses on behavior modification and regular drug testing.

What is to be done? Getting Washington to pay attention to a mostly regional drug problem has been a several decades-long battle. Regulation of the ingredients used to make meth first appeared on the scene in the 1980s, when a bill was passed that required companies to keep records on imports of pure ephedrine and pseudoephedrine. Meanwhile, as per the economic interests of drug companies, the sales of their finished medical products containing these chemicals would remain unregulated for at least another ten years. As meth became a growing problem throughout the 1990s, the government responded with more force. As of 1996, drug companies and merchants selling both ephedrine and pseudoephedrine pills were required to register with the DEA and keep detailed sales records. However, this regulation exempted pills sold in blister packs, as it was believed these pills were more difficult for meth cookers to purchase in bulk. Only a few years later, according to The Oregonian, blister packs of pseudoephedrine medications were found in 47 percent of seized meth labs in the United States. In 2005, the U.S. Congress passed the Combat Methamphetamine Epidemic Act, which removed all ephedrine and pseudoephedrine medications from store shelves. Now, in order to purchase Sudafed or Zyrtec D, registration at the store counter is required. Some states even have additional regulations on the purchase of these medications and place limits on how much a

that’s meth-ed up

You can tell nine times out of ten if they’re meth users, because they have sores all over their faces [and] their teeth are black. -DONNA SMITH

”

single individual can purchase in a given time period. Crystal meth is not just a national problem. The United Nations reported that crystal meth is the most abused drug on earth—there are more meth addicts worldwide than heroin and cocaine users combined. According to the U.S. Department of State, Latin American countries such as Colombia and Mexico, as well as Asian counties such as Thailand, China and Japan, have especially large markets for methamphetamine and are also home to many meth producers and illegal suppliers of ephedrine and pseudoephedrine. If meth is such a big deal, why do most people around here seem to know very little about it? Meth has already started to appear in East Coast metropolitan areas, like New York, Washington D.C. and Miami, yet the fight against drugs still has yet to place crystal meth at equal importance with cocaine and heroin, as the prevalence of use, possession, and trafficking of these drugs is more prevalent in these areas. However, as the number of meth users on the East Coast steadily increases, it is only a matter of time before meth addiction will reach the forefront of drug problems in this region. Meth has even hit home here in Ithaca. Even though four meth labs in Tompkins County were busted and 12 people were admitted to rehab for meth addiction in 2004, awareness of the nation’s crystal meth problem is still lacking here at Cornell. Information regarding crystal meth does not appear anywhere on the Gannett Health Center website and popular courses, such as Drugs and Society and Drugs and Gangs, make little to no mention of it. Crystal meth is most prevalent among the unemployed in poor regions of the United States, which may explain the lack of awareness among college students and upper and middleclass Americans. However, there have recently been a number of prominent examinations of the scourge of meth in America. The most notable of these is The New York Times’ bestselling book “Methland,” where journalist Nick Reding chronicles life in a small Iowa town and which the trade of crystal meth is the principal industry. In addition, many broadcasting stations such as PBS, have aired documentaries that call for action against the nation’s crystal meth problem. “Twenty years ago, crack was headed east across the United States, and it slammed New York hard,” said New York senator Charles Schumer, as he pledged to clamp down on methamphetamine in central New York. “Now, meth is taking root in communities like Ithaca. If we don’t remember our history we will be doomed to repeat it, because crystal meth could become the crack of the 21st century.”

zooming out

Lefties L i f e

o n

t h e

o t h e r

h a n d . JENNA GREENBAUM

s any lefty knows, growing up in a right-handed world is no easy task. We constantly run into problems in our daily lives; our hands are always covered with ink and using scissors is just outright dangerous. Even at Cornell University, where diversity is welcomed in every aspect of our education, our lefty disadvantage is largely ignored. Most lecture halls are missing lefty desks, so I’ve been forced to take exams by either curling my hand tightly around the pen (don’t even talk to me about the cramping that inevitably occurs) or directly facing the person next to me (awkward does not even begin to describe it). I wonder how it is that us lefties, who make up only eight to fifteen percent of the population, have managed to survive centuries of discrimination. Fortunately for us, lefties do have a few

advantages in present day society. As lefties, we have an edge in sports that involve dual confrontations, such as baseball, tennis and fencing. Because we are so rare, both lefties and righties alike are usually not prepared to compete against us. We carry with us the element of surprise. While useful in sports, the unexpectedness of being left-handed has also given us an advantage in history’s innumerable violent conflicts. In ancient societies, it is likely that lefties, who were better fighters, prospered, reproduced and expanded to become a significant portion of the population. Since

our survival clearly depends very much on our superior fighting abilities, lefties like myself may thank the left-handed warriors like Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar for paving the way for Rocky Balboa and Oscar De La Hoya (two famous lefty fighters), and the rest of the lefties who have managed to survive. Further research in this area has shown that in contemporary tribal societies where hand-to-hand combat is common, the frequency of left-handed individuals is positively correlated with the society’s homicide rate. The Dioula-speaking people of Burkina Faso, for example, who have a left-handedness rate of three percent, had a homicide rate of one hundredth of a homicide per 1,000 people per year, whereas the Eipo people of Irian Jaya, New Guinea, had a left-handedness rate of 20 percent and averaged around three homicides per 1,000 people per year. This lefty survival advantage was put in check by the superstitious stigmas that have long been attached to lefties. Even Alexander the Great couldn’t make society stop picking on the lefties. Why is it that lefties were shunned and left-handed children were beaten into right-handedness by ruler-wielding teachers? Where did all the hate come from? The word left comes from the Old English word “lyft,” which means weak or foolish. In Italian the word for left is “sinistra,” which comes from the same root as our word “sinister.” For centuries, lefties were shunned because left-handedness was believed to be a trait associated with the devil and his followers. Has anyone ever told you to throw salt over your left shoulder for good luck? The thought behind this age-old superstition is that you would placate the left-handed devil by doing so. Wedding rings are traditionally worn on the third finger of the left hand in order to fend off the evil associated with that hand. In the past, the stigma attached to those of the lefty persuasion made us less desirable to marry and reproduce with, a fact that originally got me thinking about lefty survival.

lefties Is there any evidence to even back up the claims that lefties are cesspools of bad luck? Sadly, there is. According to numerous studies, lefties are more prone to dyslexia, learning disabilities, autism and schizophrenia than righties are. Women who are lefthanded even have an increased risk of developing breast cancer. Because scientists have yet to identify the cause of handedness, which may be determined by basic genetics or even testosterone levels in the womb, they are unable to understand why these associations of left-handedness and disease occur. While scientists are still figuring out why we are so “special,” research has, however, consistently failed to demonstrate that being left handed is associated with higher mortality rates. There is good news, though! Lefties are commonly considered to be more creative than our right-handed counterparts. Handedness is thought to be associated with an individual’s tendency to use one side of the brain more often than the other. Because left-handed individuals demonstrate a preference for the right side of the brain, we are more able to tap into intuitive and creative thought than right-handed people, who demonstrate a preference for the less imaginative left side of the brain. Research has also shown that lefties are more likely to fall on the extreme ends of the intelligence scale. This means that lefties make up a higher proportion of mentally challenged indi-

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viduals, but we also make up a greater percentage of individuals with the highest IQs. In fact, over 20 percent of the members of Mensa, the oldest and largest high-IQ society in the world, are left-handed. Finally, if you really want to make your right-handed friends jealous, here is a fantastic fact: according to recent studies, male left-handed college graduates earn 10 to 15 percent more money than their righthanded classmates. Sorry girls, but there was no significant difference for women. While we do have our sanity to worry about, as lefties we can certainly rejoice in knowing that we are actually kind of awesome. So to all those righties out there talking smack, remember this: there’s no way to beat us in a fight, we are super crafty, extremely smart (or extremely not) and some of us make more money. We’ve survived this long, and we are here to stay.

Male left-handed college graduates earn 10 to 15 % more money than their right-handed classmates.

art by CAT SCHRAGE

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Famous Lefties Aristotle Barack Obama Brad Pitt Friedrich Nietzsche Henry Ford Jack the Ripper Jay Leno Jimi Hendrix Joan of Arc Kurt Cobain Leonardo da Vinci Lou Gehrig Ludwig Van Beethoven Mahatma Gandhi Marie Curie Marilyn Monroe Morgan Freeman Napoleon Bonaparte O.J. Simpson Paul McCartney Rafael Robert DeNero

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It’s year 44 in the Age of Satan... Do you know where your children are?

Satan

Trust

LUCY ZHENG

art by LUCY ZHENG

hile some may be under the impression that Satanism is the sweaty, bloody, sinful worship of a red beast with horns, hooves and a forked tail, the most popular form of Satanism in the present day has nothing to do with God or the Devil. Contemporary Satanism is apparently not about sinning but about indulgence. Satanism does not worship a deity, but instead resembles humanism—an organized religion that worships the self. This doctrine can be found in the 252-page Satanic Bible, written by the founder of the American Church of Satan, Anton LaVey.

