V o l u m e I V, N u m b e r I I I
Celebrating The Precious Human Tapestry
September 11, 2009
Deis fashion relief after European adventure BY SRI KUEHNLENZ Editor
Returning from a semester in Spain, I admit, I feel a little displaced, especially when it comes to fashion. After all, where are the t-shirts with the scandalously deep V’s or the tight jeans with a bedazzled skull on the pocket? And then there’s women's fashion. For anyone who has not had the pleasure of witnessing harem pants in action, let me tell you, that after a semester of wincing every time a girl strutted by in these baggy pants (think MC Hammer) with fitted ankles, you’re not missing anything. However, I’m not here to discuss the finer points of European fashion. Rather, I’ll attempt to reconcile my experience in Spain with the more subtle fashion of American college students. There were a few things that I knew were a no-go for the Brandeis campus right off the bat. Namely, that sequined dress with the feathers that was on sale at Zara. (While still a bit of a novelty over here, Zara is to Spain as H&M is
to America. One street in Seville boasted three Zara stores.) So I put that dress in the box of clothing that will hopefully still fit and look age appropriate upon my return to Europe. While the sequined dress may have flown during a night out in New York, Boston is decidedly more bookish and casual. However, dressing for the Beantown suburbs does not necessarily mean donning a Red Sox cap. Now how does one begin to dress as a Brandeis student? Well, for upperclassmen, it means eschewing most Brandeis apparel, except for the most subtle pieces. After all, this isn’t Penn State. Besides the general lack of school pride as displayed on their clothing, Brandeis fashion is pretty diverse. There are the kids who still cycle through the five outfits their mothers picked out for them before they were dropped off freshman year. There are also the hipsters with their Wayfarer sunglasses, plaid shirts and select vintage pieces – probably an act of rebellion to the outfits their mother picked
out for them. And then there’s the in-betweens, both guys and girls, who throw on a nondescript t-shirt and jeans and head to class. Unlike Spain, where publicly wearing sweatpants of any kind draws odd looks and “the tighter the better” is the general rule of thumb, it is surprisingly refreshing to be back at the Brandeis campus. While Brandeis certainly does not have the architecture to rival any street in Europe, in comparison with Spanish fashion, the Brandeis student body does a remarkably good job of incorporating the subtleties of style. Fashion in Spain is decidedly more blunt. Over there, my Spanish equivalent would wear black parachute pants, a neon shirt, with heavy black eyeliner and a black lip piercing that just looked like an overgrown mole. So, in the end, perhaps this is one thing from my experience in Spain that I can transfer to my life in the States. After all, I’d look slightly out of place walking up Rabb steps in harem pants.
PHOTO BY Max Shay/The Hoot
BRANDEIS COUTURE: Tyrone Calliste ‘11 models his stylish shades.