The Man

The Satanic Bible is nothing like the Christian Bible. There are no reports of Satan sightings or stories of his miracles. The commandments of the Satanic Bible weren’t carved into stones and the satanic sins are not the grave transgressions one may think of. Born in 1930, LaVey (who changed his name from the much less sinister-sounding Howard Stanton Levey) was an occultist,

writer and musician, and never claimed to be the right hand of Satan. Instead, he espoused that the supposed “greatest sinner of all time” is nothing more than a cover for the faults of humanity. Raised in an immigrant family that was supportive of his musical talents, LaVey soon entered the world of circuses and carnivals, where his first cynical views of the world were formed. He took notice of the preachers and other supposedly devout people who attended the “bawdy late-night shows,” consisting of scantily-clad women (and some men), bump-and-grind routines and general provocations of the carnal nature. What confused and disillusioned LaVey, as his successor Peter Gilmore recalled, was the fact that these men would make such trips a routine, all the while demanding multiple forms of abstinence from their followers. This hypocrisy led to young LaVey’s rejection of their kinds of spiritual doctrines. After leaving the circus, he joined the San Francisco Police Force as a crime scene photographer, where his pessimism about the human race solidified. During those years, he saw the grimiest and most disgusting side of human nature: knifings, hit and runs, shootings and cold-blooded murders. But, what depressed LaVey the most were the reactions to such incidents from those in the community. While LaVey was aghast at these crimes, they were sanctimonious; to his question of “Where is God?” they declared, “It’s God’s will.” Finally, LaVey decided he’d had enough of the passive attitudes he dealt with on a daily basis and left the force. Later, he formed a “Magic Circle,” a class on ritual magic that took place in his home; it would turn out to be the first step in his role as a black arts connoisseur. In 1966, he created the Church of Satan, and officially declared that year to be the first of the “Age of Satan.” There were no strict guidelines, just general rules of thumb that he derived from combining beliefs with logic, and Satan with Nietzsche and Jack London. The culmination of his career, life and legacy are the rules by which all Satanists should live: nine statements of truth that define their reality.

The Nine Statements 1. Indulgence instead of abstinence “We want what we can’t have.” Deprivation fuels anticipation and desire to consume. In his book, “Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers,” Stanford Professor Robert Sapolsky posits that the human reward system is closely linked with the stress system. Fulfilling a certain need, he said, induces a happy and less stressful response. Letting your desire for something remain unfulfilled, on the other hand, has a snowballing effect, and the desire may, in turn, spiral out of control. Likewise, LaVey believed that indulgence is more logical, even healthier than abstinence. 2. Existence instead of “pipe” dreams With this Statement, LaVey addressed the seemingly irrational desire to be sinless, a state most religious figures will themselves agree is unattainable. He believed that a sinless life was impossible, because humans cannot help but “sin” constantly in their daily lives. In giving new life, we could be accused of lust. In attaining goods that we feel can improve our lives, we perhaps succumb to greed. In defending our families, we may be overcome by anger. This cycle continues, drawing the “sinful” deeper

into the dark pit of no return. 3. Undefiled wisdom, instead of hypocritical self-deceit In LaVey’s world, ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is stupidity, which is the number one sin (I will expand on the Nine Sins in

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Satanism in the present day has nothing to with God or the Devil.

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a bit), and stupidity should not be tolerated or encouraged. This Statement comes from LaVey’s experience with priests at carnivals. In those lustful and raucous fundraisers, they were permitted to attend strip shows, lust after the half-naked girls and mingle with the “corrupted” crowd, all with the intent of raising money for the church. Afterwards, sinners would go to the confessional and be relieved of their actions. These eruptions of “sin,” brought on by repression of indulgences, were accepted and even encouraged, in the name of God. The perfect person, in Satanism, is one who seeks out and finds the knowledge required to make a certain decision. Said person has the ability to decisively make that informed decision and take responsibility for its potential consequences. 4. & 5. Kindness only to the deserving and Vengeance instead of turning the other cheek Numbers 4 and 5 are closely connected: both are characteristic of human nature, while one is a passive means of action and the other is an aggressive one. LaVey’s point of view is simple. By giving out kindness beyond a certain point, the giver will no longer appreciate what is truly meaningful to them. Vengeance, on the other hand, should be dealt accordingly, because holding it in will create the opposite effect of “what goes around comes around.” Take for instance, that a “friend” spreads a rumor. Instead of taking revenge, you just let it go. That repressed anger and hurt may continue to eat at you. He doesn’t suffer for his actions at all, but you do. In essence, the sufferer continues to suffer while the agonist feels no negative repercussions. 6. Responsibility to the responsible instead of concern for psychic vampires Psychic vampires, in LaVey’s definition, are not blood-sucking fiends with mind-reading abilities. Rather, these are the whiners, the high-maintenance individuals, the people who take away energy and time that could be devoted to alone time. Essentially, this dictate prescribes that one should ditch the needy manipulators. Keep the helpful friends and the necessary acquaintances. 7. Man is just another animal, who in his intellectual development, has become the most vicious of them all No matter how high-up humans are on the food chain, we remain, like the rest of the top predators, simply animals; our genome is still staggeringly similar to apes and we still succumb to nature’s callings, whether they be going to the bathroom or making a baby. So what if we stuff chickens in a coop and feed them ground up chicks or watch pit bulls fight in a pen for fun? According to LaVey, this behavior merely proves that just be-

zooming out cause we see ourselves as more intelligent does not mean that we are morally irreprehensible for our actions. 8. Satan represents all the so-called sins, as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification Pride, envy, lust, gluttony, anger, greed and sloth. LaVey would say that there is nothing wrong with any of these cardinal sins. Rather, he subscribed to the notion that each is as natural as it is vital. Pride gives a person self-confidence, which allows him to believe in himself and “be all he can be.” Envy creates an incentive to be better and achieve more. Succumbing to lust is not only pleasurable but it produces babies, some of which end up at top-tier universities writing articles like this. Gluttony induces emotional stability that comes with the feeling of satiety. Anger allows the body to relieve itself of tension and stress. Greed encourages self-betterment and sloth taps into the body’s inherent need to rest. 9. Satan has been the church’s best friend by keeping it in business LaVey reasoned that by blaming all the world’s ills on an “evil” force or being, religions can go about their business without anyone questioning their actions or judgments. In LaVey’s opinion, the Devil represents for the church a best friend who takes all the blame: who wouldn’t want one of those?

The Sins Satanism is usually seen as anarchic, cultish, and crazy, but Satanism looks down on wild abandon. In fact, its number one sin is, believe it or not, stupidity. Stupidity: Satanism does not condone people who “go along with whatever they are told.” LaVey calls this the “Cardinal Sin of Satanism,” and laments the fact that stupidity is not painful, because then there’d be a lot less of it. He promotes wariness of the media, which has the ability to approve and even encourage stupidity. As a rule of thumb, he generalizes that social acceptance does not infer correctness. Pretentiousness: A major source of irritation for LaVey is empty posturing and “acting like a big shot.” Being impolite, disagreeable, or arrogant can only hurt, since it shuts many doors for future interactions and possibilities. Solipsism: Instead of “treat them as you would like to be treated,” it is actually “treat them as they treat you.” LaVey strongly cautions against projecting one’s own reactions, responses, and sensibilities onto others because they usually do not act with courtesy or consideration. It’s only fair to give back what one gets. Self-deceit: LaVey quips that “the only time self-deceit is entered

into is when it’s fun, and with awareness.” There is no room or energy available to expend on lying to oneself. Herd conformity: For this sin, LaVey points out that it is alright to conform if it ultimately benefits the conformer, but definitely not when it is only in automatic response to someone else’s command. Satanism frowns upon leaving one’s own choices to the whims of many. Lack of perspective: LaVey sympathizes with how difficult it can be to maintain Satanist values in a society that fears and belittles their ideals, but emphasizes how it is difference, not herd conformity, that produces history and recognition. The main idea is to keep the long-term goals in mind, so the short-term goals can seem less of a hassle. Forgetfulness of past orthodoxies: Keeping in mind the past helps prevent society from being disposable. LaVey urges individuals to see through the new packaging of ideas and products and recognize brainwashing, in order to remember the “original” reality. Counterproductive pride: Despite the importance of staying strong and solid in one’s own beliefs, there is a need to take a step back and acknowledge errors. LaVey points out that “pride is great up to the point you begin to throw the baby out with the bathwater.” Apologizing and compromising when one is stuck in a self-painted corner is completely necessary and logical. Lack of aesthetics: LaVey defines aesthetics as “not what is supposed to be pleasing, but what is,” and encourages personal, reflective appreciation and universal standards for beauty. Aesthetics is important for magical and spiritual effectiveness, and should be cultivated.

The Truth? Logicality and rationality are two words that few associate with Satanism, but those were the pillars in forming the Church of Satan. Anton LaVey saw a need for a church that would recapture man’s body and carnal desires as objects of celebration, not as means of impurity. In following the doctrine that he wrote and promoted, people would no longer be living lives of hypocrisy, and instead be content with their freedom of choice and lack of judgment. In demoting the importance and prevalence of religions and churches, LaVey fought for the power of the self and the need for self-fulfillment. So, the next time you hear the phrase “your body is a temple,” the only logical and right thing for you to do is to worship it. After all, according to LaVey, why not celebrate something so natural when you could be so happy succumbing to it?

The MORE the

art by LAIYEE HO

MERRIER? When sexcapades leave the realm of monogamy.

KATHLEEN JERCICH

he unexpected price one pays for free online porn: extraterrible advertising. Every wide-eyed Xtube connoisseur, for instance, must sit through thirty seconds of barely-acted advertisements targeting those silly enough to actually consider paying to watch someone else’s sexytimes. These ads range from the tamest of eHarmony knockoffs to downright minimalism: distractingly fake breasts and a glittery invitation to “Find singles in YOUR AREA today!” The most notable, however, seems at first to be straightforward: a happy couple, appropriately racially diverse, runs to a bed, giggling. “These people are married,” the narrator informs the viewer, as if to remind her of every Friday night she’s spent chugging vodka and marathoning the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice instead of, well, coupling. But then it continues with the kicker, “But not to each other.” AshleyMadison.com, the company responsible for this ad and others like it, currently claims to have 5.2 million members. Not all of them are married, of course, or even attached. Suffice it to say, however, that none of them are strictly opposed to the idea of infidelity. AshleyMadison offers options for every walk of

life: single male seeking attached female for a little suga’ mama action, males seeking males for one night stands, and—the modern-day edition of a fairy tale come true—attached males seeking attached females for sex that’s all the more satisfying for its questionable morality. Everyone say it with me—aww! For all that it touts itself on security, AshleyMadison doesn’t exactly have Facebook-level privacy standards. Simply signing up with a completely fake name, zip code, and tagline (a personal favorite: “The juice has to be worth the squeeze”) ensures unlimited browsing action. A hypothetical irate husband, armed with an Internet history, wouldn’t have to do much detective work to nab his wife in the act. Getting caught is almost inevitable, yet AshleyMadison continues to flourish. The complicated tapestry of non-monogamous exploits, including those of politicians, athletes, and, of course, AshleyMadison users, is a source of fascination for the public and private eye alike. Nowadays, one would be hard-pressed to pass any Wegmans magazine rack without seeing “TIGER’S MISTRESS COMES CLEAN” or “JON AND KATE BATTLE IT OUT OVER NINTH WHEEL.”

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“ Media representatives, always ones to cover both sides of any fifteen-minute drama, constantly seem to find new angles to what should, by all rights, be a private tragedy: a new interview with a call-girl, or (if we’re lucky) an enterprising undercover cop selling the story of a certain Republican senator doing some improvisational restroom toe-tapping. As much as we all delight in seeing another mouthy homophobe caught out in hypocrisy, it begs the question: if these men and women in the public spotlight know they’ll be caught, why do they still persist in seeking a little questionably-endowed side dish with their faithful main course? And why does it seem like the rest of us can’t get enough?

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Biology may give you a pass for speculatively checking out your Econ TA’s nice ass, but it doesn’t mean you can cheat on your girlfriend with her. Unless, of course, your girlfriend is into that.

Biologically, the call of infidelity is mighty hard to resist. Bonobo chimps, everyone’s favorite nearest evolutionary ancestor, are the only non-human animal to routinely engage in face-toface genital sex, tongue kissing, female-female “scissoring,” oral sex, make-up sex, and, much like the single-player mental games of many a closeted fantasy football player, male-male rump rubbing. None of these activities take place in the context of a monogamous relationship, social or otherwise. It’s practically Craigslist out there. Still, lest we dismiss such hedonism as having been lost to evolution’s heavy hand, we need only (gently) grab a nice fistful of man-junk to see that us humans are nearly as prone to such behavior. Anyone who’s taken a decent Behavior course can tell you that all the sperm produced by the testicles has to go somewhere—and if it needs to go in five or six different somewheres, well, the gene pool doesn’t scan anyone’s passport. But it’s not just men who have a biological pass on non-monogamy. In a 2003 study, Dr. Gordon Gallup, Jr. found that the dapper little bowler hat on a human male’s Thunder Down Under is actually designed as a scoop of sorts that anticipates the unfaithfulness of ones female partner. Sans condom, a man’s penis is capable of dislodging 91 percent of any sperm already present in their chosen receptacle—before, of course, doing some depositing of their own. Heteronormatively speaking, if human females of old were all dutifully sitting at home making erotic cave paintings and not sleeping around on the sly, the boxer-action of human males would not be nearly so debo-

the more the merrier?

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Today’s Americans suffer from a curious blend of promiscuity and prudery: we are so open about our private lives that they become grounds for unjust public abuse.

reliable work ethic and unfulfilling conversation habits. Nowadays, though, to have an extramarital affair is to invite public shaming the likes of which an Old Testament God never could have dreamed. Celebrities, athletes, and, heaven forbid, politicians are constantly reamed for succumbing to the (admittedly heady) temptations of fame and daring to step outside of their relationship bounds. Judging by the orgiastic frenzy to which magazines like People are frequently stirred, non-monogamy is a cardinal sin, greater even than wearing leggings as pants or being gay below the waist. Yet, in every scandal, there lies a secret envy: a schadenfreude-rooted pleasure in seeing the wicked get their due. These public figures have succumbed to their biology and have been roundly punished, not only in their personal lives, but in the sphere of their careers as well. And it’s here that things begin to seem unjust. Yes, getting a blowjob in the Oval Office makes you seem a little desperate and a lot stupid, but it doesn’t diminish your effectiveness as president. Nor, for that matter, would any sexual habit, be it a history of cross-dressing in the Village or a fiercely persistent cornflakes kink, though these, too, would most likely be used as evidence for incompetency in the workplace. Today’s Americans suffer from a curious blend of promiscuity and prudery: we are so open about our private lives that they become grounds for unjust public abuse. When we witness celebrities behaving in, quite frankly, a human fashion, it reassures us because we know that we possess similar desires. In a deliciously Freudian fashion, though, we just as quickly feel the need to quash those desires, because we perceive them as sinful. The proposed solution? Orgies for everyone! Or not, perhaps, anything as potentially harmful as a protection-less multipartnered sex-a-thon, but certainly a relaxed attitude toward what is classified as “faithful.” The sooner we, as a society and as individuals, focus on communication and trust over chastity and forced secrecy, the sooner Entertainment Weekly will be forced to going back to talking about Adam Lambert’s miracle turkey-baster love child with Lady Gaga. And if non-monogamy becomes normal, there’ll be no need to go to special sites for “discretion.” And everybody, except perhaps the execs at AshleyMadison, will be happier for it.

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nair. Therefore, sleeping around is only natural. That doesn’t mean, however, that men and women who cheat on their partners aren’t douchebags. Social monogamy is an established facet of the natural world, its purpose is usually more effective child-rearing. For better or for worse, American culture has established itself as equating social fidelity with physical fidelity. Those who play by the rules, at least outwardly, must therefore reap the consequences when they break them. Biology may give you a pass for speculatively checking out your Econ TA’s nice ass, but it doesn’t mean you can cheat on your girlfriend with her. Unless, of course, your girlfriend is into that. And therein lies the rub (no pun intended). Perhaps if Americans placed less stock on monogamy in general, or held social fidelity obviously separate and apart from physical infidelity, stories like former New York State Governor Eliot Spitzer’s sexcapades would not be the public scandals that they have become. Cheating on one’s spouse once or twice may signify a lack of judgment or respect for social rules but, frankly, it does not necessarily make one a bad husband or wife. There is more to an established relationship than sex, as any fuck-buddies can tell you—a roving eye doesn’t automatically have to connote an un-

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LIFE

after

DEATH

art by CAT SCHRAGE

O N

facebook

KRISTIN MAKI

ear Students,” the e-mail read, “I regret to inform you that [one of your classmates] has been involved in a fatal accident.” Everyone in the room quieted down so the rest of the message could be read out loud. Within minutes we were on Facebook, trying to see if any one of us knew her. None of us did, but we all had mutual friends and had seen her around campus. We felt connected as we scanned through the tagged pictures of her that were taken at the same places we frequented. Through Facebook, we were able to see her as an individual, living life’s ups and downs, much like ourselves—it was quite a contrast to the university’s press release and the newspaper’s formal obituary that followed. Facebook’s wealth of information and the access that it provides friends of friends of friends of friends has certainly changed our lives today—but how has it changed our experience of death? There are hundreds of groups on Facebook whose names are “Please Pray For…” or “Help _____ Get Better!” Within days,

these groups can morph from messages of encouragement to memorials, commemorating a lost friend’s life, with several hundred other groups titled “In Loving Memory of…” Even without knowing the ill or deceased, browsing through these groups is heartbreaking. The “wall” is a Facebook feature that allows different users to leave personal comments on other Facebook pages and the walls of these groups are always covered in messages of encouragement for the family and close friends, reminiscences of good times, and offers of hope. Most of the messages written on walls for these groups are simple: “R.I.P.” or “Thinking of you.” Sometimes, though, they show the profound emotion that people are willing to share publicly on the Internet and say things like “I didn’t get to tell you, but I love you, always and forever.” These Facebook pages become an interactive memorial for friends and family members. They can also be a hunting ground for members of the media looking for fresh information about a young person’s death. In an article written for the Society of

life after death on facebook content also begs a number of ethical questions about privacy and the constant reminders of a lost friend (such as the notification of an upcoming birthday) long after they have passed away. Facebook also preserves memories and pictures that present the deceased in a less-than-flattering light, which families may want to be forgotten. Few people probably take into account how their list of “25 things about me,” would complement an obituary. In order to address these concerns, Facebook has given family members the option to request that an account be “memorialized.” In order to do this, the family must fill out a form and verify that they are related to the individual. According to Facebook, “memorializing the account removes certain more sensitive information like status updates and restricts profile access to confirmed friends only.” This allows friends and family members of the deceased to keep the Facebook page as a place where they can mourn their loss, but also helps protect the deceased’s privacy by not allowing his or her profile to be found in Internet searches. If requested, Facebook also says, “We do honor requests from close family members to close the account completely.” Morbid as it is, in the course of our education (and lives), we are all likely to experience the loss of a classmate or a fellow student. In the case of my classmate, I was among a group of friends who all simultaneously thought to check out her profile upon hearing the news. Even though we didn’t know her personally, we still, posthumously, found a way to know her a bit and learn about her experiences, her friends, and her life. Seeing her profile was more interactive, informative, and saddening than any obituary I have ever read. Much like it has changed social experiences, Facebook (and other social media) has also changed how we grieve for—and connect with—a life that has passed.