A meditation on love and friendship A lesson from under the chuppah
BY ALISON CHANNON Editor
My cousin got married last weekend, so I made the trek from Boston to Chicago to be present on his special day. The wedding was beautiful and, of course, I cried. I didn’t think I would, but as the music started and my cousin walked down the aisle to await his beloved, like a Pavlovian response, my tears began to flow. I don’t know if it was my cousin’s look of solemn expectation or the bride’s failed attempts at remaining dry-eyed, but something about the two of them under the chuppah moved me. This was the first wedding I’ve attended that I’ve been old enough to remember, and as a valiant chuppah attendant (I didn’t know this existed, but basically, I stood next to one of the four poles holding up the canopy during the ceremony), I got to see the show up close. Perhaps it was proximity that got me, but now I think I would have cried even if I had sat through the ceremony. On the one hand, it's not surprising that I cried. “Ten Things I Hate About You” made me sentimental even before Heath Ledger’s untimely death. But on the other hand, I’m not a hopeless romantic and I have many bones to pick with
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the institution of marriage. Most importantly, I have never cried at an episode of TLC’s “A Wedding Story.” I’m going to credit the rabbi’s words about love, commitment, and respect. In life, we’re looking for people who bring out the
better angels of our nature, who temper our faults, who help us to grow, and who make us feel like it’s okay to be just who we are. And though our culture privileges (heterosexual, monogamous, married) romantic relationships above all others, that does not
signify that love, commitment, and respect do not exist in nonromantic relationships. In fact, those values may be even stronger in the platonic relationships in our lives. As college students, some of us are consumed with finding
romance – so much so that we forget that we have amazing relationships all around us – our relationships with our friends. A pretty young thing’s attention at the frat house might give us a temporary high, but in the end, it is the love, commitment, and respect of our friends that should fortify us. Our friends know us. They’ve seen us at our best and they’ve seen us at our worst. They’ve laughed with us, cried with us, partied with us, studied with us. And they haven’t run for the hills. It’s a blessing. Unfortunately, the messages we receive from our culture that tell us that the only meaningful relationships are (heterosexual, monogamous, married) romantic unions prevent us from fully understanding the value of the blessing of friendship. Unlearning these messages is no easy task. I have no advice to offer but I might start with my rereading of my cousin’s wedding. Perhaps I was moved not by the pomp and circumstance – the dress or the music or the open bar – but by the idea that people are capable of profound love for others, romantic or otherwise. Maybe, underneath the layers of patriarchy, a wedding might be beautiful because it is testament to the human ability for love, commitment, and respect.
Diverse City 9
September 11, 2009
VISIONS
VISIONS OF BRANDEIS PHOTO CONTEST Win free movie tickets! And have your photo featured in the Hoot! Submit images taken on Brandeis campus to dc@thehoot.net Deadline: Tuesday, September 22nd.
PHOTO BY Max Shay/The Hoot
Remaking Woodstock not such a buzz kill BY MAXWELL PRICE Editor
Once upon a time there was a music festival called Woodstock. 500,000 people came, grooved, and partied in the mud. Many were sick, tired, hungry, and, dare I say it, annoyed at what might have fairly been deemed a disaster. For some the experience was life changing. Elliot Tiber was one of them. “Taking Woodstock,” a film directed by Ang Lee, and starring Demitri Martin is nothing if not a feel-good tale. Based on an allegedly true story (key players like managers Michael Lang and Artie Kornfield disputed his involvement), Tiber steered the Woodstock location to the town of Bethel in order to drum up business for his parents’ motel. It’s a naïve premise befitting the festival’s hippie sentiments and subsequent sentimentality. Demitri Martin plays Tiber with a kind of reserved yet charming innocence that made the whole concept seem less maudlin that one might imagine. Nostalgia is a tricky feeling to convey through a camera lens, but the emphasis on an individual transformation rather than a generational one dispels its worst effects. Martin’s parents (Imelda Saunton and Henry Goodman), curmudgeonly and aggressive Russian Jewish immigrants, served as sources of many of the film’s jokes. The amusing aspect of their personalities is that neither seems particularly put-off by the free loving hippie invasion (except for a terse “no schtupping in the
bushes!”), fraternizing openly with the supposed freaks. It is by no means a flawless film, but most of the arguments against it seem to miss the point. The most frequent criticism involves the lack of music from the actual Woodstock festival. While the soundtrack prominently features Woodstock performers, the most we hear of the performances are from a distance. First, this arrangement actually approximates the experiences of many of the Woodstock festival-goers, who were forced to listen to the music beyond viewing distance, including Tiber himself. Second, does anyone really want to watch a Jimi Hendrix impersonator imitating the inimitable legend? The other common complaint deals with the scope of the film, which only really encompasses Tiber’s family and the Woodstock folks with whom they interact. Personally, I find any film about the 60s, particularly about Woodstock, that takes the time to flesh out individual stories within a historical context rather refreshing. A larger lens would only lead to the kind of mythologizing that few can stomach post-fortieth anniversary celebrations. Tiber probably stretches the truth for dramatic (and comedic effect), but it never feels manipulative. Much to my own surprise, I found the recreation of the Woodstock festival less interesting than the recreation of 60s Bethel, which retained enough quirkiness and rustic allure to give it pre-Woodstock character. The most challenging subplot, involving a young Vietnam veteran with PTSD
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HOLLYWOODSTOCK: Eliot Tiber (Demitri Martin) takes a memorable Woodstock acid trip with friends (Kelli Garner and Paul Dano) in their VW van.