Professional Journalists, one reporter recounts her use of Facebook during the Virginia Tech massacre. Through social media, she and other journalists were able to contact victims’ friends and other students. This gave them access to information that would have otherwise been much more difficult to gain and quick contact with firsthand sources. This was one of the first big news stories where mass media largely relied on social media and citizen journalists. Online grieving may very likely be a positive thing. According to Cornell’s counseling services director, Dr. Greg Eells, “Facebook can be a very helpful way to connect people with one another who are mourning the same loss. The best way for any of us to heal from a loss is to connect socially with one another.” Facebook lets friends and (sometimes) outsiders who are grieving see a very personal side of someone’s life. But the site’s

watch & listen

COLLEGE SHOWS AND MOVIES: A RETROSPECTIVE

art by ZAC KINKADE

People get it wrong.

DAVID BEREZIN

ike the economy, movies about college have fallen on pretty rough times these days. Sure, you’ve got decent flicks like Old School or Van Wilder, but for each of those films come about a thousand straight-to-DVD knockoffs, movies I’d like to call the Keystone Lights of college cinema—cheap, crappy, and there are lots of ‘em. They might have “American Pie” or “National Lampoon’s” somewhere in their titles, but don’t let that fool you; they have none of the comedy and few, if any, of the actors that made their forerunners so memorable. But why have quality humor in a movie when you can shove in the sex and scatological comedy that an unrated label can afford? Much of the “humor” in American Pie Presents Beta House comes from things or people being pissed on, puked on and ejaculated on—not to mention a scene where a guy unloads a cartridge of horse semen into his mouth. In Van Wilder: Freshman Year, military students rub feces on their faces, while a dog with giant balls licks peanut butter off the dean’s erect member. Yes,

gross humor is funny from time to time, but if it’s done too much or taken too far, it loses the humor and just becomes gross. While these college movies push the envelope too far, college TV shows can’t go far enough. To quote Judd Apatow, whose own college show, Undeclared, only lasted for one season, “It’s difficult to be honest about campus life on network or basic cable…The truth is, kids are high, drunk and having sex. No matter what you do, you’re fudging it.” As openly as the TV show Greek tries to depict subjects like sex and underage drinking, it can only go so far because it’s on ABC Family (whereas some of your college exploits would only be appropriate on late-night Cinemax). Delta House, the short-lived TV version of Animal House, also suffered from censorship; even the wildest frat guys can only be so rambunctious when they’re on network television. So I guess that’s why one of the longest-running college shows to date, A Different World, has also been one of the tamest—because you

college shows and movies can guarantee that no one’s going to get high, drunk, or fucked on a spin-off of The Cosby Show (except maybe if there’s JELL-O pudding involved). But, to be fair, it’s not as though high school shows are the most realistic either. Look at Saved by the Bell. Not only does the main character have the superhuman ability to freeze time, but what high school have you ever been to where the school jock sits at the same table as the class nerd and the neo-feminist is best friends with the hot cheerleader? Still, high school TV shows have a much better track record—that is, until they shift to college. As awesome as Saved by the Bell was, who can forget the swift cancellation that befell its successor, Saved by the Bell: The College Years? And many archetypal high school shows, like Beverly Hills, 90210, Dawson’s Creek and Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, have all jumped the shark after their characters went on to higher learning (One Tree Hill jumped past its college years altogether). This could be because TV has two types of high schools, both featuring students that cannot be interesting characters in college—ones full of goody-two-shoes and those that are dirty as fuck. With the dirty shows, like The O.C. and Gossip Girl, you’ve got characters who’ve already done so much shit in high school that you have to wonder how bad college could even be. But at the same time, you don’t want to see sweet Sabrina Spellman doing tequila shots off a frat brother’s beer gut or kind little Screech smoking crack in the dean’s office (look at the underwhelming number of people who bought his sex tape). So college is either too bad or it’s not bad enough. But if college underperforms in both TV and film, why is there still a market for it? Well, we’ll all be done with college after four years (hopefully), and all we’ll have left of it are our memories, many of which have been erased from countless nights of binging on alcohol and other substances. If we can’t remember ourselves getting hammered, the next best thing we can do is see characters on-screen making drunken asses of themselves and then thinking, as Steve Urkel would, “Did I do that?” Just as the 30-something protagonists of Old School establish a fraternity to relive college, we relive those years by watching movies about college. But those flicks don’t just appeal to our nostalgia for our own past; they appeal to our nostalgia for past films. American Pie Presents Beta House ends with a compe-

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tition between fraternities in the vein of Revenge of the Nerds, only this time the nerds are the villains and the stereotypical frat guys are the heroes. Van Wilder: Freshman Year has its hero getting serviced during his graduation speech, harkening back to scenes in Police Academy where unsuspecting officers receive blowjobs from behind the podium. And whenever there are frat guys partying in togas, it’s more likely a reference to Animal House than to ancient Rome. But something that sets Animal House apart from its imitators is its sense of rebellion. Set in the early 60s, Animal House addressed the burgeoning counterculture that was emerging from the square, ultra-conformist 1950s. Back then, booze and drugs weren’t accepted with the ease that they are today. So in that movie, they had significance other than, “Hey, let’s get wasted and do dumb shit because we are privileged children without responsibilities!” Another rebellious act in Animal House is when the white protagonists party to black singer Otis Day’s song “Shout.” Against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, this scene is quite powerful. Raging against the establishment is a hallmark of classic college movies. The bad guys are usually stuck-up professors or deans, snobby elitist fraternities, or hollering ROTC drill sergeants, while the protagonists are the little guys—the nerds, the freaks—or the one popular guy who chooses to stick up for them. Such movies tend to end with the triumphant David toppling the massive Goliath, like the parade that Delta House crashes in Animal House or the competition that the geeks win in Revenge of the Nerds. (In an interesting turn, the recent flick, Accepted, features students rebelling against college itself by creating their own university.) Sticking it to the Man is something that anyone can identify with. Sure, it works especially well for colleges, with their histories of student protests and their lack of parental presence. But rebellion doesn’t escape the minds of those who’ve graduated and joined the real world. They might not have to submit to faculty and administrators, but they still have to deal with bosses, IRS agents and nagging spouses. So even when people aren’t in college themselves, they still empathize with the undergrad heroes of college films. But, sadly, even rebellion can lose its edge. Pot and underage drinking might still be illegal, but repeating those transgressions in film after film makes them seem commonplace. The rebels, ironically, become the students who don’t drink or do drugs and who choose to spend their college years sober (and studying). Perhaps focusing on those students having to adjust to an alcohol- and drug-filled environment would make a college movie worthy enough to actually be shown in theaters. And when it is released on DVD, I hope I can stay sober enough to watch it.

TV has two types of high schools, both featuring students that cannot be interesting characters in college— ones full of goody-two-shoes and those that are dirty as fuck.

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watch & listen

n a i l Ita art by LAIYEE HO

-dubbed

Don’t have a vacca, man!

sat down with my Italian host family to watch something on TV, expecting some type of soap opera or game show to come on (although I now realize that sounds more like I was expecting Telemundo). Instead, the first program we watched in Italy was Family Guy, or as they call it here, I Griffin. It’s amazing how many shows are imported to Italy from America and simply dubbed into Italian. I’ve been watching shows such as I Simpson and Desperate Housewives, among others, since my first week here. The only problem: I absolutely hate dubbing, especially since the Italian voices almost strive to sound terrible. The kids in South Park sound like adults, and any

JAMES FAIRBROTHER form of a southern or New York accent from any show is entirely lost in translation. Additionally, Italian audiences seem to think that moderately-ranged voices are the devil, and therefore use exceedingly high-pitched or low-pitched tones. To be fair, some voices seem decent. George Clooney sounds pretty good, but all the big actors get one recognizable voice actor to do their parts. Doing voiceovers for Italian television is apparently a legitimate career here. The cherry on top of this colossal culture clash is the fact that Italians think the real American voices sound ridiculous. You know—ridiculous enough to replace them, but not ridiculous enough for Italians to make their own damn shows.

wiz kids MARIANA GARCES

Infiltrating the Wizard Rock scene... wand in tow.