played by Emile Hirsch, was the least satisfying. The abrupt shifts in tone between the general rollicking good time of the rest of the film and the Billy sequences led to uncomfortable moments in which audience members didn’t know whether to chuckle or grimace. Luckily, Jonathan Groff ’s Michael Lang made up for any shortcomings in the other character, exuding charisma that made Martin look wooden. His otherworldly cool set him off in another category from his fellow cast members. I only hope he doesn’t get pigeon-holed in the hippie ste-
reotype in the wake of this film and his stint in Shakespeare in the Park’s “Hair” last year. In spite of its shortcomings, “Taking Woostock,” really is worth a viewing, even for all you straight people out there (I suppose that word means something different today than it did in 1969). A belated coming of age story, it tugs at your heartstrings harder than in has any right to do. Once you give up the idea of a Woodstock simulacrum, you’ll find yourself taken in by its sweetness. And if that doesn’t do it for you, I can only suggest “Beatles Rock Band.”
10 Diverse City
September 11, 2009
CHORUS
Let’s get personal (essays, that is) narrative, and shrink it down to maintain even the average college student’s attention span, you’ve got a personal essay. Personal essays can be amazingly effective and great fun to read, when done right. Memoirs and autobiographies have been popularized on the book market for the past few years so it may be hard to distinguish between the good, the bad, and the just plain boring (really, have more authors just started living lives worthy of memoirs nowadays? One would think so, considering.) Here are a few of my “personal” favorite memoirists that stand out in the crowd:
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BY SAMANTHA SHOKIN Editor
“Truth is stranger than fiction,” the old saying goes. If you read a lot of tabloids or watch TMZ then you’d probably agree. Even in the literary realm, a striking account of real events can make even the tallest of tales seem rather unextraordinary. What’s more remarkable is if the striking account is told first-hand, giving readers an insider’s glimpse into personal stories of interest and intrigue. When you take awesome nonfiction and first-person
David Foster-Wallace Wallace was not merely a comedic genius. He was just a genius, plain and simple. This man killed himself about a year ago after struggling from years of depression, though for years he provided countless fans with side-splitting, bluntly honest humor. Any talk of his thousandpage novel "Infinite Jest" always mentions the same two things: its brilliant humor, and its ridiculously complex plot line. In his collection of essays, " A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again," Wallace used the same wit and intelligence to discuss matters as seemingly trite as tennis playing and commercial cruise lines. But his style—his remarkable gift at observing, plus the cynical, sarcastic commentary he provides throughout— will have you hanging on his every word.
Foster is also known for his unique writing style; particularly his use of extensive footnotes (not kidding—some of those things literally go on for pages. Even his footnotes
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had footnotes at some points). This is not so much of a light read since you may have to tackle it with dictionary in hand, but it is well worth it. Augusten Burroughs Burroughs is the author of the acclaimed memoir-turned failed movie "Running with Scissors." After reading the auto-
biographical portrayal of his wacked-out childhood, growing up in the rule-free house of his mother’s shrink, you’ll understand why he can provide such “unique” perspectives on life. These perspectives are often painfully honest, and accordingly, very funny. Young Burroughs is neurotic at times though loveable, in a kind of sick, twisted, child-reject way—his OCD-like obsession with hair and advertising make clear of that. If you want to know what a “masturbatorium” is and you like reading about families more screwed up than your own, don’t watch the movie, read the memoir. Or if you don’t have time for a full-length book, the essays in his collection "Magical Thinking" are just as good. David Sedaris When you get through the first couple pages of "Me Talk Pretty One Day" you may question if what you’re reading is really humor. Not soon after, when you are silently chuckling to yourself over something astoundingly relatable, you not only appreciate his writing but you really start to like the guy. He is funny without being over the top and he manages to write about everything from speech impediments to drug addiction while being humble and witty at the same time. Sedaris works wonders with the art of essay, which includes those in his latest collection "When You Are Engulfed In Flames."