art by CAT SCHRAGE photos by MARIANA GARCES

he Middle East Club on Mass Avenue in Cambridge is a small venue known for hosting big and small local artists alike. On a regular basis, throngs of hipsters wait impatiently for the doors to open. They lean against the eclectic mural that separates the downstairs part of the club from the restaurant. Once inside, the not-quite 21-year-olds stick out their hands, palms down, while the ticket takers roughly mark them with large black X’s. Perhaps everyone at Yule Ball should have had X’s on their hands that night; even the thirty-somethings dancing embarrassingly by the small bar next to the stage were transported into their giddy preteens by tunes like “Save Ginny Weasley” and “My Dad is Rich.” The Yule Ball is known as the formal dance held on the evening of Christmas at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. The concert borrows the name from the series because it featured numerous Potter-themed bands and was held only days before Christmas. The stage was tricked out in gaudy Christmas décor and copious amounts of silver tinsel. Paul and Joe DeGeorge, the founding fathers of “Wrock” (or Wizard Rock) casually walked around in suits and ties welcoming fans while the other bands sold merchandise by the entrance. My friend Hannah and I drove there at the last minute to meet my friend Brennin. Self-proclaimed super fans, Brennin and her friends came equipped with Gryffindor scarves, wands and knowledge of all the classics of Wizard Rock. They drove up from Pennsylvania just to see the Yule Ball, a contrast to my friend and I, who thought we had had a rough hour-long ride Joe DeGeorge through the blizzard from New Hampshire. Though at the Yule Ball I anticipated the event to be as good as any concert at the Middle East Club, I had no knowledge of the songs, bands, in small indie bands. After Harry and the Potters formed, similarly themed bands started popping up across the nation with lyrics, or the extent of the fandom. For the uninformed, Harry and the Potters, the original Har- songs about the troubles a wizard has to face getting through ry Potter tribute band, consists of brothers Paul DeGeorge, 30, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A simple search on and Joe DeGeorge, 22, who both dress like Harry Potter onstage MySpace yields hundreds of middle and high school-level Wiz(seventh-year Harry and fourth-year Harry, respectively). They ard garage bands. Taking in the scene, it’s clear that fans enjoy the live shows are from Massachusetts, where both brothers toured locally

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Super fans came equipped with Gryffindor scarves, wands, and knowledge of all the classics of Wizard Rock.

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watch & listen

Paul DeGeorge of Harry and the Potters

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and conventions not only for the music, but also for the chance to dress up as the main characters, villains, and even, occasionally, an owl or Snitch (the elusive ball used in Quidditch, the official sport of Hogwarts). Kids and adults alike often dress in ways that demonstrate their solidarity with a particular Hogwarts house. Wizard Rock, then, is providing our generation with a new way to stand out and sound off. The reason people of all ages, classes, and races identify with the books and music, it seems, is thanks to the series’ age-old themes: the battle of good versus evil and of friendship conquering all obstacles. Readers love and continue to seek out Harry Potter because he is the perfect combination of reliability, realism, and magic. As if being a wizard of destiny wasn’t hard enough (Hey, see that lightning bolt scar you’ve got, kid? You’re the chosen one!), there are songs about Harry’s love woes, friendships, and foes. One popular Whomping Willows song, appropriately titled “Draco and Harry Secretly Want to Make Out,” has the chorus “Draco and Harry sitting in a tree S-N-O-G-G-I-N-G,” lyrics that make the inner Harry Potter junior high fangirl more than a bit jealous. But perhaps the best anthem for the entire genre is in the battle cry “The

Wizard Rock is providing our generation with a new way to stand out and sound off.

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Weapon,” a song about fighting the evil Lord Voldemort, in which Harry and the Potters sing, “The one thing we’ve got is enough to save us all…the weapon we have is love.” The Fifth Annual Yule Ball on December 20, 2009 featured Harry and the Potters, Draco and the Malfoys, Jason Anderson and 57th Street, MC Kreacher, The Whomping Willows and Lauren Fairweather of the Moaning Myrtles— some of the biggest, most respected, and serious bands in the genre. Every set was better than the next, and when Harry and the Potters came on stage the energy and music made us forget we were all just nonmagical Muggles. Throwing fists of Christmas tinsel onto fans as they sang, pounding on the keyboard, dancing into the crowd, and even pausing at one point for a costume change, the brothers DeGeorge demonstrated complete mastery of the art of Wizard Rock. They manage to balance having fun with making enough money from their music to continue touring. A desire to keep the music and performers accessible and open to all ages is a distinguishing trait of the genre. After the concert, the bands mingled and took Joe DeGeorge pictures with fans. Part of the proceeds at the Yule Ball from ticket sales went to The Harry Potter Alliance, an activist group that, according to their website, takes “parallel from the Harry Potter books to educate and mobilize over 100,000 young people across the world on issues of social justice and personal empowerment.” The Alliance recently celebrated raising $120,000 for their Helping Haiti Heal campaign. The money was used to charter three

Wiz Kids cargo planes (appropriately named Harry, Ron, and Hermione) full of critical supplies to Haiti in coalition with the non-profit healthcare organization, Partners in Health. The thing about the Wizard Rock community is that once you find one member you start to see them everywhere. Quickly, you’ll learn that they quietly permeate every corner of society. For example, the creator, co-founder, and Executive Director of the Harry Potter Alliance is Andrew Slack, a former comedian who is currently an active Huffington Post blogger. In fact, a prominent leader of the Wizard Rock community and self-proclaimed fan, Lena Gabrielle Weinstein is a junior at Ithaca College. Lena is a Music Theory and Piano Performance major. A member of the IC a capella group Voicestream, she also writes original Harry Potter music under the name, “The Butterbeer Experience.” Ever since Lena performed her song “Alone” at Prophecy (a Harry Potter convention) in 2007, she has been dedicated to Wizard Rock and the fan community. Lena is extremely friendly and open to making music in whatever ways she can. Her friends and fans recognize her by her many different, colorful hats and the pink musical note tattoo over her heart. She also has a small lightning bolt tattoo on her foot and a phoenix on her right

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shoulder—both symbols of her connection to the Harry Potter community and the friendships she has made. I was lucky to get a chance to talk to Lena about her role in Wizard Rock since she is constantly shuttling between schoolwork, shows, and writing songs for her next Harry Potter musical, “The Final Battle.” Lena plans to unveil her musical this July in Orlando, Florida at the Potter themed convention, Infinitus. The musical is longer than her last work, a rock opera titled “Fair Fortune,” that many fans are familiar with. Yet the musical will be much more serious than the cult favorite, “A Very Potter Musical.” “The Final Battle” includes dialogue from the last book and alloriginal songs by Lena. An orchestra of fifteen and a cast of fortyfive will perform the musical. Infinitus is a milestone for fans, as it will take place near the brand new The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios, a park that markets itself as the culmination of Rowling’s vision and expects to draw fans from all over the globe. Besides her musicals, Lena also has three Butterbeer Experience albums available on iTunes (not to mention the many compilations that feature her songs), and original non-Potter music. She plans on writing film scores or musicals upon graduation, because she doesn’t consider Wizard Rock a full-time career. For Lena, as for many others, Wizard Rock provides an escape from the harsh world of the mainstream music industry. She considers this the beginning of the end of Wizard Rock, since the genre will likely lose popularity as the movies come to an end next summer, but is glad to have been involved. From the start of the craze at conventions, to selling her original Harry Potter music out of her home, Lena has seen all that the great the Wizard Rock community is capable of. She proudly tells me how much the HPA raised for Haiti, and it becomes obvious to me that this “craze” has actually touched many people’s lives deeper than I thought possible. Lena recovered from throat surgery earlier this year and still enthusiastically plans to tour this summer. After the Yule Ball concert that night in December, we walked around Cambridge looking like a couple of lost wizardsin-training who were breaking the Hogwarts curfew. But the beats and riffs of the night still jostled around in our heads noisily as we trekked through unplowed sidewalks to find a Greek pizza place, open specifically for our kind. We had all properly kicked off the beginning of our first winter break in college; we basked in this joy, taking our time as we shared cheap, cheesy pizza and picked silver tinsel out of each other’s hair. I decided to leave a single strand of silver tinsel that had woven itself into my gray wool cardigan, so that I would never forget how good triumphed over evil that night. Because, after all, amidst the glow of prematurely lit Santas and magically scarred men, we had saved each other from the eminent doom of fast-approaching adulthood.

... it becomes obvious to me that this ‘craze’ has actually touched many people’s lives deeper than I thought possible.

Lena Gabrielle Weinstein

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watch & listen art by CHARLES WANG

Tan Gym, & Laundry A slice of the Guido life

SUBASHINY GENGATHARAN

ith blood-racing house music flooding the background, guidos surround each other, shaking their hands in the air. In the midst of it all, Pauly D, a cast member of the Jersey Shore, remarks, “We’re beating up the beat. That’s what we say when we’re doing our fist pump. First, we start off banging the ground. We’re banging it as the beat builds ‘cuz that beat’s hittin’ us so we’re fighting back. It’s like we beat up that beat.”

Guido: 1. A gym-going, bed-tanning, hair-gelling, fist-pumping, clubbing, sexing persona, usually, but not always, of Italian-American descent, living in the Tri-State area, as in, “If you’re not a guido then you can get the fuck outta my face!” 2. More accurately but less importantly, the first person, singular, present, active, indicative, conjugation of the Italian verb guidare, meaning to drive, as in “io guido la mia macchina quando il cavallo di il mio fratellino balla con gli stivalli che hanno amato la tua spalla.”*

After Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino seduced ladies with his situational abdominals and Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi aroused gentlemen with her generous affections and stately poof on MTV’s stroke of exploitative genius, Jersey Shore, the term—guido—is bringing sexy back. Interestingly, the slang term “guido,” originated from an insult that Italian-Americans used to describe immigrants in the early 20th century. Around the 1970s and 1980s this phrase flipped a coin and now refers to Italian-Americans themselves, and is closely linked to the popular images of Italian-Americans over the last 30 years. It all started in 1972, when The Godfather, brought the story of the crime-ridden lives of some Italian-Americans into the popular consciousness. Guido became a term used to identify Italian-Americans involved with the mafia. Big pinky rings with a side of carnage? Hells, yes. Two years later, “the Fonz” became the new stereotypical Italian-American, and thus, the new guido. The Fonz had a leather jacket and an obsession with impeccably groomed hair. In The Middle Of Nowhere, Wisconsin, he was a burst of sunshine. Then, with the advent of reality TV shows like True Life, Growing Up Gotti and Jersey Shore, the image of Italian-Americans most available to the public became that of young men and women hormones a raging, with their plucked

Gym, Tan & Laundry eyebrows and plucked morals to boot. Yes, today the guido typically self-idolizes his lifestyle. As Jersey Shore housemate, Sammi “Sweetheart” Giancola, said, “A guidette is someone who knows how to club it up, takes really good care of themselves, has really pretty hair, cakes on makeup, has tan skin [and] wears the hottest heels.” They’re just having fun, you know? The allure of such self-confident charac... ters explains the show’s enornormous viewership. It’s all about the attitude. Sure, the tanning-bed-toasted, terry-cloth-track-suited, bling-decked Guido usually works in retail or telemarketing. Do not let these negligible careers deter you, however. They mean nothing to the Guido. They are merely a - Linda means to the Guido’s true raison d’être—clubbing. Regardless of whether it is Karma, Opera, or Dazzle, the club is the Guido’s natural habitat. It is here that he may fist pump, battle to house music, and pick up women to his heart’s content. Here, the Guido is in his element. Some Italian-Americans, such as Linda Stasi, of The New York Post, aren’t happy about the Guidos’ primetime appearance. Stasi says that, “Italian-Americans are stereotyped into degrading

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and debasing themselves—and, by extension, all Italian-Americans—and furthering the popular TV notion that Italian-Americans are gel-haired, thuggish, ignoramuses with fake tans, no manners, no diction, no taste, no education, no sexual discretion, no hairdressers (for sure), no real knowledge of Italian culture and no ambition beyond expanding steroid-and siliconeenhanced bodies into sizes best suited for floating over Macy’s on Thanksgiving.” And yet, what is a reality for the archetypal guidos, work, club, drink, fist pump and hook up, is only a dream for the rest of us. They live their lives in a whirlwind of sex, drugs and natural human instincts. Students at Cornell are always scrambling to study for the latest prelim and dressing in Stasi thick, furry jackets to keep the cold from raping their bodies. We look forward to the few, precious weekends when we can party at frats in skimpy clothing, drink our body weight in beer and hook up with that hottie in section. Guidos represent everything we wish we could be. So guys, get tanning beds installed in your homes while us ladies get our Snooki poofs on. Starting now, we’re going to fist pump ‘til dawn.

the popular TV notion [is] that Italian-Americans are gel-haired, thuggish, ignoramuses with fake tans, no manners, no diction, no taste, no education, no sexual discretion...

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art by CHARLES WANG * I drive my car while my little brother’s horse dances with the boots that loved your shoulder.

Fiction & poetry

Fiction & Poetry I’ve always been told that good art speaks for itself, so I’ll be brief. This issue’s selection of fiction and poetry is nothing short of enriching. Each work carries with it nothing more than the most essential and beautiful aspect of art: a seed of truth—sometimes tragic, sometimes delightful, but always grippingly real. These pieces make no excuses and pull no punches. - ADI POTASHNICK (fiction and poetry editor)

Finding Shoes

HANNAH REYNOLDS art by ANDREW SCHWARTZ

he dark circle on the bandage was darkening, expanding, saturating the small white square with blood from my leg. I watched the stain spread, unexpectedly mesmerized. Underneath that bandage was my life force, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much would bleed out if I took the bandage off. I was unwrapping another band-aid to add to the mess when my door swung open. I snatched my leg close to me to avoid being hit, burning my heel as I scraped it across the carpet. “God, Art, did knocking go out of style? You could have killed me.” My younger brother hunched his shoulders as he entered my room, and leaned against my door as he closed it. “What’s that?” he asked quietly, nodding at my leg, his hair flopping over his eyes. I swallowed the urge to tell him to get it cut. Mom used to say that. “Nothing,” I told him, looking down at the bandage and quickly tacking the second one on. “I cut myself shaving, that’s all.” “It’s bloody.” “No shit, Sherlock. That’s what happens when you cut yourself.” His face drained, making his freckles stand out even more than usual. “I know that.” “I know you know that,” I snapped back, feeling guilty. I busied myself tossing the scraps that had wrapped both bandaids in my trash, and cutting off extra tape to hold them on. The bandage looked bulky and ugly in comparison to my straight black skirt and serious sweater. I imagined people staring at it, wondering what I had done to myself, like my brother wondered. How ridiculous, I thought bitterly. As though it was anything more than a shaving nick. Still, I had it bleed longer than I should have. It hadn’t hurt like I would have thought a cut would. And there was something about watching slick, red blood against pale skin . . . I shivered. Art was still leaning against my door. He had that look on his face, the one that told me he wanted to say something,

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but didn’t know how to, or was afraid of how his words would be received. I hated that about him, hated that he was so unsure of everything. I didn’t have the patience to wait for him to figure out what he was saying. Dad did, but Dad wasn’t home very often anymore. I wished he was. If Dad were here, I wouldn’t have to be the adult. I wouldn’t be the one Art kept coming to with his stupid, painful words. But Dad had already gone. He needed a private goodbye, he told me. As though he actually thought he was more affected than Art and I. “What is it?” I finally asked, slipping my feet into shoes tying the bow firmly. I glanced up at Art to see him sucking on his pinky. “Take that out of your mouth,” I ordered. He drew it out and stared at me like I had hit him. “You’re not Mom. You can’t tell me to do anything.” His voice wavered in his attempt at defiance. “Fine,” I snipped, turning to my mirror and drawing my hair back in a severe knot, carefully combing my bangs across my forehead. “You’ll probably suck your nail off and choke on it.” I started to put on my jewelry. “What did it feel like?” So that was what he’d been trying to cough out. “What did what feel like?” “Cutting yourself.” I stabbed my ear with the post of my earring and winced. “Art!” I scolded, turning on him. “I wasn’t cutting myself. It was just a nick.” His lower lip wobbled. “A big one. You left blood in the bathtub.” My hands felt cold, and I quickly crossed my room to give Art a tight hug. His small frame tensed and stood stiffly between my arms. It hurt that at only ten years old he already thought he had to stop being sensitive, that he couldn’t hug his sister. “Hey,” I said, raising his head so he was looking right at me. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about me, okay? It was barely anything.” He nodded, his brown eyes wide and sad and older than they should have been. I worried about him. He’d never had a lot of friends, or been that social, but in the last two weeks he’d fallen into a silence unlike anything I’d seen, and even I could tell it wasn’t healthy. “Come on,” I said, slinging my purse over my shoulder. “You ready to go?” “I can’t find my shoes.” I swallowed my exasperation. “Where did you leave them?” He scowled at me. “I don’t know! If I knew, I wouldn’t need you to find them.” “Right. Okay, I’ll find them.” They were still in the box, tucked underneath his bed. I drew out the shiny black dress pair, cut the plastic that connected them, and pulled out the tissue paper that stuffed them. “Here,” I said, handing the shoes to him. “Let’s go.” I opened the door and took the one step that brought me from our dark, claustrophobic house into the bright light of spring. The wind brushing across my skin was refreshing, the birds stilted, jarring song more rejuvenating then any music I could pull off my iPod. For a moment, I almost felt alive again. Art paused right inside the door, darkened by the hallway’s shadow. “Will Dad be there?” he asked. “Of course,” I said, frowning at him. What a thing to ask. “Why isn’t he here with us?” “Because he’s Dad,” I answered, frustrated with both of them, with Art for asking questions and Dad for making me answer them. “He wanted to get there early.” “He should be with us.” “Yes, he should,” I agreed, my voice soft now. I felt sorry for my brother, having to deal with my rapid mood swings and my father’s depression. But then again, I felt bad for myself as well. I felt bad for all of us. “Nat?” His voice trembled on my name. He was still inside, clutching the doorframe. I worried he’d get a splinter. “I don’t want to go.” I closed my eyes. “I know, Art. Me neither.” “Can we stay here?” I shook my head. “You know we can’t.” “Everyone’s going to be looking at us.” “Yes. They will be.” “What if we start crying? They’ll see us crying.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat, and found my neck was stiffer and it had become harder to breathe. “We should go, Art. We can’t be late.” My little brother’s lip was wobbling again, and he was staring at me with his intense dark eyes. “I hate this. Mom wouldn’t have liked it.” “I know. I hate it, too.” He sighed, and his head dropped. When he raised it, he had straightened his shoulders and looked like a miniature man, all done up in a boy-sized suit. My finger itched to straighten his hair, but I didn’t quite dare. Mom was the only one who’d been allowed to touch it, now that he was in double digits. “Buckle your seat belt,” I reminded him as we climbed into the car. “I know. I’m not an idiot.” But you’re still a child, I thought, as I turned the key in the ignition. And so am I.