A great band arises from the ashes of Strokes-mania How Phoenix came to rule the alterna-rock sphere with its summer album BY DANIELLE GEWURZ Editor
I like deep meaningful music about the alienation of the modern world as much as the next Radiohead fan, but sometimes postmodern angst can’t exactly be described as fun. But that’s certainly not true of French band Phoenix’s fourth and latest album, “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.” There’s a certain French arrogance in cribbing Mozart for an album title, but it works, not least because Phoenix has long had a talent for arrangement and an almost orchestral-style rock. But those skills have been honed on this album, which has almost no low points and displays a cerebral talent that has rendered pop rock that’s perfect in its unthinking nature. There’s a bit of the Strokes circa “Is This It”/“Room On Fire” in almost all of Phoenix’s discography, but the band has moved beyond the sort of contained brilliance that previously resulted in only fits and starts of greatness. The album is impressive from front to back, although I would be remiss if I didn’t note that the band’s best work is decidedly front-loaded. Nonetheless, “Phoenix” displays deftness and a lightness that place this album in the upper stratosphere of this year’s releases. Album opener “Lisztomania” captures that sense perfectly; “think less but see it grow” more than adequately describes the way the tight rhythm works almost
better on an unthinking level of sheer pop bliss. The album is peppered with the occasional electronic effects, but rather than drawing attention, they’re seamlessly integrated into the soft-rock vibe of the album, providing the occasional disco flourish. “1901” is the second part of that onetwo punch that opens the album, with stop-motion guitar work and lyrics that seamlessly weave the sense of being out at last call with a relationship drifting apart. Frontman Thomas Mars sings wonderfully impenetrable lyrics, drawing broad sketches and emotional portraits without being too direct, speaking mostly of love and relationships in words that ring true despite their obliqueness. From there the intense propulsive effect of the album gives way to far more melodic tone that permeates the rest of the soundtrack, from the hazy instrumemtal that opens “Love Like A Sunset” and continues in the instrumentation of “Countdown (Sick for the Big Sun).” The latter never quite gels the way tracks “Lasso” and “Girlfriend” do. Part of that is the guitar part, which drops out for a beat before the chorus, a far too frequently used dance-rock staple that shows less of a knowledge of pop than a willingness to use one of its laziest forms of shorthand. The disco-esque opening to “Girlfriend” serves as a nice blend between the highs of “Lisztomania” and the longer, drawn out style at use in “Love Like A Sunset”
This album displays a cerebral talent that has rendered pop rock that’s perfect in its unthinking nature.
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and is the single most straightforward song, and a decided highlight of the second half of the album. Mars’s voice rings out clear and pleading, asking, “Die and see/You say it out loud…do you know me well, girlfriend?” Album closer “Armistice” lacks enough punch to truly cap off this delightful album, it’s still another 3 minute jewel in an album full of them. Mars wistfully summarizes the day to day of a relationship; “When the lights are coming out/
And I come down in your room/Our daily compromising is written in/Your signed armistice.” That’s a persistent theme throughout the album; relationships dissolve, collapse, and both parties compromise, but Mars remains ebullient in the face of it all. Phoenix revel in the sheer joy of emotion, any emotion, in its purest form, stripped of all excess, and that’s precisely how it sounds like “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” was written.
Diverse City 11
September 11, 2009
ENDNOTE
Aestheticism BY SAMANTHA SHOKIN Editor
Life in a broken home
An outsider’s view of Palestinian house demolitions BY PARASKA TOLAN Special to Diverse City
Put me out of my insanity. As a victim to my vanity, the convoluting constricts of my mind are plain to see. These suffocating sinews emerge from a noxious venue; ever-present ever-poison in my quaint reality. Let me imitate this poison with almost-unfaulted poise, and I will show you how I counterfeit the images I find. I turn and turn the dial, stop on dancing dames, and smile at a picturesque perfection which exacerbates my mind— then I persist to twist my saneness into a prettiful mundaness because smiles are aesthetic where our brains are just sublime.
Do you like haikus? We have got the place for you Come write for DC!
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Beit Hanina, Ashkaria village, July 13th 2009, 9.30 am. A woman, wearing a navy blue djelaba, and a purple headscarf, extends her hands to the sky crying “Hasbiallah aleikum, al rahman, al rahim.” Photographers, Palestinian and Western European, tell her to lean this or that way, to speak louder, to look at the sky… She ignores them all and continues shouting in Arabic at the top of her lungs, while clutching her wrist. Another woman, holding a curly haired boy is crying, yelling, pointing out parts of the house to the 70 or so spectators, “We did not have time to take milk for the children, the beds and toys they were all destroyed”. She stands in the middle of the rubble of her demolished house, three children clutching her dress, the backyard overflowing with her furniture, pillows, toys, lamps, fridge, washing machine, all lying pell-mell, hastily thrown out of the house. She is about four or five months pregnant. The mother of the landlord attempted to defend the house, when the police came to evacuate her family early that morning. Ten police men pushed her to ground and beat her up, breaking her arm. After praying over the ruins of her house in front of the cameras and journalists from around the world, she gets picked up by an ambu-
lance and brought to the hospital. The brother of the landlord is also beat up, and carried away in a police car. “They took away our phone, it was forbidden to call for help.” The neighbors in the end were those who warned the press, and ICAHD (Israeli Committee Against Housing Demolition). When we finally found the house, it was already almost completely destroyed; the bulldozer was still there, striking relentlessly the thin plaster walls. The house overlooked the valley, supposedly East Jerusalem. The sound of the demolition in Beit Hanina, was accompanied by construction sounds on a hill opposite to Beit Hanina; one of the illegitimate settlements separating East Jerusalem from the West Bank. Silwan, July 13th 2009, 11.30 am Dalia, 11 years old, stands next to me crying while a huge bright yellow bulldozer creeps toward her small house. She is a beautiful girl, dressed all in black, with deep brown eyes. She lives with ten other children in about 20 square meters. “We are going to destroy a terrorist’s house, we are going to push all the Arabs into the sea,” say the Israeli soldiers, while trying to block our way onto the road. Sdura, the commander, and his company of about 10 brigadiers laugh at Liza and me for being so ignorant. He gives us cold water from a cooler, and tells us, “this is not the French police force, or the Boston Police
force, we have to deal with real terrorists.” He attempts to prevent me from climbing the hill overlooking the house, but when I insist he retreats, and I scramble up amongst the gravel and thorns until I get a good view over the house and its residents. The father is being held back by the police. There are at least 50 Palestinian onlookers, neighbors, friends, squinting from the sun, clinging to each other. The bulldozer unfolds its long metallic paw, and starts hitting the walls of the house, which crumble offering no resistance whatsoever. When the bulldozer, drove by an old Palestinian man, has finished it’s job, it retreats, squeaking as it goes, followed by the army of Israeli police men and IDF soldiers (at least a 100 for a family of 5) looking back, making sure the job had been done appropriately. They do not clean away the ruble. The Silwan villagers, who were forced to stand some 20 meters away from the house during the demolition, all flock to the pile of ruble, searching in vain for a remnant of the house. Once again journalists and photographers from Europe and Palestine ask the family to stand in front of the demolished house, take pictures, and interview the mother in broken Arabic. Somebody is explaining that the family had no permit for the house but that it had been built in the 1970’s. There was no terrorist living in this house. Yet for the Israeli soldiers all house demolitions are houses of Palestinian terrorists.