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Fiction & poetry

Sex

&Living

SAMUEL SVEEN

art by ANDREW SCHWARTZ

It’s just better to sit down to put on your shoes; John gave in the other day. Also Oreos, a new watch and peeing in the shower are things he gave in to on other days. NPR said Brazilian and French adverts encourage peeing in the shower because it saves a flush. So, duh. His sunny terrace and avocado sandwiches are on loan from Dad but he can’t really see himself paying it back, like when he got his guitar, or when he went to college. He’s taking a ‘gap year’—or years—and waiting to hear back from a couple surf shops for a job. And he’s been seeing a new girl, Ally. She loves to streak but something’s wrong with her laugh. They met drunk and kept it that way for a while. The attraction is mostly physical, but there’s something nice about John, and she’s climbing the ladder at Google. Saturday in the park they had that Chicago song stuck in their heads (though the men selling ice cream weren’t Italian, or they weren’t singing Italian songs anyway). Someone like Blondie or Depeche Mode was playing a free concert that John just couldn’t pass up, and they danced their pants off. After fucking they would have intimate conversations, naked and comfortable. Families, favorites, life stories and goals, insecurities, relationships, sex, one-night-stands. How many one-night-stands? Too few is loser, too many is whore. “What—” said John, “are we really doing this? …Fine… Four. Or maybe five. Or, maybe seven. Uhh… Five. Five and a half. Mm yeah, five and a half I think.” “Oh, really—five and a half?” “Yeah, I mean, they’re blurry sometimes… you know. Well, anyway, what about you?” She waited. “Two.” “Really. …Really? Huh, not that I thought you were a slut or anything but I just figured you were liberal and crazy like that.” She took no offense. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a couple boyfriends that took up some time, too.”

Other discussions: “How should I shave?” “What’s the coolest place you’ve been?”

“You’re an Atheist, right?” “Do you have a record player?”

This morning John asked, “What do you do to get that feeling, where all you can think about is exactly what you’re doing and nothing else? Like when you’re super focused and passionate and everything.” “Hmm, let me think… well, taking a test I gue—” “No, like surfing or mountain biking, or playing music. Or sex or whatever.” “I guess probably tennis. And reading, and swimming. And… Legos.” “Oh, nice one! Huh.” Snuggle. Then John pulled back to take a breath like he was going to say something, but then he didn’t, but then he did. “What about other stuff though—like… like…” He thought he might be going in over his head. But he had started it, so he’d finish it; that was something he’d been working on. “Well like, when my cousin died I didn’t cry. But it’s not like I saw her everyday or like she’d really be something I’d miss in my life. Which made me feel even weirder that I didn’t feel that weird. But death is like something that’s just really like, real and there and just, real, you know like something that’s really epic and passionate and real, where you should feel really real and in the moment, you know, like, like super surfing or something. But,” his commas were long, “I mean, I can’t really take anything seriously. And it’s weird, and it kind of sucks.” She rubbed his back, and thought, and kissed his cheek. “When my grandma died, I did cry. She wasn’t in my life that much either, but I cried because I loved her.” “Yeah but, well… I guess love is weird then. Sure I loved my cousin but it was just that she wasn’t really a part of my life, so I wouldn’t really miss her, you know?” “Everyone else cried; I cried. It was the natural thing to do, I guess.” “Yeah but did you feel like crying? Your grandma lived in Austria and you’ve seen her twice.” She began to cry. John put his arm around her, waiting for her reply. “I guess I don’t really know… You’re right—she was…” “An idea. What difference would it make if she were really dead or alive? She’s halfway across the world—you’d never know! An idea! Life, an idea!” He shrugged his shoulders. “Philosophy? Meh, whatever.” She almost wanted to slap him. “Let’s go skydiving. I’ve never been skydiving—let’s go skydiving.” He lit a joint and they shared it. “Mm, I’m gonna go surfing now though,” and saying this, he jumped out of bed, put on some shorts, kissed her once more and left. John spends hours surfing. The saltwater is refreshing yet repetitious and familiar, repeating forever. He lies on the waves and thinks about life. He could travel the world, but he needs art by CAT SCHRAGE money. He could work for his dad, but that’s in Minnesota. He could try to get a real job, but that’d be a real job. He could marry rich; it’s always been in the middle of his mind. He cooks, he musics, he has good taste in design, he’s goodlooking—he must be a trophy husband. And then he could just keep surfing. But Ally isn’t really quite the girl of his dreams. She’s cute and fun of course, but just different from John. Which could be good, though. Example: in college John would sit across the table every other day from the same not-so-cute girls, and eventually they’d grow on him and become cute. The odd nose or that speech impediment would become the exact little quirk that was especially cute. And on rare occasion the newly-cute girls could even become cuter than some born-cute girls—it was almost like that saying that things are better when you have to work for them. Or maybe just good things come to those who wait. Ally will grow on him. By different, she’s a suburbanite. The kind that doesn’t know what kind of music to listen to or how to drive stick-shift. Growing up, her backyard was on hole 12 at a private country club with a low fence between the tee box and her pool

By different, she’s a suburbanite. The kind that doesn’t know what kind of music to listen to or how to drive stick-shift.

Fiction & poetry

”

chairs. She was brunette, and very good at tanning. In high school she flirted and poured drinks from the ClubCart, making awfully good tips from the men with cigars. They’d say, ‘You can call me Frank,’ and wink and pretend it was cool. Then she went to college and ended up at Google in San Fran. Her apartment has too much IKEA, bright scarves on the wall, a cat, and lots of fruit and vodka. She decided against a TV in favor of creativity, and writes mediocre songs on her keyboard if she’s not out with friends or on FreeRice.com. Cooking is a pain—food in pill form would be ideal—luckily, Google provides most meals. Their headquarters are very lovely in San Francisco, but she’s worried she’ll miss the four seasons. It’s nice to have a boyfriend, especially when you’re new in town. John’s taken her to some hip bars and cool beaches that she never would have found on her own. He’s also introduced her to some friends outside of Google—not that she’d have trouble meeting people, but still, it just helps to have someone help. She’s pretty sure that John is definitely a ‘nice guy.’ But he oscillates between being either very insensitive or way too feely. He’ll talk about adventure and death, then feelings about relationships and commitment, then science, and then adventure again, or his favorite sandwich. It’s tough to say if that’s just a ‘guy thing’ or if he really can’t deal with certain emotions or understand empathy. He hasn’t had many long-term relationships and he mentions his mother more than the average 23-year-old male. So Ally’s not sure exactly what he’s up to, just bumming around California, meeting women like her on his family’s money. But when they had ‘the talk,’ a while ago, they left it open: if things get serious, great; and if not, that’s fine too. For now, Ally is content with a friend and sex.

Henrik seems like the type that reads GQ—in a tall, manly, five o’clock shadow sort of way.

”

One day while John was waiting for the next set of waves to roll in, he chatted with his buddy Zach, a real pro surfer. “Hey, you should come out tonight, dude,” said John. “I never see you around much.” “Yeah I don’t really go out. I usually get up early and head up north in the mornings to catch some nar nar before work. I’ve never taken you, but the early waves there, at like 5 in the morning, are fucking sick.” “Oh, nice.” “Yeah bro.” “You think I could handle ‘em?” “Uh, probably not, dude. You’d just get pounded. They’re pretty big and nasty. I took out Alex the other day and he just got hammered the whole time and could barely even paddle out.” “Oh, bummer. Huh… well, let’s go somewhere cool sometime.” There was an awkward silence, though John doesn’t believe in awkward silences and Zach has never experienced one. Then John asked, “What about the ladies—gettin’ much action lately?” “Dude, I got a girlfriend, so I’m set. I’m surprised you’ve never met her. She’s out here almost as much as me.” “Oh cool. Yeah, I’ve never met her. Is she cute?” “Yeah bro, she’s fucking hot.” They smirked, and John said, “You would. …But so you don’t like going out at all, eh? Like, you should just come out for a couple drinks or something sometime.” “Yeah, maybe.” Zach—tan, muscular, cool, livin’ the dream—is set with one girl. It’s surprising to John—to John, commitment is a problem. Commitment is serious, which is a problem. Commitment is a serious problem.

Meanwhile, Ally talked with Henrik at Google. Henrik seems like the type that reads GQ—in a tall, manly, five o’clock shadow sort of way. “Hey Henrik, how often would you say you bring up your mom on the average day?” “Huh?” chuckle, “I don’t know.” He made a funny pondering face, sticking out his chin, and continuing in his deep Swedish accent, “I think of her maybe once or twice, but I don’t say much. Why?” “Oh, just wondering. This guy I’ve been seeing is always talking about cooking techniques, or antiques, or other stuff he did with his mom. Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” “Mmm, maybe. But maybe he’s just real close with her. Maybe he has no dad, or brothers and sisters.” “Yeah I know I’ve thought of that, but he does have a full family. It’s like they’re too supportive or something, though. Like, we’re the same age, at the same point in our lives—fresh out of college and into the ‘real world.’ Shouldn’t we be limiting those ‘mother’ references by now down to like, one or two a day, like you?” Henrik, wise and drinking coffee, responded, “Well, I don’t know. I think a lot of my friends are still close with their parents. It’s nice to be close with your parents.”