Ask the Queer Resource Center! Do you have questions about gender, sexuality, diversity, or acceptance? Would you like anonymous advice from friendly peer counselors? Check out the Queer Resource Center, the educational branch of Triskelion, the Brandeis LGBTQIA (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning, intersex, asexual/ally) group. We provide free, confidential peer counseling to people of all identities in Shapiro Campus Center room 328, Mondays through Fridays from 1 to 5 p.m. Now you can have your questions answered anonymously in print! Submit a question to “Ask the QRC” at qrc@brandeis.edu. Put “Hoot” in the subject line, and you’ll see your question addressed anonymously in next week’s paper! Dear QRC, I’ve heard the words transgender and transsexual, but I’m confused - What’s the difference? Sincerely, Curious in the Castle Dear Curious, That’s a great question, because these words are often used interchangeably, which can be discourteous to individuals who identify as transgender or transsexual. The solution to your question traces back to the difference between sex and gender: while sex indicates a person’s biological and genetic makeup (usually considered male or female), gender is a set of socially constructed roles, behaviors, and attributes that a given society deems masculine or feminine. Transgender, therefore, is an umbrella term for people who do not fit with their assigned birth gender, either through identity or expression. Under this umbrella are transsexual people, who are physically transitioning or who have transitioned from one sex to another. This includes changes in appearance or name, as well as hormone therapy or
surgery. As with all queer identities, it is important not assume someone’s gender based on their appearance or behavior. It is polite to ask someone what pronouns they prefer (masculine, feminine, gender neutral, etc), rather than assigning them yourself. Also, some people who identify as transgender or transsexual do not adhere to the QRC’s working definitions, and their identities are equally legitimate. Love, The QRC Dear QRC, A sexual partner of mine asked if we could start being more “kinky.” While I am open to more experimentation, I wouldn’t want anyone finding out about it. Do you think it’s too risky for me to be “kinky?” Sincerely, Daring in DeRoy Dear Daring, First of all, “kink” is an identity that encompasses many sexual fetishes, interests, and practices generally considered non-normative. It often refers to BDSM,
which stands for some combination of bondage, discipline, domination, servitude, sadism, masochism, and master/slave relationships, but kink can mean anything from role-playing to hardcore pain. Before you consider whether or not to engage in “kinky” sexual activity, be sure that you know precisely what your partner means when using that term. When entering the wide world of kink, be sure that you and your partner communicate clearly about your boundaries and expectations. Have an in-depth discussion about what turns you on, what makes you uncomfortable, and what areas you would like to explore together. All sexual activity must be consensual and carefully negotiated beforehand, especially in the realm of BDSM. After this dialogue, you should have a better idea of what your partner means by “kinky,” and what to expect. Accordingly, kink is most safe and pleasurable when both parties trust each other. NEGOTIATION IS KEY! To assuage your fears of “people finding out” about your sex life, work out an agreement with your partner over privacy. To feel safe engaging in kink, you should be able to trust that your partner will not “out” you, or reveal private information about your sexual identity
without your permission. Good luck with your foray into kink! Love, The QRC Dear QRC, I have heard some homophobic talk on my hall. Could I have the QRC come to do a talk for my hall? Sincerely, Fretful freshman Dear Fretful, Thank you for contacting us! The QRC presents dorm raps to first-year halls, focusing on gender, sexuality, and acceptance. This is an interactive chance for people on your hall to discuss these issues in an open, safe space. Please talk to your CA, express your needs, and encourage your CA to schedule a dorm rap with the QRC. Thanks for your attention to queer issues on your hall! Love, The QRC