Sex and Living “Yeah? Okay.” That night she asked Julia out to discuss John over martinis. Julia is one of her closest friends in San Francisco and knows John fairly well. She’s older and good with her cleavage. Ally began, “He’s either really sweet and sensitive, or just absentminded and, well, a jerk. I don’t get it—like, he understands emotion, but he can’t really… grasp it like he should. And the weird thing is that he kind of knows it. He knows he needs to grow up, but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Julia, am I dating an immature, self-centered asshole?” They both took a long sip before Julia replied, “Well… you could put it that way, but I think it might be a bit harsh. You might be the same age and everything, but some people just mature at different rates and under different circumstances. Like the mom thing—I think it’s kinda cute.” “That’s not really what I wanted to hear… like, it just feels like he’s on a totally different page than me sometimes. I mean, I know guys don’t go around giving each other big hugs or crying at the movies, but still, sometimes he’s just the most stoic boy I’ve ever dated but at the same time he’s the biggest puppy.” “Well, why don’t you talk to him about it? Try to get him to open up a little more and put him on the same page.” “Hmm. Yeah, but… well… I… you’re right. Thanks.” Julia swirled her glass, then drawing on experience, said frankly, “Or, you could be mean. Make sure he feels something. You know, leave him a weird note on his car, or act like something’s bothering you and don’t have sex until he opens up, or start blowing him and just leave.” John didn’t really deserve that sort of thing, but it might make him think a little, Ally thought. The next day John went to work—he got the spot at Dave’s Surf School. He’s looking forward to being an instructor, spreading the joy of catching a wave, but for now he’s stuck washing wetsuits and waxing boards. It’s pretty chill around the shop, though, and it’s nice to have some routine in his life again. Friday night, after a great late-summer day, Ally came over for scallops. They shared a joint out on the terrace, then John set to work chopping vegetables and such. Ally came up behind him and put her arms around him. “John, you’re kind of an asshole sometimes.” “Yeah? Oh… Well, sorry.” “You need to open up, and be more aware of what you’re doing.” She was being ambiguous. He knew. He turned around, careful with the knife in his hand. “Yeah, I know, I guess. But do we have to have this conversation right now?” “Well…” She grabbed a green bean, “before sex.” She bit into the bean with a mocking smile. But she was serious about what she said. “Here, let me cook; you talk.” He sighed, partly of relief, since sex was still coming. “Fine. What do you want me to talk about?” “Your mom. You know you talk about her too much, don’t you?” He did one of those laughs through his nose. “Well, maybe, I suppose. Whatever—I don’t care. She’s my mom. Don’t you like your mom? Just cut the one end off the beans.” “Yes, I love my mom, but I don’t talk to my girlfriend about her all the time!” “Well, I figured you’d think I was sensitive or whatever—girls like that, you know.” He was sarcastic, kind of. “Oh do we? So you’re not really sensitive?” “No, I’m sensitive. Here, let me cut the onion. I’m very specific about my onions. I make you romantic dinners, I help you decide what clothes to wear, I listen to you talk about your bad days.” “Yeah? …Well you also bring up death just to make me cry.” They looked at each other. John made several faces: caught-off-guard, sorry, thinking, sorry. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah.” “Well, I’m sorry. I told you I can’t take anything seriously.” He had an apologetic sort of smile on, then raised an eyebrow. “And anyway, your laugh is fake.” They argued for a few minutes about who was sensitive and who wasn’t, why John was an asshole and a loser and why she sucked too. The cooking went on for the most part, John interjecting corrections and starting the grill. They were also high, which made everything strange. Finally, they decided they’d work together to grow up somehow; they were both being immature. They were both young, and just trying to live. And they both needed sex. By the time the scallops came off the grill—which is only 6-7 minutes once they’re on—they poured another glass of chardonnay. Ally wiped off her running makeup, and they sat down to dinner. They would remain something more than friends. art by CAT SCHRAGE It was sunny and nice out on the terrace, and John proclaimed, “I love scallops.” He held up his glass to clink, and they ate in silence looking out over the city. The silence was comfortable, pleasant even. After they’d finished, Ally raised her eyebrow and wine. Let’s go streaking.

Fiction & poetry MICHELLE RADA art by MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

Slurs I know the flies on the wall The squalid, lingering things I know the slurs of our tongues: the warm-bellied truths, of those intimate tropes; language that breeds silence. I know the light that won’t bend but only cracks, through the glass of windows: pale, yellow, uncomfortable. I know the flies on the wall. The squalid, lingering things I know them all, the things they say: the dead do walk the earth, I heard we’ve been here for years.

BY MICHELLE RADA art by MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

Noise

A patchwork of distilled clouds, dispersed below the wreckage of some promising sun: a palate of hues, tormented by grayscale. Your ribs shattered like glass, grinded by a tremor of words, a spindle of language; such odd collaboration, you and your beast. So there you are, sprawled; draped red and supine. You left in a stupor of silence. This is what the clocks made of it: the noise of absence echoing stillness. Split open, your organs gave out under such caustic weight. Split open, the sky immersed you in a tickle of pale, yellow light. The pulse of your longing resonates still, somewhere within the eroding tissue: underground without ethereal notice. You are shifting between the ache of your body, crinkled tissue paper now; That slit in the sky, the tear crawling between clouds, unfurls your memory: an entire spectrum in Technicolor. Your silence unwinds, rewinds. Your words are a little less than words- consolatory to the inconsolable.

Fiction & poetry

The time of night when stoplights

flash

JOSHUA TURK

loose kaleidoscopic smoke pushed from lungs

careless like the clothes flung forming stacks our dicks hung like unfamiliar socks on a radiatorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge steam pressed

Long Island Tea, Vodka Tonics chemically contort dopamine receptors sending messages: Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re different. thud of new rhythm: off beat, out of tempo, practice.

art by ANDREW SCHWARTZ

skin stretched drum throbbing with the intensity of Cowboy boots cautiously awaiting a walk of shame avoidance of love.

Rice Paddies

(Tian Shui)

RONG MA

ven then you were unmistakable. Hair—wet from the rain, muddy from the field, —ripples across your forehead. You rake it right past your ear with skinny fingers, except back then it was longer and darker— you tried to keep it that way, too.

稻田

I know because we took you to the hospital in a city two hours away when the local one wouldn’t treat international students without health care. The skin on your scalp, like everything deeper, proved too sensitive for beauty products. Long days taught you lessons you never wanted, but insisted that I soak in, like finish school early in case Mao, or whomever, Bush maybe, closes them down and sends you to a countryside you had never even heard of to plant what you would never taste.

art by ANDREW SCHWARTZ

You know, I lost all my family.

A large family, you said? Your family

Huge! All!

So you, only

Genocide all Life, living without, Difficult. But I try

to move on?

To move. I greet those persons who killed my family.

In prison?

No, now free. Many where I am from. Some. They come I give them drinks, money for food. Yes, The others too because we Rwandese we have decided. Almost a million killed! But fifteen years ago. Yes, it demands my spirit. April twelfth still my one red day. They took twenty, to the forest.

and? Forgiveness? Drinks? You buy them drinks? So you believe in reconciliation?

Still,

A clearing?

Poppa, sister, children of my older brothers. I saw from an attic you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t imagine itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like that The days kept coming.

how small?

how long?

I watched Eleventh April to Eleventh July. Then I left that room. One must love everyone.

86 80

And do they apologize?

How big?

MEREDITH SHEPARD art by MEAGHAN McSORLEY

Interview with Potien

Fiction & poetry

I. We bend into triangles to open our hearts and sink our blades down our backs.

Twist through the pain, out the pain

The heat, one sighs, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to pedal through.

iew

BY M

ITH

PARD SHE

In the locker-room women discuss bicycling up mountains and cupcakes without wheat or fat.

The

our teacher with tattoos in Sanskrit on her hips whispers across the studio.

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worth it another answers, changing bras, for the view.

The only way out is through

our teacher chants and chimes the bowl for peace.

II.

art by LAURA VAN WINKLE

In Kigali, I interview women at the sewing cooperative Madonna sent money to for yoga.

Doing yoga helps me relax through AIDS.

How often do you practice?

Usually twice a week, but when there are too many bags for sewing, only once.

The problem with yoga is that I feel hungry after. On those days if I have no food, I hurt.

Every day when I go home and the children of my sisters who died in the genocide sleep, I practice three poses to relax my chest and back.

III. Our teacher dims the lights. We circle and bow our heads to meditate.

Think now about what you learned from your pain today.

Think about what you are grateful for.

We pass the talking-stone.

I thought about Rwanda.

I am the last to go.

Fiction & poetry

VIH JOSHUA DICKINSON In our room you still sit Back against the wall, situated beneath Stars we painted in excess Kind detriment to lungs & muscles that ache When you shed our last decade I promised it was just your morning run I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be angry about the stained sheets I know the streaks of red by your lips are simply wine And that you caught a fever from the baby next door When I see purple on your skin We laugh and attribute it to our high-yellow tint We always did bruise easily. And when you start to foam I blame it on your thirst For sex, for joy, for me.

Thank You! Thank you, Ithaca College Student Government Association!

My methshake brings all the boys to the yard...

Thanks, Center for Inequality Studies!

Thank you, Michael Koch and Catherine Taylor!

Thanks Jennie Ochshorn, our fabulous intern! Thank y ou, Pale Fi re Loun ge! The bes t m eth lab loc ation e ver!

Thank you to the Cornell Council for Ernesto QuiĂą the Arts, onez, and Pa mela Lafeyet te!

Thanks

Thanks, D. Evan Mulvhill, Robert OchShorn and Peter Fritch! Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s get tweaked together sometime!

SAFC!

83 art by MICHELLE SPEKTOR